Page 134 of Junk Magic

“My brother made it clear: the only way back is the way I left: through challenge. Your blood is the price of my redemption, and I want my redemption. Fight me.”

Whirlwind gazed about at the circle of faces, all of whom were silent, waiting. They weren’t tilting one way or the other, not yet, but they easily could. Challenge had been given, and while this wasn’t the usual place, with none of the ritual that went along with it, that didn’t matter.

At its heart, Were society hadn’t changed much in hundreds of years, maybe not in thousands. A challenge was sacred, and could take place anywhere, including a dusty street with no pomp or circumstance, no anything but blood and courage. It didn’t matter when or where; it was just as sacred, just as important.

And yes, it was barbaric and cruel, and sometimes let the wrong person win.

But I couldn’t deny that my blood flowed a little faster through my veins, just at the sound of those two simple words: Fight Me.

But Whirlwind clearly didn’t feel the same way. It was the proof of a leader, that he or she was willing to put their life on the line for their people. And since he’d missed that opportunity last night, he couldn’t very well turn away from this one. Not if he wanted to become bardric; not if he wanted to retain control of his own clan.

But he had a problem. Cyrus was young and hard bodied, and that was in his human guise. As a wolf, he was every bit as big as Sebastian, and a trained fighter. Arnou would have allowed nothing less.

Of course, Whirlwind had been trained well, too, and had decades of experience on the younger man. But he didn’t know that he could beat him. He must have thought he had it in the bag tonight. As Cyrus had said, fighting for the position of bardric required that the chieftain fight himself or that a close family member did so in his name. But Cyrus was out of the picture and I was declared an outcast, leaving no one else close enough by blood or adoption except for Daniela, Sebastian’s teenaged daughter.

There was no way that Sebastian would risk her, so he would either have to do it himself or forfeit.

But now Cyrus was back, and Whirlwind was worried. It was all over his face, and in his words, which should have been a resounding growl and an immediate Change. But instead, he tried to wiggle out of it.

“You may have been offered redemption, but you don’t have it yet! You are outcast, and cannot challenge—”

“I’m not challenging. Sebastian is. I am merely his champion.”

Cyrus took off his beautiful robe and handed it to a nearby wolf, who hurried to take it, while I hid a smile. Cyrus was vargulf; the wolf should have done nothing but look at him in disdain, if not attack him for the insult. But Weres admired nothing so much as courage—unless it was loyalty to family.

And Cyrus was currently showing both.

Whirlwind noticed, and whatever else he might be, the old man could read a room. “You are vargulf!” he snapped. “You cannot be a champion, either!”

“And yet, there’s nothing in the rules about that,” Cyrus said, removing the silky trousers he had on underneath the caftan. Leaving him clad only in a loin cloth that itself would fall away as soon as he Changed.

Someone drew in a shocked breath and I shot my eyes over at Sophie, who was almost as red as her hair. After a second, she noticed. “He’s, uh, he’s very fit,” she said, swallowing.

“Stop perving on the old guy,” Jen muttered, and I decided to ignore both of them.

But Sophie wasn’t wrong. If ever anyone had looked like a Were prince, Cyrus did. I didn’t know if he’d oiled himself up before coming or if it was just the effect of the lights, but he shone like a bodybuilder going for the gold. The heavy musculature of a Were in his prime was a beautiful thing, and spoke its own challenge, without another word.

But again, Cyrus drove the point home. “There’s no rule that prohibits a vargulf from being a champion—”

“Because no one in their right mind would appoint one!”

“—giving you no excuse. Fight me!”

“I can’t.” A murmur started to go through the assembled crowd. “I can’t!” Whirlwind insisted, his eyes darting from them to Cyrus. “I already have a challenge on me, from your woman. I have to finish that one first—”

“A fact that did not stop you from challenging Sebastian.”

“And she is vargulf,” someone else said. I recognized Laura, Sienna’s cousin, pushing her way through the crowd. Her voice was breathy from exertion, but it carried. “Or so you’ve been telling everyone. And you said it yourself, vargulfs can’t challenge.”

Whirlwind looked at Farkas, the Second with all the big ideas, and received panicked eyes back.

“She . . . she wasn’t vargulf when she challenged,” Farkas said, but as an excuse it was weak as hell and no one cared.

“Fight me,” Cyrus said, not giving the old man time to come up with anything else. “Or name yourself coward in front of all here assembled. But let me be clear, old man. I am not going to be kind. There will be no easy death for you. You who were too cowardly to challenge until Sebastian was injured and exhausted. You who tried to have him assassinated repeatedly before this meeting could even take place. You who hate the alliance with the humans, but don’t offer anything else in its place. Just the same old tired traditions that haven’t been updated in hundreds of years—which is the last time they may have actually worked!

“No, no quick death for you. I will take you slow, piece by piece, and I will enjoy it.”

It was a verbal slap in the face, and a taunt no Were leader could possibly ignore. And to his credit, Whirlwind didn’t try. The dark gold wolf eyes suddenly seemed much more appropriate in the face of a very different creature.

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