Page 18 of Reformed Wolf

“No, sir. I won’t fight you,” Edgar replied without blinking.

“W-what are you doing?” I asked, frozen on the spot as I realized there was no avoiding the inevitable.

My father turned to glare at me, eyes dark. “I told you. He failed, and now he must pay the price.”

“No,” I whispered, then again, louder. “No! It’s not his fault. You can’t punish him for me sneaking out.”

“I can, and I will. Let this be a lesson to you as well, Son. There are consequences to your actions. Now, you will watch this play out, and next time, I hope you will reconsider.”

I wished I could stop him, but what was I supposed to say? I wanted to apologize, and more importantly, I wanted to mean it, but it was hard to regret what I’d done. I had to believe it was worth any price—even if I wasn’t the one paying it.

Without another word, my father balled his hand into a fist and brought it down like a hammer. Edgar’s head whipped to the side, but he didn’t make a sound. Another blow, and another. Father had left his rings on, and the sharp edges split Edgar’s cheek open. Blood spattered onto the sheet covering the floor to protect the rug.

My father paused between blows, his chest heaving. “How could you be so stupid, sneaking out?!” he growled, rounding on me. “And inviting a total stranger to compete? How can you trust him?”

“Trust? Like you trust Azar? That man is a lunatic, and you know it! You seem to think you can throw a collar on him, keep him leashed, that he’ll be your lapdog, but he’s borderline feral. You know what all those competitors downstairs have in common? Their families are rich and dangerous. So in the end, this entire bullshit competition is all about money and power for you. But I’m the one who will have to live with them. Tristan is the only one I can trust!”

Roaring, he slammed his fist into Edgar’s face again. Unprepared, the force drove Edgar to his hands and knees, but he managed to push himself back up, raising his chin for another blow.

“What about security?” my father yelled. “Did you ever consider for one second that I’m trying to keep you alive?!” Pinching the bridge of his nose, he tried to calm down, but it was a lost cause. He was drowning in rage, his eyes golden, black fur sprouting down the length of his bare forearms. “If that nobody you picked wins, do you have any idea the danger you’ll be in? You’ll be left weak and unprotected when someone inevitably comes after you. After the way your mother died…” His voice cracked, eyes glassy. “No, forget it. I’m sorry, but what you think you want doesn’t matter. I’m not taking any chances with you.”

“Daddy, he’s my mate!” I shouted before I could stop myself. His whole body went rigid, and Edgar braced himself for what might be a fatal blow. I stepped between them. “Surely you can remember what that love felt like. He’s all I can see. He’s the air I breathe, the water that sustains me, the food that nourishes my soul.” But my dad was like a statue, refusing to look at me. “How can you argue against fate?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw as he gritted his teeth, but slowly, the anger seemed to leach away, leaving in its wake an unfathomable grief. “Fate is nothing but a curse,” he said softly. “You’ll thank me one day.” Holding a hand out to the guard at Edgar’s back, the man passed him a white handkerchief that my dad used to wipe the blood off his hands. “Go to bed, Dylan. It’s been a long night.”

My lip quivered, vision blurring, and I spun on my heel and stormed toward the door. I paused on the threshold long enough to say, “I’m sorry, Edgar.” Then I ran all the way to my suite, slamming and locking the door behind me. I had no doubt there would be guards outside the door all night, and probably outside my window as well. They were taking no risks with my “safety.”

Without bothering to turn on a light, I flopped down across my bed, beyond frustrated. I was tempted to punch and kick the mattress like a fucking toddler who’d been sent to bed without dessert. Who the hell did he think he was, gambling against fate? Things would play out exactly as they were intended.

That thought was like a punch to the gut. I rolled over and stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch my breath. If our futures were already woven even before we were born, then that meant my mother was fated to die. And my father was fated to suffer through the loss of half his soul…

Who was to say the same might not be meant for me?

Maybe I was destined to meet Tristan, only to lose him. Maybe it would even be my fault, inviting him here to a competition he had no business entering.

Tristan is ours, my panther insisted. He is alive. He couldn’t understand why I was grieving for him as if he’d died.

I know, but what if? I prompted. Imagine he dies and it’s our fault. If we never get to mark him, claim him as ours. Never get to bear his children. Never get the chance to grow old with him. My beast took everything literally, but the more I painted the image for him to help him grasp the concept, the more real it became in my own imagination.

How was it possible to feel this much for someone I just met? I clutched at my chest, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing through me, getting sharper by the second. The longer we were apart, the more intense this feeling grew. I didn’t just want him. I needed him!

I gave up trying to hold back the tears, and they spilled freely down my cheeks until I rolled over and buried my face in my pillow, sobbing. The fabric did its damnedest to soak them up, but not even the high thread count could keep up.

As much as I hated to admit feeling any amount of sympathy for my father, I was finally starting to understand what he’d felt every day since my mother’s death. If Tristan died, I wasn’t sure I would survive it—but I refused to settle for anyone else.

The only option was for Tristan to win.

Chapter 9

Tristan

My eyes were still closed when I felt the car slow, letting out a piercing squeal of paper-thin brake pads. I’d slept the better part of 18 hours and had woken up with just enough time to shower, eat some cold pizza Jude had left me, and book the motel room for an extra few days. My injuries had mostly healed, but my limbs still felt heavy, like I was walking around with ten-pound weights tied to my wrists and ankles.

Once the car came to a stop, I cracked open my lids to see we’d arrived. The cab driver let out a long, low whistle and leaned across the seat to get a better look through the gate. “Wow, that’s some place. You live here, man?”

“Nope.” I shoved a handful of bills through the opening in the plexiglass barrier. “Thanks for the ride.”

Jude took the truck home, so I had no other option but to take a cab. Just as well considering I’d been in no shape to drive last night. Who was to say what kind of shape I would be in after tonight.

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