Chapter Two

Charlie

 

Sunlight, so bright it seemed offensive on such a heavy day, poured through the window, waking me before the alarm. My eyes opened, slowly at first, and then I bolted upright as I remembered what day it was. The urge to crawl back underneath the covers was so strong, I deliberately threw the blanket aside and marched into the bathroom to shower and change.

I found clothes already laid out inside my armoire. The fabric was light and fitted. A note was pinned to the sleeve in flowing script. “For Charlie,” it said. I suspected a woman, but had no idea who. I doubted Regan’s handwriting was that feminine. Sheridan, maybe. The closer we got to this contest business, the more in-charge she seemed.

I dressed quickly and threw my hair into a ponytail, remembering belatedly how Regan liked to wear hers this way too. I yanked the tie out and let it fall over my shoulders with a scowl just as a heavy knock sounded on my door.

I was surprised to find Al waiting for me. His hulking frame filled my doorway and then some. “I’m here to escort you to the arena,” he said. His deep voice was neutral, devoid of any emotion. Just as well. I doubted he was rooting for me anyway. Better this than open support for my opponent.

My opponent.

The thought made me nauseous. I swallowed hard and forced my mind to go blank as I followed him out. I couldn’t afford to think. I concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. We were at the arena all too soon.

As we rounded the last turn, I averted my eyes to the crowd I could already hear murmuring while they waited. I couldn’t bear to look at them just yet—not when I knew they were all here for Regan anyway. Just ahead, Al took a sharp left and darted through a doorway cut into the outer wall. I followed, relieved I wouldn’t have to enter through the high archway that faced the stands. At the end of a short hall, we took a right and ended inside a small holding room. No furniture. Just a dirt floor and a single window overlooking the arena floor.

The angle was wrong to see anyone in the stands and I was grateful. Through the small window, I scanned what I could see of the grassy ground floor where the competition would take place. There were a few obstacles strewn about: some boulders of varying sizes, a few uprooted trees, and even two dilapidated cars. It took me a moment to realize that the groupings were symmetrical. Three boulders, two trees, and a car on one side, and the same setup on the other side where another entrance had been cut into the wall. Regan’s door, I assumed.

At the sight of the duplicate courses, I felt relief so strong my eyes watered. Separate shows of strength; not against each other. I would face inanimate objects. Not my sister. This was doable.

I turned to find Al still hovering out in the hallway that led to backstage. Beyond him, the massive staging area was busy with bodies scurrying here and there. It seemed out of place, like backstage at a rock concert, the way they hurried about messing with cables and stage curtains and microphone cords.

I looked up at Al again and he regarded me with a somber expression. “Do you need anything?” he asked in a deep voice.

“No, thank you,” I said, knowing full well that even if I did need something, I sure as hell wasn’t asking him for it. He nodded with a small dip of his chin and pushed the door shut, sealing me in.

From here, I was on my own.

I wandered back to the window, trying to get my bearings—and not hyperventilate. The floor was dirt. The walls were wooden. It was cheaply constructed and hurriedly built. There was a cutout for a door leading into the arena, but no handle. Next to that, a bottle of water sat on the window sill. There was no glass fitted into the frame so I went to it and breathed in the fresh air. My wolf stained against the confines of the thick walls and, despite my trepidation, I hoped we wouldn’t be made to wait here for long.

I tried, finally, to look out into the crowd, but from this angle I could see only the stage. The crowd and the entrance itself were hidden from view. Not that I wanted to see the faces assembled, particularly, but I itched to lay eyes on Owen just once before it all began. Loneliness hit me like a punch in the gut. I wished, fleetingly, that I had called my mom after all.

From beyond the view of my little window, the crowd’s volume rose as a cheer sounded. I looked right and left, straining to see what had made them come to life. One face, heavily done up in crimson lipstick that contrasted boldly with her shining blonde hair, caught my eye as she made her way up the steps and across the stage. The crowd cheered and clapped at the sight of her. Sheridan smiled wide, soaking it in.

