The crowd held its breath as Draven's fingers grazed Liora's mask. Is he teasing her?

For a heartbeat, the world stilled. Liora's pulse thundered in her ears as his thumb pressed lightly against the edge of her disguise. His golden eyes glinted with curiosity.

Different thoughts fly through Liora's head as her eyes narrowed to her best friend trying to kiss her man; he dodges– maybe because her eyes were intensely staring at him, or the crowd was watching.

She shoved back, breaking their lock, and leapt back. Her wolf snarled inside, trying to get closer to him.

But Liora's body moved before her world could, she twisted sharply, her shoulder colliding with his chest, breaking his grip. Her blade slashed upward, forcing him back with a hiss of steel.

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

Draven only grinned. His lips curled in ruthless satisfaction. “You're quick,” he said, circling her, his sword raised, eyes locked to her, “But masks can't last forever.”

Liora adjusted her stance, her lungs burning, sweat wetting her armor, her fingers white around the sword. “And you talk too much.”

“Only a certain kind of people get to know that.” He smirked.

“Should I be happy?” Liora spat venomously.

“Yes. You should”

She lunged.

Their blades met again with a crack that sent shudders through her arm. Draven absorbed the impact with effortless strength, his expression never faltering. His eyes– cold and hot at the same time studied her with unnerving focus.

Liora ducked low, carrying dust in her hand and spread, sliding across the dust to stroke his legs. He shifted, parried, and drove her back with relentless force. Each blow from him was heavier, faster. Her muscles screamed, but she refused to flatter.

From the stands, she could feel Kaelen's gaze burning into her. His jaw was tense, and his finger whitened against the railing. What if he knew if it was her? she wondered.

Don't look at him. Don't break

Draven swung, the metal vibrating between them. His smirk widened as their faces hovered inches apart. “You fight like someone trying to change something or prove something. Tell me– what are you hiding?”

“Nothing you will ever understand.” Liora shoved with all her strength, forcing him back

Dust swirled beneath their feet, the crowd roaring, the betting board moving in Draven's favour. Her arm trembled.

But she had her own fire.

She waited, binding her time until she saw the smallest gap– a shift in his stance, a fraction of weight on the wrong foot.

She lunged, driving her blade upward.

The edge grazed his arm, slicing through his sleeve. Blood beaded on his skin.

“Told you. Don't speak too much or else you will lose focus.”

The crowd gasped

“How sweet”

Draven's smirk vanished as his eyes darkened. He pressed a hand briefly on the cut and looked up at her.

“How daring,” he growled

“Talking too loudly caused this,” Liora smirked, hissing in her teeth. “Next time, shut it.”

She lifted her sword again, and the words lit a spark in him. Draven launched forward, his strikes doubling in speed, and Liora's arm ached beneath his blow. Her legs wobbled, and she refused to yield.

She saw it. His anger made him reckless. His blade came down in a brutal fire, and she side-stepped, slamming her elbow into his ribs. He staggered. Liora spun, sweeping her blade across the air and pressing it to his throat.

The crowd froze, and gasps filled everywhere.

Draven froze, his chest heaving, golden eyes wide with rage and calmness. The edge of her blade drew the faintest line of red on his skin.

“Yield,” Liora hissed, her voice shaking and tired.

For a long moment, he stared at her, looks of admiration and fury radiating from every line of his body. His lips curled, and slowly he spat the word. “I….. yield”

The horns blared

She staggered back, her chest aching, her arm trembling from the effort of keeping her blade steady. She had done it. She had beaten him.

The crowd exploded with cheers– each pack flashing their flags and shouting. The impossible had happened. The feared Draven Duskbane, heir of the Duskbane pack defeated before all.

Liora's knees trembled, and she fell to the ground. She had proven herself. She had done it.

—

The victory ceremony began. The warriors were called forward, and one by one, their names shouted and their glories sung. Liora stepped into the circle, her mask still in place, her body in pain, but her head held up high.

“ It is always tradition that the last champion gives the crown to the next champion, and Alpha Draven has always proven he is the best, but tonight we have a winner– who hasn't claimed a pack yet and an identity hidden won it.” The elder bragged.

The crowd shouted– screaming and shooting guns upward in honor of the moon goddess and in appreciation of the former champion. Liora smiled as she walked down to where the crown was placed.

The elder called upon Draven to give out the crown. He stepped forward, the crowd silent as he stared at Liora, smirking.

“Never imagine a day would come that I have to let go of one thing I easily got.”

Manipulating. Proud alpha. Liora thought.

“It is an honor that a fresh face amongst our contestants was able to get it, and it is my pleasure to be the one giving it to him.”

The elder raised his hand towards her. “And the victor—”

Draven moved faster, his hand shooting forward, fingers curling into the edge of her mask. Liora gasped, her hands flying up too late.

With a sharp tug, the mask tore free.

“Liora.” He said smirking

The cries fell silent. Her dark hair tumbled loose, sweat wetting on her flushed face. Her defiant eyes met the stunned stares of the crowd.

“There you are,” he murmured. “You can't fool me like you did to others,” his golden eyes glowed.