The challenger struck like a battering ram, claws and pure, overwhelming force. Bones rattled with every blow; every s***h sank cruelly into flesh. Her thigh was ripped open and blood stained her boot. Her shoulder ran red, crimson dripping onto the stones in fat rivulets. Her ribs were bruised by every ragged breath, every inhalation a knife slicing between her lungs.
She should have been dead by now. Should have been kneeling in the dirt, face-first in her own blood.
But she wasn’t.
The circle was refusing to let her die.
The crowd was packed tight to the edge of the stones, the sound of their chanting vibrating through her skin. Wolves were howling, barking, some calling for her death and others screaming for her to get up. The air was close and hot with fever, thick with musk and
