Packs filed out in boiling knots of barbed murmurs and whispered obscenities as the chamber began to empty in sharp pieces. Draven's shoulders straightened against each accusing glare that flashed toward him, and he just managed to stay standing by sheer willpower. He felt as if a hundred eyes were pressing down on him, daring him to trip. He didn’t. Not in front of them.
But Elaria saw. He clinched his teeth, and she could see the ghost of anguish flashing beneath his jaw, the stiffness of his left arm, and the tiny line of sweat that traced his temple. The trial and combat had taken their toll, and though Draven had stood victorious, Rhovan had twisted the victory into a poisoned blade. “The Alpha bleeds too easily,” some murmured. “The bond clouds him,” others whispered. The council
