He was losing. My mate was losing.
The reality crashed over me like a wave. Darius was on his knees in the sand, blood dripping from cuts and wounds, his body shaking with the effort of trying to stand.
And he couldn't.
Through the bond, I felt everything. His pain. His exhaustion. His wolf howling inside him, desperate to keep fighting but trapped in a body that had reached its limit.
My own wolf was going insane. Clawing at my insides. Howling. Screaming for me to do something, anything, to help our mate.
But what could I do? The challenge was sacred. Binding. I wasn't allowed to interfere.
I could only watch.
"Yield, Fenrir," Gideon said, standing over Darius with satisfaction written across his face. "It's over. You've lost."
"Not yet," Darius gasped, trying again to push himself up. His arms gave out, and he collapsed back down. The wet sound of his body hitting the blood-soaked sand made my stomach turn.
The crowd was going wild.
"Wicke's going to win!"