“Welcome to the Test of Strength. We are here to witness an age-old tradition, a selection process as old as our bloodline. A ritual with meaning, steeped in the same values and rights we hold so dear. Our rights as supernatural creatures—as wolves!” She paused as another cheer went up and I rolled my eyes at how well Sheridan could talk and talk without ever actually saying anything. “I give you the first contestant, Regan Vuk, daughter of Myra!"

From the opposite side of the stage, a door creaked open. Regan strode out and climbed onto the platform. She raised her hands in the air to greet the cheers of the pack like she was a great dictator. And they ate it up. They responded by cheering harder and louder.

She looked like an alpha: calm and composed and confident. Her outfit was identical to mine, but she seemed to wear it better. A makeshift crown, crafted from fresh flowers, was woven through her hair in a complicated twist. I doubted she’d done it herself, which only meant she’d had an entourage of help getting ready this morning, while I’d gotten ready alone.

Her solemn expression gave the impression she’d done this a thousand times before; facing her own sister in the arena would be no problem. Regan looked less like a human and more like a force of nature that had climbed free of the forest.

“Charlie Vuk, daughter of Anita,” Sheridan shouted.

And then my door was opening, too. The crowd roared as daylight splashed on my face. I kept my steps slow and even to hide my nerves as sunlight washed over me. I tried to embody all of those wonderful, powerful things I saw in Regan as I climbed up on the platform, but my heart beat erratically and painfully against my ribs.

My toe caught on an uneven plank of wood, and my foot slipped. I landed on my knees at the top of the steps.

Laughter.

It echoed around the stadium. Cheeks flaming, I straightened. The imagery that I’d basically bowed before Regan wasn’t lost on me. People were still cheering, but I didn't think they were cheering for me. They were calling out Regan's name. The crowd had already picked their winner.

I wanted to crawl back to my holding room and disappear.

But then a pale face among the rest caught my attention, and I looked up to see Owen gazing straight at me, as though the arena was completely empty of anybody but us. I remembered the feel of his lips on mine, his fingers laced through my own, his gentle words elevating me. He promised to be here for me, and he was.

It wasn’t easy, but I found composure about two seconds before I would have given up and dived off the stage into hiding. I even managed to raise a hand and wave for the audience, for whatever little it meant.

As I swept the crowd, I caught sight of Dad near the front. Al and Sylvia flanked him and behind him, glowering with arms crossed, was Carter’s dad. I looked away and shut them all out.

“Ladies.” Sheridan gestured to the ground below the stage. “Please take your places below.”

Regan gave me a little nod and walked to the stairs.

She shifted into her wolf form before she reached the ground. It was a smooth, rapid transition, and it cued renewed shouts of her name. Her wolf was tall and proud. Somehow, the flowers remained tangled in the ruff of hair around her face. It should have looked silly, but it didn't. She was beautiful and proud.

I shifted, too, just a moment later. My feet stretched into paws and I jerked at the last second, mostly out of nervousness. I hoped no one noticed as four paws landed on the hard dirt and I made my way to the center where grass softened my footfalls.

“As it has long been tradition for our pack, the contest for the position of alpha must begin with a demonstration of strength. Only the strong may dominate our pack.” Sheridan addressed the crowd, but I knew her words were mostly for my benefit. “Only the powerful can lead. It is on strong backs and mighty muscles that our future is forged, and so our alpha must be the strongest of them all!”

Cheers. Screams.

I was so glad that wolves couldn’t make facial expressions, because it meant nobody could tell that I was just about to throw up from nerves. I glanced sideways and found Owen, stoic and staring—unmoved by the reaction from the crowd. It helped calm me, but I forced myself to look away. The last thing I needed was Bevin standing up and yelling that I was making wolf-eyes at the enemy.

Sheridan went on, “In our first stage, the Test of Strength, Regan and Charlotte must demonstrate who is stronger by pushing each of these objects as far as possible in one shove. Ladies...”

I stared at Sheridan a second longer, waiting for the rest of her instructions. But she turned away, gesturing for us to move into position. Was that really it? I had been expecting a fight with a bear or something, but we just had to push some junk around?

On one hand, it kinda seemed too easy. But on the other hand, Regan had been training her entire life for exactly this kind of thing. I stole a glance and found that she wasn’t watching me. She was already in position, entirely focused on the task at hand.

