Chapter 3
674 Words
My father's expression grew heavy, shadowed by a grim reality.
Deep down, everyone present knew the brutal truth.
In our world, power is the only currency that matters.
Weak packs are perpetually doomed, living under the constant threat of being crushed, absorbed, or enslaved by stronger predators.
But George refused to back down.
Defiance burned in his eyes as he let his inner wolf surge to the surface, pushing his aura out into the clearing.
"Who says we're afraid?" he roared. "The warriors of Riverbend aren't cowards, and we sure as hell aren't weaker than you!"
His outburst ignited a spark.
A dozen hot-headed young warriors rallied behind him, letting their wolves loose one after another.
The clearing suddenly filled with massive, snarling beasts—their coats sleek, their muscles rippling with restless, aggressive energy.
They were practically begging for blood.
With the pack's morale surging behind him, George held his head high and sneered at the opposing line.
"If you've got the spine for it, let's settle this head-to-head. Let's see who truly rules these woods!"
Alpha Dylan let out a low, mocking chuckle.
"Fine. Let's settle this territory dispute the ancient way—wolf against wolf. If my side loses, the Stoneshire pack won't cross your borders for the next ten years."
Dylan paused, his gaze turning predatory as he slowly scanned our ranks, letting the silence stretch. "But if you lose... you hand over half of your resources. Permanently!"
My father stood frozen for three agonizing seconds before finally asking, "What are the terms?"
Alpha Dylan clapped his hands.
From the shadows of the tree line, a massive, towering werewolf stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with malicious intent.
"This is my son, Ryan. The future Alpha of Stoneshire," Dylan announced proudly. "Your warriors can challenge him one by one. If even a single one of them defeats him, I will concede."
My father was cornered.
To refuse now would publicly brand the entire Riverbend pack as cowards, breaking their spirit completely.
With a grim nod, he accepted.
George was the first to charge.
The two wolves clashed in the center of the clearing, tumbling and tearing at each other in a chaotic storm of dust, snapping jaws, and flying fur.
George managed to land a solid strike, his claws raking across Ryan's flank.
But a split second later, Ryan's jaws snapped shut, his fangs sinking deep into George's hind leg.
Fresh crimson splattered across the grass as George unleashed an agonizing howl.
It was a brutal, decisive defeat.
When George was dragged back, his wolf's right hind leg was completely shredded—a mangled, bloody mess hanging uselessly.
The sight shattered the pack's remaining hope.
Anna went next.
She was the swiftest hunter in our pack, but speed meant nothing against brute, overwhelming force.
Ryan brought her down in seconds.
One by one, our elite warriors and my own siblings stepped into the ring.
And one by one, they were utterly crushed.
I watched it all unfold while curled up safely behind a patch of bushes in the corner.
My siblings, who were always coddled and praised as prodigies within the safety of the pack, were currently getting their asses handed to them.
A suffocating silence fell over the Riverbend pack as they stood around the blood-stained clearing.
Everyone was just waiting for my father to utter the words of surrender, waiting to swallow the bitter taste of a humiliating defeat.
Honestly, watching this circus play out was just making me sleepy.
This primitive, "survival of the fittest" drama?
I had seen it a thousand times over in my past life.
Back when I reigned as the Queen of Rogues, the packs I conquered and devoured were ten times the size of Stoneshire.
To me, Alpha Dylan's little power play looked like a toddler throwing a tantrum for candy.
I was over it.
Utterly, completely bored.
Stepping out from behind the bushes, I took a single stride forward—leaving the shadows behind and walking straight into everyone's line of sight.
- Writer
