Ch. 27

The whole house reeked of anticipation. Even the walls, unsentimental and battered, seemed to vibrate with it. Carolina could barely breathe for the static charge between bodies, for the way every floorboard groaned underfoot like it was being broken in for the first time. There were new faces in the corridors, unfamiliar scents that ran wild along memory and sent a shudder through her. Guests, mostly—elders in sharp wool suits and ancient leather, a handful of uncollared juveniles still trying on their various hungers.

The run took place at the edge of the preserve, where the woods surrendered to rock and the air burned with the onset of real winter. Marcus stood at the mouth of the path, flanked by Lyra and two of the stone-faced councilmen. He gave no pep talk; just turned and started running, hungry as a spear through the trees.

The pack followed in a messy, beautiful surge. Xander pulled ahead almost instantly, legs piston-steady. Carolina lagged, her lungs still sore from yesterday’s brawl, but she found her stride. Behind her, she could sense the rest—Cas, still learning the rhythm; the older wolves, circling for position; even the elders, their throats bobbing as they ran.

There was no moon, just the wild dark and the blunt edge of their want.

By the first clearing, half the pack was already winded or feigning it. Only the real contenders pressed on, teeth bared, tongues lolling. Xander fell back to run beside Carolina, his breathing nearly silent.

“You ready?” he whispered.

She nodded, finding her own savage joy in the pace, in the way her muscles hummed and threatened to tear. “You?”

He grinned. “Never been less ready,” he lied.

At the river, the trick was to leap without losing speed. One of the councilmen stumbled, and Cas, of all people, vaulted him in a move so graceless it became a kind of art. Carolina landed hard, jarring her hip, but kept going. Xander caught her hand for a split second, then let go when he realized others were watching.

The competition, she saw, wasn’t just the run. It was the way eyes snapped to her and Xander, the way Marcus’s silhouette ahead was always exactly one stride out of reach. They were being measured for something, weighed in real time.

The finish was a brutal switchback climb. Carolina lost track of who was panting behind her; she didn’t care. She dug in, nails breaking from the pressure, and made the final crest just as Marcus turned, arms folded. Xander arrived next, not even winded.

Marcus regarded the two of them, then raised his voice. “These are your winners,” he called. “In three days, you’ll see them lead.”

The pack howled, a sound so raw it made Carolina’s teeth buzz. She was too exhausted to enjoy it.

When the crowd drifted back to the house, Xander caught her loosely by the elbow. “You did it,” he said, voice rough now. “You’re Alpha-Next.”

She shook her head. “We did it,” she corrected.

He smiled like he wasn’t sure it was allowed. “Not too long ago you’d have torn my throat for saying that.”

She smiled back, wolfish. “You never made it easy.”

They walked the trail back as the sun bled out, neither ready to return inside just yet. At the edge of the woods, Xander stopped. “I meant what I said to my father.”

Carolina waited.

“That I want you with me, no matter what kind of mess this becomes.”

She showed him her bruised palms. “I spent my whole life training not to belong to anyone. That’s never going to change.” But she closed the space between them, let her knuckles run gently along his jaw. “I can try it your way.”

He drew her in, forehead to forehead. “Then we’re both unfit,” he said.

She laughed, and the sound echoed in the brittle trees, free and savage and new.