Regan lowered her head and ran at the first boulder. She turned at the last second, and her shoulder connected with it. A crack split the air, like she was a stone herself.

The boulder rolled a few feet before stopping.

She looked at me expectantly. My turn.

I took a deep breath, drinking in the smells of the watching werewolves and vampires, and huffed it out again. I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and flung myself into the boulder with all of my strength. The shock of the impact jolted through my spine.

It rolled—and stopped within inches of hers.

Were the cheers a little less enthusiastic than before? I couldn’t tell over the ringing in my ears. I raised my triumphant eyes to Owen’s and found him smiling. He was the only smiling face among the vampires. They were all glassy-eyed and cold. His mother all but bared her teeth at me, and I shivered at the thought of having her as an in-law.

But the competition didn’t end with the boulder. For the next hour, we pushed bigger rocks, hefty logs, and even those junker cars around until my muscles burned and I couldn’t tell who was winning. My only comfort was that it seemed to exhaust Regan, too. Sheridan must have had the two of us push dozens of objects, some already set up and some brought out at various intervals by pack members.

It felt ridiculous. What kind of competition was this?

But Regan kept going, so I did too.

Eventually, Sheridan stopped us, and I tried not to flop to the ground. My tongue lolled out the side of my mouth. There was a collective pause and the crowd shifted as a man I remembered as Judas Prescott from the council meetings walked over and passed Sheridan an envelope. My muscles tightened as she tore it open and read the results.

“The winner of the first phase is—Charlotte!”

Shock and then excitement erupted through me, momentarily burning away the fatigue. I couldn’t believe it—I’d won. But my moment of glory was soon destroyed as Sheridan’s words sunk in. First phase?

The audience applauded politely as several pack members moved into the arena to clear it out. I sat on my haunches by the open doorway, watching with worry as the empty ground was repopulated with logs.

Regan shifted back to swig from her bottle of water. I didn’t dare do the same. It was harder to tell how scared and exhausted I was as a wolf.

It also gave me plenty of opportunity to study her expression. She wasn’t scared or worried. Her focus was laser-sharp, and losing the first phase had only sharpened it further. She analyzed the logs, scanned the crowd, and glanced at me. I saw her redouble her determination. Regan was just getting started, while I think I might have blown all my energy pushing rusted-out cars.

“A pack is not only led with brawn. It must shatter obstacles and crush its enemies. The second phase begins!” Sheridan announced. Her words echoed through the arena over the sudden and total silence in the stands. Pack members shot each other questioning looks. I could practically hear the question aloud: If we weren’t at war with the vampires anymore, then who were these enemies she spoke of?

Far back at the edge of the stands, near a break in the wooden walls, my attention caught on movement. I blinked and zeroed in using my wolf’s sight to make it out from so far away. A flash of pale skin caught my eye as an arm and then a hardened cheek slipped through the break in the wooden beams. Vampire—my hackles rose instinctually even as my mind still worked to identify the creature. But there was no mistaking my wolf’s intuition.

My gaze swung over to where Owen still sat with his family underneath the tent that had been set up to keep the sunlight off them. I counted faces quickly, but the same group was still present. No one was missing. I glanced back in time to see a pair of red eyes flash as they glared at me and then disappeared into the forest. I knew those eyes—they were the same ones I’d spotted in the forest the day Regan and I had hunted together. With everything else going on, I’d almost forgotten about him. But now I realized, whoever it was hadn’t forgotten about me. Someone was watching me. My wolf’s lips pulled back, baring my teeth at the spot I’d last seen the man. But my body’s internal warning system had quieted and I knew without looking that the man had gone.

I blinked at the sound of the crowd’s shouts and cheers, and realized Sheridan had begun talking again. I caught the last three or four words as she finished describing the rules of the second phase, but none of it registered.

I forced myself to forget about the strange vampire and focus on the contest.

Regan stepped into position first, opening her mouth wide to flash gleaming white teeth. The crowd responded with oohs and ahhs. Then, with a pointed look at me, she closed her jaws around one of the thickest logs. It had been quartered lengthwise so the entire circumference could fit in her mouth.

