Intuition

The arena was packed with eager viewers before that day’s rounds even began. Flint and Eve sat in the Alpha’s block of seats along with Elijah, Ashley, and Evan.

“Duncan will be the winner.” Ashley thought aloud.

“Don’t be so sure. Graham isn’t as strong but he’s just as fast.” Elijah stated.

“What do you think?” Evan looked at Flint.

“I think it’ll be a long fight.” He smirked as he gave a vague response.

The sound of a loud buzzer echoed over the speakers. Everyone quieted down and focused on the scene below. The trimmed grass had a cluster of trees in the center and a bit of water had been collecting at the bottom of the small hill to the east.

“Duncan Reilly. Twenty eight years old. East entrance. He is undefeated in the tournament thus far. That’s fourteen wins.” The announcer’s voice came over the speakers.

All eyes turned to see a large, muscular wolf enter the field. The crowd clapped and cheered but the commander didn’t seem to pay them any attention. His gaze was fixed on the door where his opponent would be emerging. Another loud buzzer quieted the stands of pack members.

“Graham Monroe. Thirty two years old. West entrance. We’ve seen one draw from him in this tournament. That’s thirteen wins, one loss.” The intercom crackled back to life.

A tall, slender gray wolf appeared from the door. The opponents met one another’s gaze, standing perfectly still. They were sizing one another up, it was obvious. Through the mindlink Eve felt Duncan’s determination, as well as Graham’s confidence. Flint glanced at his mate with furrowed brows.

“What is it?” He whispered.

“Nothing...” She shook her head.

“Eve, tell me.” Flint replied firmly.

“Duncan is the commander of the warriors and he graduated top of his class from specialist training. He’s undefeated so far. Graham is an intellectual with no formal warrior training, and he was forced to a draw in the early rounds.” Eve thought aloud.

Her mate nodded, waiting to for her to reveal her point.

“Why is he so confident?” She breathed curiously. “He has no doubt. Not a shred.”

Flint turned back to the arena where the wolves were circling one another.

“Interesting.” He acknowledged.

Duncan darted toward the other wolf. He stopped just shy of him, as if testing his reactions. Graham had no reaction to the provocation, he simply stared at his opponent knowingly. Duncan seemed confused by this for a moment before he ran into the cluster of trees.

Graham seemed to have been expecting this. He circled the trees several times without entering, inhaling the air. Duncan lept onto his back when he was walking away. The commander dug his teeth into the scruff of Graham’s neck. A moment later, he flung the wolf into the foliage nearby.

Duncan dashed toward the area but stopped before entering the weeds. He was confused. More so than even before. Feeling this, Eve stood to get a better view of what was happening below. Graham was gone. He had seemingly disappeared.

Duncan began to back away, as if he were calculating his next moves. Graham jumped from one of the tree tops, landing on Duncan’s spine with all four of his paws. Flint rose to his feet with furrowed brows as the scene unfolded.

Graham grabbed Duncan’s throat and attempted to pin him to ground. The commander refused not to fight. His struggling tore his skin, spilling his blood. Eve grabbed her mate’s forearm worriedly. Neither one could involve themselves in the tournament, even if things were spiraling out of control.

This maneuver was referred to as a deadly move. It was finished by grabbing of the front of a wolf’s throat and twisting your jaws until their neck broke or was ripped open. Deadly moves weren’t prohibited during the Beta tournament. They simply never had been.

However, they were looked down upon highly. To threaten the life of a pack member meant to threaten to weaken the pack. To do this so blatantly, under the guise of claiming the power to protect the pack, made it even worse.

Duncan continued to fight and snarl, as if he would allow Graham to kill him before he resigned himself to lose. Eve’s heart was pounding in her chest. Any action she took would negatively impact her, Flint, and the tournament itself. Still, she couldn’t simply do nothing.

“Flint. What do we do?” She whispered.

He didn’t respond. His attention was fixed on the fight below. He narrowed his gaze, spotting a weak point. He knew he shouldn’t interfere, but he didn’t plan on watching the commander of his warriors die either.

Kick upward. Thirty degree turn. His chest. Flint’s wolf crossed Duncan’s pained and blurry mind.

The wolf pushed back until he could swing both his front paws in the same direction. Upward and directly into Graham’s chest. This pushed the air from him, forcing him to gasp and release his grip. Duncan scrambled away. He eyed his opponent furiously while trying to calm his senses down.

Eve looked at her mate who glanced at her with a small smirk. He had done something. She could feel it, even if he would never audibly admit to it. Graham managed to catch his breath before he ran way from Duncan, circling the cluster of trees.

The commander waited for the wolf to emerge from the other side but he didn’t. Duncan heaved a breath. He was getting frustrated at his opponents style of fighting. More than that, he felt Graham had posed an imminent threat to his life. And he did so without any real cause or reason. As if it had been his plan all along.

He backed away from the trees and, surprisingly, he closed his eyes. The wind blew and his ears ticked to the right. Duncan inhaled deeply as the air changed direction. One of his ears twitched before a knowing feeling crept over him.

Eve watched him with fascination. He had chosen to listen to his other senses when his opponent obscured his vision. He did so with such efficiency and confidence that the crowd seemed to be waiting for his next movements on bated breath.

With his eyes still closed, Duncan darted across the field and around the cluster of trees. He opened them only upon leaping into the thicket to the north. Flint smiled a bit at the sound of the confrontation in the shadows. He heard Duncan’s paws bounce off a log and he heard the commander’s familiar growl as he clamped his jaws on his opponent.

He dragged Graham out of the shadows by skin on his neck. He struggled for freedom but he was severely outmatched in strength. Duncan continued pulling him roughly to the other end of the field. He wanted to take away Graham’s ability to hide.

Still, when they reached the southern part of the arena, the commander released him and took a step back. The gesture was obvious. Duncan wanted a fair fight, out in the open. And he hadn’t humiliated him by defeating him while holding him like a mother does her pups; though he could have.

Graham stood and faced the wolf. He gave a brief nod before Duncan ran at him again. He darted under the larger wolf, grabbing his tail. He pulled it under the commander’s stomach before his opponent stumbled and fell.

Duncan grabbed the wolf in his jaws before he even stood and recovered. He clenched the wolf’s ribs in his jaws until Graham’s snarl sounded sharp and pained. He tossed him to ground roughly. Graham lay still, unmoving. Flint stood once more with his mate at his side to exam the fight more closely.

Graham didn’t even seem to be breathing. The arena grew silent. Duncan took a few steps toward his opponent, sniffing the air. He smelled alive but he wasn’t moving a muscle. The commander approached him and nudged him with his snout quickly. He then immediately took a step away.

Somehow, between Duncan touching Graham and moving away, Graham launched himself off the ground. He clasped the front of Duncan’s throat again but this time he pushed his paw into Duncan’s spinal injury. The commander’s blood was coating the front of his chest fur.

Duncan continued fighting but he was getting light headed. Graham never twisted his jaws but if he had, his opponent’s neck would have snapped. Once unconscious, Graham released him. Duncan turned back into his human form. His mate rushed out of the west entrance to cover him with a sheet.

The loud buzzer sounded again.

“Graham Monroe. Thirty Two years old. Wins by forced shifting.” The announcer sounded a bit shocked, as were the audience.