Page 2 of Mated Exile

I may stumble. I may struggle. But I'llalwaysget back up again, no matter what, because Cat taught me that it isn't the going down that makes you weak. It's the staying down.

So I advance on him, ignoring the yammering of my heart. Leaping forward, I throw my right paw out towards his muzzle—and when he deftly evades that, I shift my weight onto my back legs, spin around, and attack him with my other set of claws.

This time I connect.

The sharp points at the ends of my toes dig into flesh and tear it open.

Snarling, the wolf twists his head to the side—then tackles me. He easily throws me to the ground and holds me down. I struggle beneath him, his warm breath skating across my muzzle as he peels his lips back and snarls at me angrily for my transgression.

I refuse to go out like this. Freeing my back legs, I kick them up towards his soft underbelly and try to get him there. He senses where I'm going and shifts his weight, planting his back feet on my hips to hold me down. Our eyes meet, anger clear in his dark red gaze even as he avoids giving me a killing blow.

Until, that is, a voice from the crowd above calls out drolly, "I'm bored. It looks like she isn't the one we need."

"Obviously," says a feminine voice I recognize as Ambrosia, "Or she would've shown us something worthwhile by now."

"Too bad. Bastian." The wolf's head jerks up as if pulled by an invisible string. "Kill her."

His muzzle goes slack, his eyes dart towards me, and his weight bears down on me. Something in him seems to change. Those red eyes stare down at me without a single bit of emotion as he takes a giant brown paw and holds its razor-sharp claws against my throat.

I twist and buck beneath him. Fear makes my movements fast and frenzied. The desire to live has never been stronger in me than it is now, with death digging claws into my skin.

As pain blossoms in my throat, something else rises up: anger. The warmth in my chest blooms and grows. It races through me like a wildfire, burning everything in its wake.

Suddenly my muscles feel stronger, my vision sharper, and everything comes into clear focus. With the next breath I ripple beneath the enemy wolf andthrowhim off me. As he slides across the stone ground, I twist my feet beneath me and stand, facing him, my breath sharp in my lungs.

I wish it didn't have to be this way. But if I don't kill him, he's going to kill me. So I gather every bit of strength and anger in me and leap across the arena to land a blow on his side. His flesh parts beneath my claws, and this time a cry of pain leaves his muzzle. The sound is greeted by cheers from the crowd above.

My movements bring something else to the surface: instinct. The body I've shifted into no longer feels like it isn't my own. These aren't justpawsorclawsorteeth.They're mine, and they belong to me, just like the wolf does.

This time, when the other werewolf gets to his feet, I'm prepared. I leap over him, spin behind his back, and lunge forward to sink my teeth into his haunches. Blood sprays as my fangs connect, and he howls in pain—then turns and lashes out at me in anger.

He aims a blow at my flank. It doesn't connect deeply because I leap away, his claws shallowly tugging at my skin.

Rushing around him, I tackle his unprotected side. He topples beneath me, my claws sinking into his shoulder and tearing both skin and muscle.

Those red eyes look up at me as I bare my teeth and lunge towards his flesh. I open my jaw wide and place it around his neck. My fangs connect with his cheek, flesh parting. He bucks beneath me, but I dig my back feet into his body as well, holding him down on his left flank and thoroughly dominating him.

A thought floats through me as I do so:submit.As a child growing up in an alpha werewolf's house, I learned many things about our culture, our traditions, and our instincts. One of the first things I learned is that an alpha wolf never forces submission with physical strength—and that if he has to cross that line with his pack, he's likely already lost their trust in him. His job, first and foremost, is to care for the weak and vulnerable, not berate them or threaten their lives.

But if for some reason that line is crossed for a justifiable reason, like a horrific crime committed within the pack, even the most despicable werewolf is given a choice. If, in the middle of a fight against their alpha, the alpha forces them to shift back into their vulnerable human form, they're given mercy. The offender—often the lowest of the low, like a murderer or a rapist—is exiled from the pack instead of killed on the spot.

Sometimes theirexileinvolves being tied to a tree without food, water, or clothing, which is as good as death for most. Other times, the exiled wolf is able to make it on their own, far from the protection of pack land and cut off from the bonds that feed its strength. These lone wolves rarely survive long, but letting them have the chance is an alpha's way of proving he's more than just a brute force leader. He's the very heart of the pack, and he has to stand for something more than just brutality.

Submit,I think, wishing I could will the thought into the other wolf's mind.Just do it already.If I were an alpha I couldmakehim, but as it is, all I can do is hope he'll understand me somehow.

My claws sink into his shoulder. He whimpers beneath me, twisting and struggling to breathe. I clench his throat more tightly in my fangs and will him to submit.

Above me, the crowd roars and cheers. A chant goes up in the stands, one that filters down to the darkness of the arena.Kill him, kill him, kill him!It swirls around in the dust and old blood that clings to this place.

Eyes fluttering closed, I inhale the scent of mint and crushed berries. Beneath it, a deep, murky, dark scent that clogs my nose and settles there. It reminds me oddly of one thing:shame.I can't tell if I'm identifying some emotion in the air, coming from the other wolf, or just imagining things. Finn would be able to tell me if he were here right now.

Blood slides into my mouth and across my tongue. Anger pulses within me, alongside nausea. The thought of killing another werewolf during my first shift is abhorrent to me, but even I know I can't hold him here forever.

Especially as he struggles beneath me, his legs getting purchase, my injured sides weak from his blows. Any wrong move, any hesitation, and he'll flip me over and have me at his mercy again.

Submit!I practically scream the word at him, wishing I knew how to communicate with him. Mates and fellow pack members in wolf form can often share messages and feelings through the bond, using body language and their heightened senses as much as anything, but I'm getting nothing from the wolf beneath me.

The crowd is growing restless. I hear a disappointed voice from above me call out, "We may have to step in and put one of them down ourselves."

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