Page 114 of The Reaper's Vow
They scatter back, giving us more room as Frost struggles to his feet. His left foreleg trembles with the effort of supporting his weight, but he doesn't submit. Stubborn bastard.
Frost circles me again, more cautiously this time. I almost feel sorry for him. Almost.
He tries a different approach this time, staying low and going for my legs. If he can bring me down, limit my mobility, he might stand a chance. But I've faced faster, more skilled opponents than Frost. I leap over his attack, twisting in midair to land behind him.
Before he can recover, I'm on him, my jaws clamping down on the back of his neck. Not hard enough to kill, not yet, but enough to immobilize him.
Frost struggles beneath me, his body thrashing as he tries to break free. I increase the pressure just enough to make him yelp, to remind him and everyone watching who holds the power here.
The clearing falls silent except for Frost’s ragged breathing. The pack’s focus presses down on me, heavy and unrelenting, every wolf waiting for my choice. I could end him now—tear out his throat as I did Blackwood’s. It would be simple. Final.
But killing Frost won't win me this pack's loyalty. It would only reinforce oppression they've lived under for too long.
I release him suddenly, stepping back as he collapses to the ground. I shift back to human form, my bones cracking and reshaping until I stand on two legs again. Naked, vulnerable, but unquestionably victorious.
“Submit or leave,” I repeat my earlier offer.
Frost writhes through the last spasms of his shift, bones cracking as his wolf peels away to leave raw, battered flesh. Blood seeps from the gashes I carved into him, staining the earth beneath his knees. But it isn’t the torn skin or the broken pride of his body that truly cripples him. It’s the humiliation. The defeat hangs heavy on his shoulders, pressing him lower than any physical blow could.
“I’ll never submit to you,” he spits, crimson spattering his mouth. His chest heaves as he glares up at me. “You think onefight makes you worthy to lead this pack? You know nothing of us.”
Karina moves into my periphery, steady as moonlight, her warmth brushing against me as she presses my clothes into my hands. I don’t look away from Frost as I drag on my pants, keeping my body angled between him and my mate. My stance says what words don’t: he won’t touch her, not again, not ever.
“Then leave. Take what's yours and go. But understand this, if you choose exile, there's no coming back.”
Frost scans the gathered wolves, searching for allies. For anyone willing to stand with him. Most turn their heads away, unwilling to tie their fate to a defeated beta. Only a handful, three, maybe four, shift into place at his back.
“This isn't over,” he promises. “The Blackwood legacy won't die with me.”
“No,” I agree, scanning the faces of my new pack. “It died with that bastard days ago.”
Frost staggers to his feet, blood still dripping from his wounds.
“You'll regret this decision,” one of them snarls at the remaining pack members. “When the neighboring territories come for you, when winter brings starvation, don't come crawling back to us.”
I watch them disappear into the forest, their threats echoing off the trees. Good riddance. A pack is only as strong as its weakest link, and those wolves were already rotting from the inside.
The silence that follows their departure stretches uncomfortably long. Forty-three wolves remain—I count them quickly, cataloging ages, injuries, the way they hold themselves. Most avoid direct eye contact, the ingrained habit of submission to authority still strong. A few, like the older woman who recognized Karina's bloodline, study us with cautious curiosity.
“So,” I address the pack. “Here we are.”
A murmur ripples through the gathered wolves, uneasy and uncertain. The young male’s voice has shattered the silence like a stone through glass, and now every shoulder tilts toward me, waiting. Expectant. Hungry for something beyond submission.
I let my gaze sweep over them—not with dominance, but with purpose. These wolves have been broken, shaped into survivors by Blackwood’s cruelty. What they need now isn’t another master. It’s meaning.
“What happens now?” I echo, letting my voice carry across the clearing. “Now we rebuild. Now we heal. Now we become more than what he made us.”
A few lift their heads, hesitant sparks of hope kindling in their eyes.
“Blackwood kept you small so you would always depend on him,” I say. “That ends tonight. Every wolf will have a place. Every voice will matter. We will be a pack again—not through fear, but through strength.”
Beside me, Karina steps forward, her presence a steadying weight. I focus once more on the young wolf who spoke, meeting the raw, fragile hope in his expression. “It starts with you. With all of you. No more bowing. No more begging for scraps.”
I step into the center of the clearing. Karina stands tall at my side, her presence grounding me like bedrock.
An older woman steps forward, her weathered features giving away nothing. “Pretty words. But words don’t feed pups or secure borders.”
“You’re right,” I acknowledge, shifting my stance toward her, giving her challenge the respect it demands. “Actions do. So, here’s my first action as your alpha. Every wolf in this pack will be evaluated for their skills and strengths. Not to judge, but to understand what we’re working with. Every wolf will have a place. Every wolf will have a purpose.”
