Page 176 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

I shoved my way forward until I stood at the very edge of the ring.

Thomas stripped off his shirt with jerky movements, eyes never leaving his son. “You want this, boy? Then let’s finish it.”

Jackson pulled his own shirt over his head and tossed it aside. His muscles flexed under the lights, broad and heavier. He met my eyes for half a second. No fear. Just cold determination.

They both removed their pants and dropped into the shift. Bones cracked and reformed. Fur rippled over skin. Thomas’s wolf was massive, silver-gray with scars crisscrossing his flanks. But Jackson’s was broader across the chest, built like the alpha he was always meant to be. They circled each other in the cleared space, lips pulled back from long teeth, low growls rumbling deep in their chests.

The fight started without warning.

Thomas lunged first, fast and vicious. He went straight for the throat, no testing, no dance. Jackson met him head-on. Their bodies slammed together with a sickening thud of muscle and bone. Snarls filled the hall. Claws raked across Jackson’s shoulder, drawing first blood. Jackson twisted and drove his weight forward, forcing Thomas back a step.

I stood at the edge of the ring, heart hammering. My cat screamed inside me to leap in, to tear into the silver wolf that had ruined so much. I clenched my fists until my nails bit skin and held my ground. This was Jackson’s fight. Interfering would only make it worse.

Thomas feinted left then snapped at Jackson’s hind leg, teeth grazing deep enough to draw a yelp. