The moon rises over the clearing and two hundred wolves hold their breath.
Torches ring the combat ground—ancient tradition, fire marking the boundaries of a fight that predates civilization.
Lia stands across from me, unbound, wolf pressing close to her surface, and I realize with a cold jolt that exile hasn't weakened her as much as I assumed.
"Last chance to reconsider, sister," Lia rolls her shoulders. "Execution would be faster and less embarrassing."
"I've been embarrassed by you my entire life. What's one more evening?" I’m not giving her the slightest chance to win this argument.
"You always were stubborn," my sister hisses. "Even wolfless and pathetic, you refused to accept your place."
"I know my place, Lia. Yours turned out to be a traitor in zip ties. Life has a sense of humor, huh?" I manage to force a sort of smile.
"Humor won't save you when my teeth are in your throat."
"Enough posturing," Elder Thomas steps between us. "Luna Thalia, do you confirm your challenge under ancient law?"
"I confirm."
"Lia Turner, do you accept the terms? Victory grants you the right to petition for reduced sentencing. Defeat grants the Luna the killing strike."
"I accept," Lia bares her teeth. "I've been waiting years for the chance to put my sister on the ground where she belongs."
"Then by the authority of the Silvermoon council and the traditions of our ancestors—BEGIN."
Lia shifts first—fast, explosive, dark fur erupting in a burst of speed. She's leaner than I remember, exile stripping bulk, but terrifyingly quick.
Her jaws catch my shoulder mid-transformation, tearing through the space between human skin and wolf fur.
Blood scatters across torchlit earth. The crowd gasps.
I complete my shift through agony—white fur flooding, my wolf surging forward. I wheel to face her, shoulder bleeding freely, mapping her patterns with the precision of a woman who read opponents for a living.
She circles left. Always left—I remember from childhood, watching her train while I sat sidelined. She favors her right foreleg, which means feint right, strike left.
I'm already moving, but her speed is punishing—claws rake my flank, opening three burning lines.
"She's faster than our Luna," someone whispers.
"Watch Thalia's positioning. She's reading the pattern."
"Lia trained for this her whole life. The White Luna came to her wolf late."
Lia presses with viciousness powered by decades of resentment. Every strike carries the weight of jealousy—snapping at my legs, my throat, my wounded shoulder, driving me backward in a retreat that looks like defeat.
Her jaws find my ear and tear. Blood streams down my head. I stumble and she's on me, pressing her weight, teeth closing around my scruff in a dominance hold.
"Yield." The word travels through body language and pressure. "Submit to me the way you should have years ago."
"You've been telling me that since we were kids. The answer hasn't changed."
"It will when I break your spine."
I go still beneath her grip—deliberately, completely. Every wolf watching reads it as submission. Lia adjusts her grip, repositioning for the killing hold.
The adjustment shifts her weight half an inch right.
I explode upward. Two hundred pounds of white wolf launching from underneath, spine arching, force that sends Lia tumbling across the clearing. She hits the torch line and scrambles up, but I'm already moving.
Not retreating. Attacking.
My wolf hits her broadside with the full momentum of weeks of war. We crash together—jaws snapping, claws tearing, blood from both of us painting the earth.
"There she is," Kieran's voice carries from the sideline, rough with emotion. "That's my Luna."
"Come on, Thalia!" Lysander, somewhere to the right. "She's favoring the left—press the right flank!"
"Mom's got this," Phoenix says with quiet certainty that carries further than shouting. "Look at her eyes. She's done being hit."
I fight the way I survived—through endurance, through pain, through absolute refusal.
The wolfless girl who ran pregnant through forests. The single mother who raised three children on will and spite.
The Luna who held a pack together while her world fractured. That woman doesn't lose to jealousy wearing a pretty face.
My jaws close on Lia's foreleg and wrench sideways. Bone snaps, and Lia's howl of agony splits the night.
She lunges at my throat. I sidestep, redirect her into the ground with a slam that drives breath from her lungs. She scrambles up, and I knock her down. She rises—slower, broken leg dragging.
"Stay down, Lia."
"Never! I'll never stop fighting you."
She lunges one final time. I meet her with everything. My wolf crashes into her broken side, driving her to earth. My jaws close around her throat—not crushing, but holding with absolute authority.
Lia goes limp. I shift back—naked, bleeding, human hand replacing wolf's jaws. She shifts too, compelled, human beneath my grip.
Two sisters in the dirt, with blood between them. Silence from the pack.
"Do it!" Lia whispers beneath my palm. "Kill me and prove you're the savage I always said you were."
"I'm not what you said. I'm what you made me."
"Then finish it. Pack law demands the strike."
"Is that what you want? A quick death that turns you into a martyr? The tragic sister murdered by the monster who stole everything?"
"I want you to feel what taking a life does to your hands. I want that weight sitting on your chest every night until you die."
"You orchestrated the crippling of my husband. Sent hunters after my daughter. Destroyed four families in this pack," my hand tightens. "Don't talk to me about weight."
"You were always too soft for this, Thalia. Too weak to do what needs doing. Even now, with your claws at my throat, you're hesitating because somewhere inside you still love me."
"I stopped loving you the night you locked me in my room during my first heat."
"Then why aren't I dead yet?"
"Killing you is what you want. Dying now serves your narrative—the wronged sister, destroyed by the pack that chose poorly. My hands on your throat would validate everything you've ever believed about yourself."
"So what? You'll keep me alive out of spite?"
"Mercy is a power you never understood, and watching me exercise it will burn worse than any killing strike."
"That's not mercy. That's cruelty dressed in kindness."
"Learned it from the best, didn't I?"
Then—
"Mom," Phoenix's voice from the crowd, small and clear. "Whatever you choose, we're here."
Lia's eyes find mine. Beneath the hatred—fear. Raw, animal fear of the death she's goading me toward.
She wants me to kill her, wants the martyrdom that proves she was right.
My claws extend. Press against her pulse point. Her blood hammering beneath my fingers—rapid, terrified, alive.
The pack waits, but I hesitate.