The stadium was dead silent, the air thick with the lingering scent of cinnamon and garlic powder from Elara’s successful evasion. But the triumphant mood among the pack evaporated the moment Jerome stepped back to the center of the ice.
"Phase two," Jerome announced, his voice stripped of all warmth. "The Submission."
Elara wiped a streak of flour from her cheek, her chest still heaving from the sprint. "Submission? I thought the point was to prove I wouldn't submit to them."
"Exactly," Jerome said grimly. "Wolves communicate dominance through an aura—a projection of sheer predatory power. It’s an invisible weight that forces lesser wolves to their knees, compelling them to bare their throats. The High Council is composed of the oldest Alphas in the world. When you step into that Conc
