"Ha, you think I'm afraid of a worthless cur like you? Don't make me laugh. Fine, I accept the wager!"
Without further words, we signed the blood oath for the Dominance Wager—life against limbs—and signaled the den-keeper to deal the bones.
My first showing was the Black Fang Eight. I left my hidden bone unturned. Darian Frostveil drew the Red Claw Nine. The wolves around us snickered, assuming I had nothing worth calling. After all, this wager would end in blood regardless.
The den-keeper cast the second round. I received the Pale Root Five while Darian drew the Heart Eight.
Third casting—I pulled the Pale Root Four, and Darian showed the Heart Seven.
By this pattern, we were both tracking toward a Running Hunt sequence. Everything hinged on who held the true run, who commanded the highest claim.
When the final bones were cast, every wolf in the sea-den craned forward, breath held tight in their throats.
My showing was the Pale Root Seven. Darian's was the Heart Five.
"Damn, this round hangs by a thread."
"Tch, hangs by nothing. Kael Nightthorne has already lost."
Darian maintained his smug posture, rapping his claws against the bone-table with absolute confidence.
"Kael Nightthorne, this casting decides everything."
"I won't let you die quickly. No, I'll make you watch as your foster-dam is mounted and broken by every rogue wolf here. Ha!"
"Reveal!"
"My hidden bone is the Heart Six—higher than anything you hold. Kael Nightthorne, you're finished."
The moment Darian flipped his hidden bone, I heard the collective howl of shock from the gathered wolves.
"What—how is this possible? That's not the Heart Six!"
