The Forbidden Wolf King: Kings of Avalier, Book 4(7)

I nodded curtly and then the advisor looked down at my clothing. “Would you like to be shown to your rooms? You can change before dinner.”

Cyrus spoke before I had a chance. “No, we’d like to eat now. It’s been a long journey and we aren’t concerned with fashion.”

The advisor seemed like he’d been slapped and I had to suppress a grin. The psychological warfare had begun. Cyrus was in his element.

“Of course.” The man in the red robe gestured to a pair of open doors.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Here is your champion number, Zara.” The man handed me a handwritten ticket and I glanced down at it to see the number one written in a big blocky style. There was a pin lanced through it.

The man looked at my chest as if indicating I wear the number. I pinned it on and he nodded in satisfaction.

Judging by the bustling room full of people, I was one of the last women to show up, but had still been given a number one ticket. Interesting. What did it mean? Were we ranked in our rumored abilities or was it just random? Mud Flats didn’t get much fanfare and although I was the most dominant female in our pack, I doubted I was the most dominant here.

It would take all the skills my brother had taught me to survive this thing.

As soon as we entered the room, I knew Cyrus had been right to demand I fight our alpha this morning. And to insist we not change our clothes.

The room was full of women in pretty silk dresses that kissed the floor. Their hair was tied up in glossy strands and their combat coaches, whether male or female, were dressed to impress as well.

Every single head turned in our direction when we entered and fear washed over at least half of their faces. Their wild stares ran the length of my blood-encrusted clothing, to the yellowing bruises on my face and stomach, and then to my brother who looked just as hardened from the trip.

Without a word of introduction or nicety we stepped over to a long table and stacked our plates high with meats, potatoes and bread rolls. I tried to take some sweets but my brother swatted my hand.

Fight tomorrow. No sweets, he hand signed.

I wanted to protest, but he was right. My body didn’t really like sweets: they felt good going down but always made me sluggish afterward and thirsty the next day if I had too much. We lived off the land in the Mud Flats and other than some wild berries, we didn’t have the kind of sweets they had here like cakes and cookies and things they sold at markets in the outlying villages. My body wasn’t used to them.

Passing through the crowd which had fallen silent, Cyrus and I looked for an empty table.

As we were walking by, a woman in a green dress with the number three pinned to her top plugged her nose.

“Pee yew, look what the Mud Flats dragged in,” she said in a nasal tone. “Clearly she didn’t get the memo about—”

I didn’t wait for her to finish her sentence; instead I snapped out with a jab to the side of her temple with my free hand and knocked her out cold. Her body crumpled to the floor like a bag of rocks. I looked up at the smartly dressed man who’d been standing next to her as a growl built in his throat. Her combat coach.

“Control your wolf or next time I’ll take her arm,” I told him.

Fur rippled down the side of his face but he didn’t move. I was well within my rights to shut that disrespect down.

Some of the other women gasped in shock at my behavior, but not all of them. One woman, wearing the number two pinned to her gold gown, merely watched me like a hunter watched prey. I needed to set a precedent that I would not take ridicule from anyone, but I realized I had also revealed to the others who their main competition was. Now they would have it out for me.

Oh well.

Cyrus casually took a seat at an empty table as if my outburst was an everyday occurrence and I joined him.

Good girl, he hand signed and I grinned as I began to wolf down my food. I ate like a wild animal, half starved. I had skipped breakfast and lunch and other than snacking on a few strips of smoked meat, this was the only meal I’d had all day.

As I was tearing into a tender piece of elkin meat, a sturdy blonde wearing a blue dress sat next to me. She reeked of floral perfume, which my wolven nose hated, and she wore far too much makeup. The number twenty-four was pinned to her chest.

“Welcome. My name is Eliza Green of Death Mountain pack. I just wanted to take a minute to introduce myself before we all try to kill each other tomorrow.” She gave a nervous chuckle.

I said nothing, continuing my meal.

“Wow. You really showed that girl who is boss. I don’t even know if we are allowed to start fighting yet, but that was pretty cool,” she added.

My gaze flicked up from my food and held her blue eyes as we locked in a stare. I was a good reader of people: this girl was way too nice to survive this thing. And she wasn’t being calculating, like trying to make an alliance only to kill me later. That did happen. There was a sweetness in her voice, along with an underlying nervousness. She was innocent.

“I’m probably going to be one of the first to go,” she prattled on. “But at least I’ll make my family proud, right? Sorry, I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

Cyrus snapped his fingers and I looked at him.

Don’t make friends.

I nodded, but I also didn’t want this girl to be the first to go.

“Do you want to die tomorrow?” I asked her flatly.