Knotting His Rejected Breeder

Destiny stood still for a long second. The shock flickered in her chest, but it died almost instantly under the sheer, terrifying weight of what was waiting for them at dawn.

"We don’t have time to fight about who’s stupider," she whispered, her voice dropping low and raspy. "When that gate opens... I’m not standing back like a sheep."

Dane looked down at her, his eyes dark. "Destiny—"

"I mean it," she said, stepping right into his space, her whole body shaking with a wild, desperate edge. "If one of them gets past you, I’ll bite, I’ll scratch, I’ll tear out whatever I can reach with my teeth before they take me down. I am not dying quietly."

Dane reached out, his heavy, bruised hand catching the side of her neck, his thumb holding her chin steady. For a second, the cold corridor vanished between them, locked in the sharp, terrifying reality of their shared breath.

"Stay behind Henrik," Dane said, his voice low and hard as iron. "And if anyone gets past me... you tear their eyes out."

The tallow candle in the corridor burned down to a black smear of cold grease long before the footsteps returned.

When the heavy oak door was kicked wide, the morning light pouring down the hallway archway was pale, thin, and freezing.

"Out," the lead guard barked, striking the butt of his ash staff against the flags with a sharp thud. "Sun’s hitting the wall."

Dane stood up slowly from the wooden crate, his knee joints popping in the quiet cellar. He didn’t ask for water. He didn’t offer a prayer. He just wiped his bloody knuckles on his wool trousers, squared his broad shoulders, and stepped toward the door.

Sonia stepped into his path. Her eyes were swollen and red, but she wasn’t crying anymore. She reached out with shaking fingers and straightened the scuffed collar of his jacket, holding onto the wool for a brief, desperate second before forcing herself to let go.

"You are the Alpha of Bloodmoon," she said, her voice tight, trembling, yet fiercely rigid. "You walk out there like one."

Dane nodded once. "I will."

They walked into the stone passage together. Ramon walked at his son’s right shoulder, his jaw set like iron, his hands jammed deep into his belt. Henrik and Hannah followed right behind, Henrik’s eyes darting continuously toward the guards’ throats, a pale, unconscious claw extending slightly against his thigh as his wolf twitched under the unbearable stress.

Destiny trailed at the back, her stomach twisted into a cold, sour knot. As they passed the dark alcove where Dane had held her, her eyes met his for a fraction of a second, settling the grim, silent pact between them.

They climbed the final flight of stone steps until the gloom broke open into the sharp, blinding glare of dawn at the eastern archway.

The courtyard was packed to capacity.

The central sixty-foot dirt ring had been swept entirely clean of gravel and loose debris. On the raised stone tiers surrounding it, wolves from all twenty packs sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the morning chill.

They weren’t laughing or posturing like they had been during the ceremony the night before. They sat in heavy, expectant silence, wrapped in thick wool coats, passing around leather jugs of bitter ale to keep the frost off their lips.

They were waiting to see Bloodmoon’s arrogant new Alpha pay for spitting on the summit.

Vance sat on a low wooden bench near the main gate under a dark, heavy cloak. Aurora stood half a step behind him, her silver dress replaced by a plain travel tunic, her arms folded tightly across her chest, her jaw set as she stared blankly at the dirt ring.

A low, dangerous murmur swept across the stands as Dane stepped out into the open light.

"Back to the wall!" the lead guard bellowed, slamming his staff sideways to shove Ramon and Sonia out of the dirt circle.

"Clear the floor, old man," another guard grunted, grabbing Henrik’s coat sleeve to force him back.

Henrik’s lip pulled back over his teeth, a low snarl rattling deep in his chest as he dropped his shoulder to shove back, but Ramon caught him by the back of his belt and hauled him firmly into line against the stone wall.

"Stand down, Henrik!" Ramon growled under his breath, his grip bruising through the tunic. "Don’t give them an excuse."

Destiny tried to stay at Dane’s side, but the lead guard’s ash staff slammed hard across her chest, driving the air out of her lungs and cutting her off.

"Not you," the guard growled. "Back against the stone."

"He said both of us!" Destiny choked out, clutching her bruised ribs as she tried to push past the wood shaft. "Vance said I stand in the ring!"

The guard shoved her back hard. Her heels caught on an uneven flagstone, and she stumbled sideways before Henrik caught her by the shoulder, his fingers digging into her arm as he hauled her back against the wall next to Sonia.

"Keep your mouth shut," Henrik growled in her ear, his jaw tight with fear. "You give them a reason, they’ll put a spear through your neck before the first fight even starts."

Dane didn’t turn around to look at her. He walked straight out to the center of the sixty-foot circle of dirt, stopped, and turned his body to face Vance’s bench. The morning wind whipped through his dark hair, but he didn’t shiver.

Vance didn’t stand up. He raised his right hand, his fingers flicking lazily toward the iron gate near the lower stables.

"First," Vance announced, his voice carrying clearly across the silent, frosty yard.

The iron latch clattered open with a loud metallic strike.

A young wolf stepped out onto the dirt. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, broad-shouldered and stiff, wearing the dark leather colors of a northern border pack. He held a short iron arming sword, his knuckles chalk-white around the leather grip, his breath rising in thick white clouds in the freezing morning air. He looked up at his Alpha in the stands—desperate to prove he was worthy of taking Silvercrest’s prize and then turned his eyes on Dane.

Dane stood in the middle of the yard. He didn’t draw a weapon. He didn’t drop into a fighting stance. He just stood in the freezing mud, his arms hanging loose at his sides, and watched the boy close the distance.

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