Wolf Shunned, Special Edition Rewrite

Chapter 1

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Kaliya

 

Sweat traced an icy path down my temple as I faced my fallen opponents, my blunted practice swords gleaming dully in the mid-morning sun. Four young warriors lay scattered across the training ring like autumn leaves after a storm, their pride wounded more deeply than their bodies. The bitter scent of their frustration hung heavy in the air, almost masking the metallic tang of blood from split lips and bloody noses.

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I should have felt satisfaction. Instead, my wolf prowled beneath my skin, hungry for a real challenge. My hands fingers flexed on the hilts of my swords, relieving the pressure from my sweaty grip and betraying my impatience.

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These males thought they were warriors—the pack's newest fighters, the hope of our people. Yet here they lay, bested by a female they'd sworn could never match them. My lips curled into a savage smile as I watched them struggle to their feet, their movements heavy with exhaustion and wounded ego.

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"Again," I commanded, my voice low and deadly.

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Behind me, Emory's gentle tone carried across the ring. "Kaliya..." A warning, wrapped in velvet. Even he, my oldest friend, knew better than to truly challenge me when I was in the ring.

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I silenced him by slamming my practice swords together overhead, the clash of steel echoing through the morning air. "AGAIN!"

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They came at me as one this time—a desperate strategy born of repeated failure. I moved like liquid lightning through their midst, my blades singing as they found their marks. Each strike I landed would have been fatal with my true weapons, but these training blades merely left bruises to remember me by. Not that they were honoring the rules of engagement; every "killed" warrior sprang back into the fight, desperate to land just one blow against the woman making them look like untrained pups.

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The air shifted—a familiar crackle of energy that made my skin prickle. One of them had finally snapped.

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The transformation was explosive: human flesh erupting into mottled brown fur, bones cracking and reforming until a massive wolf stood in the ring, easily twice the size of his human form. Pearly fangs gleamed as he snarled, slaver dripping from powerful jaws. His pack mates scattered, retreating beyond the wooden fence as we circled each other in a deadly dance.

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They expected me to shift—to answer challenge with challenge, wolf to wolf. It's what any other warrior would do.

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But I was no other warrior.

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My own wolf raged against her bonds, her frustrated growl reverberating through my chest. She yearned to put this pup in his place, to remind him why even the strongest males thought twice before challenging me. But I held her back, even as the massive wolf before me grew bolder with each passing second.

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He feinted left, testing my reflexes with snapping jaws and flashing teeth. I met his dark gaze steadily, reading his intentions in the tension of his muscles, the shift of his weight. When he finally charged—drunk on false confidence—I was ready.

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I heard Emory's sharp intake of breath as I launched myself into the air, body twisting to land precisely behind the wolf's massive head. My practice swords clattered forgotten to the ground as I locked my right arm around his throat, using my left to secure my hold while he bucked and thrashed beneath me. His fur was coarse against my skin, his muscles rippling with desperate strength as he tried to throw me off.

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But I had years of experience subduing larger opponents, and his struggles grew weaker as my chokehold denied him air. A pitiful whine escaped his throat—surrender coming too late to save his dignity. I held on until his fur began to recede, until the massive wolf shrank back into an unconscious, naked human, sprawled in the dirt like a sorry shadow of his canine form.

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I released him and stood, brushing dust from my leather pants as his pack mates rushed to check his breathing. Relief colored their scents when they found him alive—relief that quickly soured to rage.

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"You psycho bitch!" The largest of them spat. "You could have killed him!"

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I retrieved my fallen swords with deliberate calm, wiping the first blade clean on my thigh with methodical precision. "He should have thought of that before shifting during a training session and challenging a stronger wolf." I met his gaze coolly. "He's lucky I didn't kill him."

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"You're full of shit," he sneered, puffing up as if he were about to make the same mistake his friend had. "I bet any of us could take you—you just don't want anyone to see your freak of a wolf. No wonder you spent so much time learning sword fighting; your wolf just isn't up for the challenge of a real male. Frigid bitch."

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My wolf's answering snarl echoed in my mind, but I forced myself to focus on cleaning my second blade. I had nothing to prove to this pup, I reminded myself. Nothing to gain by—

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A pale streak crossed my vision, and my heart stopped.

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The crack of fist meeting face split the morning air. "You fucking apologize, pup!" Emory's voice rang with righteous fury.

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I turned in time to see the inevitable: the much stronger wolf's uppercut caught Emory square on the jaw, sending his lean frame flying. He landed hard in the dirt, still and silent, and something in me snapped.

