Lucian
The fight dragged on—merciless and primal. One hour and forty-five minutes of blood, growls, and bone-deep pain. Neither man—neither wolf—was backing down.
They were coated in each other’s blood. Both limping. Both heaving for air. Their movements had slowed, but the rage hadn’t dulled. If anything, it had sharpened with every wound.
Then—finally—my father barreled into Alaric’s side with a burst of raw force, knocking him down with a vicious thud.
Before Alaric could recover, my father clamped his jaws around his hind leg and yanked. The crack of bone echoed through the field like a shot.
My chest swelled. That sound—gods, that sound—I knew it had changed the tide.
Alaric staggered to his feet, barely upright, his leg mangled. He could have tapped out. Should have. But he did
