Marcus's Point of View:

With the smell of sweat and wet ground combined with something acrid—tension perhaps, or the sharp sting of bloodlust—the atmosphere on the training fields was thick with anticipation.

I listened to the low muttering of the assembled wolves while standing in the middle of the pit and rolling my shoulders. In a close circle, they sat on the stone, some standing and some sitting on the borders, waiting.

At morning, the challenge had been issued.

In public.

Formally. No daggers had been hidden, no betrayals had been spoken. No, this was not the same thing. An overt power move aimed to show a supposed vulnerability.

I...