Chapter 18: Interlude

The alpha stopped short of the city, calling to his beta in a low, threatening growl. "Ambrose. To me."

The dog stopped in his tracks, about to head to his den and sleep. After days of trotting through this godforsaken jungle, he was so tired. And all for nothing, the Feka figuring out a way to close their settlement to them.

The alpha would only call him short of the gates for one reason; a challenge was about to be initiated. Pride kicked in, Ambrose standing tall on his two legs to face the alpha. "Yes, sire?"

"You have failed me for the last time. Face me, and prove you should be allowed to live."

"Of course, sire." The beta wolf trembled but strode forward, facing his death with dignity. The other Stalkers looked on, not saying anything. The city's noise filtered through the air, but outside the gates, all was still. The rest of the troops had already entered the town, their canine brains not advanced enough to know what was happening.

The Stalkers had seen this play out countless times before, each beta failing the alpha somehow and losing in a challenge. They made a semicircle, long wolfish faces grim.

The Shadowalkers lost their third in command at the first battle of Dunbar, the human setting him on fire with his magical powers. After this battle, there would be a power struggle for beta of the city. The alpha wanted it this way, most likely. Keeping his second-in-command combat-ready was his top priority. Even a group of three Stalkers could rarely defeat a fully trained Feka, so melee training was crucial.

The two werewolves circled each other, neither making a move. Ambrose realized he was overmatched, so he took the offensive. He dashed forward, claws and jaws flashing. He dove for the alpha's neck but was batted away. The alpha growled, red eyes flashing.

He landed a kick to Ambrose's side, sending him flying into the pack. They pushed him back into the circle. He stood up, wavering slightly, and dove at the alpha again. They each went for the neck, arms and jaws flailing, neither able to gain a hold.

Then the alpha turned Ambrose backward and got him on the ground. His powerful jaws clamped down, Ambrose struggling underneath him with a yelp. He tried to swing his arms back, but the alpha was too strong. After a few moments, he stopped moving. The alpha stood up, blood in his teeth from the bite.

He turned to the pack and howled, long and eerie. They joined in, the howl clearing birds from the jungle canopy. Then the alpha turned and dove into his meal, consuming his prey.

A few of the Stalkers turned and went into the city. The dogs at the bottom of the pecking order knew they had no chance of becoming beta and would get seriously hurt in the upcoming scrap. Those who wanted the position waited out of respect until they were inside the gates.

The four remaining Stalkers circled each other, dropping into a fighting stance while the alpha continued his meal. Unlike the alpha's challenge to the beta, this would not be to the death. But serious injuries were likely. Such was the cost of power. Such was the cost of living in Niridge.

One of the dogs lunged, and the fight was on.

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