The trial grounds were older than the pack itself.

A circle of standing stones, twelve of them, each twice my height, arranged on a hilltop clearing half a mile from the manor.

They'd been there before the Veythorne family.

Before the territory had a name.

Ancient wolf carvings covered every surface, worn smooth by centuries of wind and rain.

The ground inside the circle was packed earth, dark, hard, stained with the blood of every Alpha challenge fought here for three hundred years.

This was where power changed hands.

Not in meeting rooms or council chambers.

Here.

On dirt and stone, under open sky.

Three hundred wolves ringed the clearing....