The rebel wolf staggered backward, clutching his ribs where Tyron’s fist had landed. For a brief heartbeat, silence fell over the crowd, broken only by the wolf’s labored breathing. Then, to Tyron’s confusion, a grin curled across the wolf’s blood-smeared face. His eyes gleamed with wicked delight.
He smiled.
Even after the blow, even after being caught off guard, the wolf smiled deviously, as if the pain only fueled him further. The sight twisted Tyron’s stomach. He didn’t understand it. Why was his enemy smiling?
Around them, the circle of rogues erupted into chaos. Cheers, chants, stamping feet, it was as if the whole camp had been set ablaze with hunger for blood. Some howled for Tyron’s victory, but most screamed for the rebel, intoxicated by his cruelty and brute strength.
In the