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My wolf strained against my inner chains as I moved, but I kept her contained—barely. One swift spinning kick took the bully's legs from under him; another second had him face-down in the dirt, my knee in his back and my blunted swords crossed at his throat.

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"There is no honor in beating a weaker foe," I hissed, pressing steel against vulnerable flesh. "But for you, I may make an exception. You seem slow to learn your lessons."

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"He attacked me first!" The words squeezed past my double blades, his scent souring with fear.

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I leaned closer, letting him feel the weight of my disgust. "He's not a challenge to you, as you well know. You beat him because you could—the mark of a coward, not a warrior." I withdrew my swords and stood, delivering a sharp kick that sent him sprawling. "Don't ask for my help again until you know your place."

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By the time I reached Emory, he was stirring, shaking dirt and straw from his wavy brown hair. He offered me a crooked grin that immediately turned to a wince. "Ow. Tell me he didn't break my face?" He rose to his full height—a good half-foot taller than my five-foot-seven—and bent down for my inspection. The familiar scent of chocolate and cinnamon washed over me, soothing my frayed nerves.

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I traced his sharp jawline with gentle fingers, checking for damage. "Your pretty face is safe," I assured him, following the elegant curve below his ear to his cleft chin. "It'll swell, but you'll be back to breaking hearts by sunset." I brushed dirt from his broad shoulders, trying not to linger on the lean muscle beneath his shirt. "That was stupid, by the way. You know he outranks you, even as a pup."

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Emory shrugged, rolling up his sleeves with careful precision. "He shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You're doing them a favor, and they're too blind to see it." His warm brown eyes met mine, sparking with mischief. "If your wolf wants to teach them a proper lesson, I could take a walk. By the time I return with the healers, she should be finished."

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A laugh escaped me despite the earlier tension. "Tempting, but Alpha might object to me decimating his newest warriors. They're young—they'll learn."

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He wrapped a lean arm around my shoulders, squeezing gently. "You're too kind, Kaliya. If it were me, I'd unleash the beast and give them all an epic beat-down. Once would be enough."

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"As a male, that might work," I sighed as we followed the wooded path toward the village. "As a female, I shouldn't be able to do what I do. It's bad enough that I've defeated nearly every male our age and older. Destroying the younger ones would just be cruel."

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Emory fell silent, thoughtful. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft. "A younger wolf may be your only chance, Kali."

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He didn't finish the thought. He didn't have to.

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At nineteen, I had mere months to find a mate before facing exile from the only home I'd ever known. It was a cruel rule, but one born of necessity: wolves had to contribute to the pack's survival, and our prime breeding years came early. Between the constant threat of the night stalkers—wraiths, creatures, whatever you wanted to call the beasts that hunted us in the dark—and our own violent nature, we needed every advantage to avoid extinction.

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The rule was simple: find a mate by twenty, or leave the pack. In our history, they'd only enforced it once.

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I was beginning to think I'd be the second.

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Emory faced the same deadline—we'd been born minutes apart—but his problem was simpler. He was everything a female should want: tall and lean-muscled, with sharp features that drew appreciative glances and a brilliant mind that put others to shame. In a world where we chose our own mates, he'd have been claimed years ago.

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But people didn't choose their mates. Their wolves did.

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His wolf needed a female submissive enough to accept him, while mine... mine had yet to meet a male strong enough to make her submit.

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The process was brutally simple: a male issued a mate challenge, and if he could force submission, the pairing was made. The stronger the match, the stronger the resulting pups would be, so every male tried to claim the most dominant female he could handle. It was a terrible tradition, and it chafed at my sense of self to know that even the most powerful females I knew had been selected by submission.

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The one mercy was that while a male could force the challenge, he couldn't force the mating itself. A female had to accept him fully to seal the bond, even if it took years to earn her trust.

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My situation was more complicated. I'd already defeated most of the eligible males in our pack, including our Beta—though he'd been little more than a pup himself when he'd challenged me at fifteen. He'd spent the five years since then pretending I didn't exist, his pride still scarred from the beating I'd given him.

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My only hope lay in the upcoming Clan Gathering at Blackwood Fortress. Every five years, all five packs in our territory came together for games, information exchange, and—most importantly—mate selection. The challenges would begin on the Summer Solstice, when the nights were shortest and our wolves empowered by the endless sunlight.

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I knew Emory hoped to find a younger, more submissive female there—though like me, he couldn't stomach the thought of claiming a fifteen-year-old, no matter how well-matched their wolves might be.

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I was just praying that somewhere among the thousands of wolves in our territory, there was one dominant enough to match me.

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Surely, there had to be one.

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The alternative didn't bear thinking about.