Following Bjorin's victory, before the cloud of dust on the field could even settle, fresh snarls began to echo from the dark tunnels beneath the arena. The Southern emissaries and the leaders of the Eastern clans could not stomach Bjorin kneeling before me—nor could they tolerate centuries-old traditions being trampled by a single decree of mine. Whispers rippled through the stands like the hissing of serpents.
Thousands of Betas, searching for titles and land, yearning to belong to a pack, inhaled the dense scent of blood filling the air. They growled amongst themselves, sharpening their teeth as they waited for the next display of brutality.
"They are watching," I murmured toward Varg, making no effort to mask the dominant frequency in my voice. "I can see how those ancient clans backing Violet are gnawing their teeth. They want to use your past as a weapon to destroy my present."
