CHAPTER NINE: The Ballot of Blood and Bone

The Council’s amphitheater wasn’t made of stone—it was bone.

Zara hadn’t expected the air to feel this cold, like something ancient had drawn its last breath and lingered. The curved chamber was sunken into the earth beneath the Silver & Vale tower, its walls made of calcified remains—ribs shaped into arches, skulls embedded in the columns like forgotten witnesses.

Maxim stood beside her, dressed in formal black, every inch the prince. His hand hovered at the small of her back but never touched. Not here. Not in front of them.

“The Council has summoned all claimants,” he murmured, eyes scanning the wolves gathering below. “You stand beside me as my mate. Which means they’ll look for weakness.”

Zara swallowed hard. “Then they’re in for a disappointment.”

She wore silver today—not because it was tradition, but because she wanted to reflect every gaze that tried to cut her down. Her dress shimmered like a blade. Her wolf mark, faint but glowing, pulsed just above her collarbone like a defiant whisper of moonlight.

The five ruling Alphas sat at a crescent-shaped stone table in the center of the arena. They were dressed like royalty but moved like predators, every twitch and blink measured for dominance.

An acolyte stepped forward, lifting an obsidian ballot tray. Five tokens rested in the shallow basin—each etched with a rune of blood.

“The Heir Trial enters its second phase,” the acolyte intoned. “Today, the Council casts their first vote.”

A hum filled the air, thick with tension. Zara’s pulse kept time with the quiet pounding in her ears. One of the Alphas—a woman with an eye patch and a lion’s mane of gray curls—lifted a token, held it over a shallow bowl, and let it fall.

A low thud. The rune flared red. A vote cast.

Zara leaned closer to Maxim. “What happens if you lose the ballot?”

“We don’t lose,” he said, his voice a velvet growl. “We retaliate.”

Another token dropped. Then another. Three now.

A fourth Alpha stood, spinning his token between long fingers before tossing it into the bowl with a grin. The rune glowed gold.

Only one vote remained.

The final Alpha was Victor Vale.

Maxim’s older brother.

Victor rose like a shadow, tall and lean, dressed in blood-red robes that fluttered without breeze. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Esteemed Council,” Victor began, “before I cast my vote, I move for a challenge.”

Murmurs rose like a tide.

“A challenge?” Maxim hissed. “Here? Now?”

Victor turned slowly to face him. “Our kind doesn’t vote on words. We vote on strength. Blood. Bone. Isn’t that the old law?”

Zara’s blood ran cold.

Victor gestured toward her. “Maxim brings an unclaimed, untested human into the circle. He hides behind her blood mark, forged in secrecy. I demand proof.”

The Alphas leaned forward.

“What kind of proof?” one asked.

Victor smiled. “Trial by rite. Let the claimed one speak for her Alpha.”

Maxim stepped forward, fury in every movement. “She’s not a piece on your board, Victor. Test me.”

But Victor’s eyes never left Zara. “You said she was your equal. Let her stand for you.”

Zara’s heart thundered. Her spine stiffened.

“I’ll do it,” she said.

Maxim turned to her, jaw clenched. “Zara—”

“No,” she said. “You gave me the mark. You gave me the title. Let me earn it.”

He studied her for a beat. Then nodded once, the smallest flicker of pride in his eyes.

The floor of the chamber shifted. A shallow ring opened at the center, glowing with ancient glyphs. Two stakes rose from the ground, dripping faintly with silver.

Zara stepped forward, barefoot now, the hem of her dress trailing behind her like smoke. The crowd parted, wolves muttering in their seats, the tension thick enough to taste.

Victor’s second—an enforcer named Luthor—stepped into the ring opposite her. He was seven feet of muscle and cruel smirks, his chest bare, his claws already extended.

The acolyte lifted a blade. “Speak your purpose.”

Zara took the dagger, sliced her palm cleanly, and pressed it against the stake. “I stand for Maxim Vale,” she said, voice clear and unshaking. “I stand as his mate. And I stand unafraid.”

Gasps rippled through the arena.

Luthor growled, dropping blood on his own stake. “Then bleed for him, girl.”

The duel began with no warning.

Luthor lunged, faster than any human should be. Zara ducked, barely evading his claws, rolling across the bone tiles and coming up with a shard of broken antler that someone had discarded as ceremonial.

She slashed it toward him. He caught it mid-air and snapped it in two.

Then he backhanded her across the ring.

Pain exploded along her jaw. She staggered but stayed upright.

Somewhere above, Maxim roared.

Zara spit blood, squared her shoulders, and thought—No one survives this firm unless they fight harder.

She ducked under his next swing, grabbed his arm, and jabbed her elbow into his exposed ribs. Luthor grunted but recovered quickly, grabbing her throat.

A gasp rose from the crowd.

“Yield,” he growled, claws digging into her skin.

Zara’s vision blurred—but the mark on her neck flared bright, burning white-hot.

Luthor howled, yanking his hand back as if scorched.

Zara seized the moment.

She drove her knee into his gut, then headbutted him with a crunch. The second he fell backward, she pounced, straddled his chest, and raised both fists.

“I. Am. Not. Weak!” she shouted, punching each word into his face until blood ran from his nose and down his neck.

The acolyte raised his hand. “Enough!”

Zara stood, chest heaving, knuckles raw. She turned slowly, every gaze fixed on her now.

“Will the Council accept her rite?” the acolyte asked.

Silence.

Then—one by one—the Alphas stood.

The woman with the eye patch clapped. The gold-rune Alpha nodded.

Even Victor, lips tight, gave the faintest bow of his head.

The vote was sealed.

Maxim was still in the running.

And Zara Cole—intern, outsider, unwanted—had just become a legend in the arena of blood and bone.