Regan clenched her jaw. A crack split the air. Wood chips sprayed.

She’d bit a tree in half.

I flinched as a chunk of wood hit me square between the eyes. I thought I heard muffled laughter but refused to acknowledge it. I kept my head high. Regan continued to split log after log. Chips of wood flew as she went. I squinted at her from across the arena, imaging her as a beaver instead of a wolf. Cheers from the wolf side of the stands echoed in my skull, magnifying my anxiety—and my temper. The crowd couldn’t be more obvious as to their favorite. Even the vamps were whispering and pointing. I held on to the anger, channeling it, using it to fuel my energy. It surged through me, but it wasn’t so much adrenaline as a rush of temper. It waned well before my turn came.

Sheridan called time. There was a pause while the pack elders counted.

“Twenty-three!” Judas Prescott yelled out.

The crowd roared. I didn’t look at them.

“Congratulations, Regan! I believe that’s a new record,” Sheridan called from the stage.

Regan passed me with unreadable eyes. Was that sympathy? Or smugness?

Sheridan called my name. I stepped forward until I stood in front of a log. Its bark was rough and brittle-looking. I knew that must make it easier to snap them. I told myself I would break through.

The crowd went silent.

“Time starts when you begin,” Sheridan called out.

I opened my jaw and slid it around the log. The wood was rough and tangy in my mouth. I took a breath and clamped down as hard as I could. Pain shot from my teeth to the nerve endings and all the way along my jaw. Other than that, nothing happened.

I felt my energy wane even as I applied another round of pressure.

A few chips of wood broke free and fell into my mouth. I choked and dropped the log. A few people booed.

I told myself it was because they didn’t want to see me fail—instead of the opposite.

I looked up at the sound of footsteps. Sheridan’s expression was neutral. Too neutral. “Charlotte, do you need a moment? Some water?”

I didn’t trust myself to shift right now. Not in front of all these people. Not with this much anxiety. My luck, I’d shift back without pants or something.

“Would you like another try?” she asked.

Part of me wanted to refuse, to prove I could do this and do it better than Regan. I wanted to be tougher, to prove myself. But to my horror, when I opened my mouth to try again, a whine came out. I planted my paws and covered the whine with a growl, but Sheridan wasn’t fazed.

“All right. Go ahead and try again.” Sheridan gestured to the log but didn’t retreat to the stage. The message was clear: This wouldn’t take much longer.

I bent down and slid the log into my mouth. I ignored the way my tongue went dry at the taste of the wood and increased the pressure of my jaw. Nothing. I adjusted my teeth so that my molars were leveraged against the flat side of the log. I bit down. Like before, pain shot from my teeth up into my gums.

I bit harder.

A few chips came loose and fell at my feet. I held the pose for a few more seconds, the last drops of energy draining fast. With a final crack, the log split in two and I collapsed to the ground. The crowd went wild.

I watched Sheridan’s polished shoes turn and retreat to the stage. My muscles screamed at me, begging me to stay put, to give in and lie here until it all went away. I gritted my teeth and pulled myself up to standing. I didn’t look at Regan. Or Owen. Or anyone.

“The winner of the second phase is—Regan!” Sheridan’s voice echoed from the microphone. The crowd cheered. She waited them out before speaking again. “We’ll reconvene in one hour for phase three. Refreshments are available in the outer walkway. Enjoy!”

The sound of shuffling feet merged with the hum of blending voices as the audience made their way up the bleacher-steps or huddled into groups. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sea of pale faces as they filed toward the stairs and into the outer hallway that ran behind the stadium. I thought I caught sight of Owen just before he was swallowed up by his family and their army of bodyguards. He wasn’t smiling.

A lump formed in my throat. I hated this moment. I hated the Test of Strength. I hated my father, that I wanted his approval, and my mother for not preparing me for this.

“Charlie,” Regan called. “Come on.” She gestured with a nod toward the backstage area Sheridan had left through. “We’re supposed to wait back here.”

“Coming.” I followed her back, hating how empty my voice sounded.

But mostly, I hated how much I wanted a family—and how much I was willing to go through to get one.