A quick takedown

The sand was cold beneath my boots as we circled the center of the Great Arena. The silence of the crowd was a suffocating weight of expectation. I could feel Maxwell’s gaze from the stands—burning with a mixture of pity and spite. He expected the girl he broke to crumble under the weight of a Dragon’s aura.

Then, the King’s hand dropped.

"Begin!"

The air exploded. Instead of the standard pairing, I veered left, my speed blurring into a silver streak as I intercepted Marcus. Simultaneously, Pamela lunged right, weaving like a shadow to confront Sol.

The shift in tactics worked perfectly. The Princes, expecting a traditional Alpha-to-Alpha matchup, hesitated for a fraction of a second as we "crossed" our targets. It was all the opening I needed.

The Dance of Dust and Scales

Marcus was a mountain, but mountains were stationary targets. As I closed the distance, he let out a laugh—a deep, booming sound that shook the sand.

"Looking for a shortcut to the infirmary, little wolf?" he roared, swinging an arm that looked like a tree trunk.

I slid beneath the strike, the wind of his fist ruffling my hair. I didn't just dodge; I used his forearm as a springboard, kicking off his bicep to deliver a stinging double-kick to his jaw.

His head snapped back, but he didn't fall. He grinned, a drop of blood appearing on his lip. "Oh, you’ve got bite. I like that."

He lunged, trying to grapple me, but I was pure liquid. I spun around his back, delivering a rapid-fire succession of strikes to his kidney and the back of his knee. Every time he turned to grab me, I was already gone, leaving only the scent of ozone and silver fur in my wake.

"Stay still!" he bellowed, sounding more like a frustrated bear than a prince. He tried a massive ground-pound, intended to shake my footing. I predicted it, leaping into the air and—in a move that defied physics—landing squarely on his shoulders.

"You're remarkably sturdy, Marcus," I whispered in his ear, locking my legs around his neck. "Ever thought about a career as a pack mule?"

He let out a frustrated growl, spinning in circles like a dog chasing its tail to shake me off. "Get! Off! Me!"

"Make me!" I laughed, the adrenaline of the fight making my wolf hum with glee.

Finally, he threw himself backward, intending to crush me between his weight and the sand. I tucked and rolled at the last second, but as he hit the ground, I didn't let him recover. I dove, pinning his arm behind his back and pressing my knee into the nape of his neck.

Across the arena, Sol was a blur of golden light. He had caught Pamela in a mid-air strike, his superior dragon-strength allowing him to overpower her momentum. He had her pinned to the sand, his weight securing her wrists, but he was breathing hard—her shadow-play had clearly given him a run for his money.

I felt Marcus’s muscles cord under me like steel cables. "Not bad," he grunted into the sand. "For a girl who smells like lavender and rebellion."

"Enough!" the King’s voice boomed.

I let go of Marcus and stood, brushing the sand from my suit. Sol stood up and, to my surprise, reached down to Pamela. He offered her his hand with a look of genuine respect. Pamela paused for a heartbeat, her eyes searching his, before she reached out and accepted the pull, his strength hoisting her back to her feet.

"A remarkable demonstration," the King commended. "It seems our new students are more than capable."

Marcus stood up, spitting sand and rubbing his shoulder. A wild, predatory grin split his face. "She’s fast. Father, let’s see the real show. Sol versus Aella. No teams, no distractions."

Sol stepped forward, his golden eyes locked on mine. I felt my own wolf roar in response. I wanted to see if a dragon could handle a storm.

"The motion is rejected," the King said flatly. "Go to your classes."

The tension broke as students began to stand. I turned to walk toward the exit, my back to the Sandwell section.

CRACK.

The sound wasn't the roar of a wolf. It was the sharp, mechanical snap of a high-velocity rifle.

Time slowed. Before I could even shift my weight, a massive weight slammed into me. Marcus didn't hesitate. He tackled me to the ground, his heavy frame shielding mine as we rolled across the sand.

The bullet hissed through the space where my head had been a millisecond before, sparking off the stone wall.

"Sniper!" Marcus roared, his voice shifting into a draconic growl as he kept me pinned beneath him, his body acting as a wall of living armor.

Across the arena, Sol was already a streak of gold, leaping into the stands toward the source of the shot. I lay in the sand, looking up into Marcus’s dark, fierce eyes.

"You alright, Silver?" he hissed, his usual humor replaced by a terrifying, cold protectiveness.

I nodded, my fingers digging into his shoulders. I looked toward the Sandwell seats. Maxwell looked horrified, but Amelie... Amelie looked disappointed.

The game had just turned into a war.