It was supposed to be a test of willpower and toughness, but it was more of a test of what the gang thought of you. If they didn’t want you to make it out alive, you wouldn’t.
I looked down the lines. Some of the wolves were my buddies. Others were older wolves who hadn’t been thrilled with taking orders from a teenager when I first took over. And then there were Price and Manuel. Price would try to kill me for sure. Manuel — who the fuck knew what he’d do.
I hoped to hell that most of the pack thought I’d been a good alpha. And I stepped between the lines.
The first bite was a nip, barely enough to draw blood. The second wasn’t much harder. But those were from wolves who liked me. Next up was one of Price’s buddies. He sank his teeth deep into my thigh. It hurt like fuck, and he tore the muscle. When I tried to take another step, my knee buckled. I nearly fell on my face.
It was just barely within the laws. He hadn’t made it impossible to walk, just really fucking difficult. After that, I was concentrating so hard on balancing with one leg that couldn’t bear much weight, I barely noticed the next two bites.
Then I got to Price. The line-up was in order of seniority, with older members first, so I had to face him three steps in. His yellow eyes were blazing with hate. Wolves can’t break pack laws, but we can bend them. I thought he’d go for my other leg. If he did, I figured I’d crawl to the end and hope that was good enough.
Price lunged up, his mouth stretched wide open like the shark in fucking Jaws, and bit me in the chest.
A wolf can crush the thigh bone of a moose. And that’s a regular wolf, not a shifter. Werewolves are much stronger than that.
Price didn’t bite as hard as he could have, or he’d have killed me instantly and broken pack law. But he bit hard enough. A bunch of my ribs snapped like twigs.
I’d been injured before, but nothing remotely like that. One second my leg was a mess but I was basically okay, the next second I was dying. All the strength went out of me. My whole body felt like fucking dead weight. I could barely breathe.
I knew I’d die if I didn’t get through the gauntlet and then to a doctor, fast. But my willpower was pouring out of me along with my blood. I was so tired, the thought of letting myself collapse was really tempting. I knew they’d kill me if I did, but at least I wouldn’t have to keep walking.
My wolf howled, Stay on your feet!
So I did. I have no fucking idea how I managed it, when I was on the verge of passing out and one leg wouldn’t take my weight. But I somehow managed to stumble forward. It was maybe ten steps, but it felt like ten miles. No idea what the other wolves did to me. Whatever it was, I didn’t feel it. Everything started fading out, even my wolf.
I realized that I was blacking out. I slapped myself across the face. It worked. My head cleared a little, and my vision came back.
I was at the end of the line, facing the last wolf to join my pack. Manuel.
He could take me out if he wanted, easy. One more hard bite, and I’d go down.
Manuel closed his jaws over my hand and pressed his fangs into my skin, as if he was picking up something he didn’t want to damage. He didn’t even draw blood.
I thought, He is like me. I wouldn’t hurt anyone who couldn’t fight back, either.
Knowing I’d done the right thing, even if it had killed me, gave me enough strength to take one more step.
And then I was past the line. I would’ve kept going, because I was so fixated on stay on your feet, but that last step took everything I had. My knees buckled and I pitched forward. I thought I’d crack my head open — the whole thing went down in this nasty dark alley — but someone caught me. Then everything went black anyway.
I came to in a car. Manuel was burning rubber out of there. I was slumped down in the passenger seat. Blood was fucking everywhere — my clothes, his clothes, the seat, the floor, even the passenger window. If it hadn’t been the middle of the night, we’d have been pulled over for sure.
I asked, “Where...?”
That was all I could get out, but he knew what I meant.
He said, “To the medic.”
I knew what he meant, too. There was a sleazy underground shifter medic the gang used to go to for anything that wouldn’t heal on its own. I’m not sure if he even had a license, let alone what it was, but he had medical supplies and more or less knew what he was doing.
It might be different where you come from, but in America, shifters don’t go to hospitals if we can possibly avoid it. Human doctors notice that we’re healing too fast. Shifters who go to hospitals and don’t get out quick enough disappear sometimes. I always figured there was some creepy government agency grabbing shifters and doing who the fuck knows what horrible things to them.
Even apart from the “ratting me out to mad scientists” thing, I had about a hundred outstanding warrants and if the black ops didn’t get me, I’d go to jail for the next thirty years. But I couldn’t go to the medic either. If Price took over the pack, he’d be gunning for me, and that’d be the first place he’d look. And my injuries were way out of that guy’s league anyway.
“No,” I said.
“The ER?” Manuel asked. “I know it’s risky, but if it’s your only shot...”
I shook my head.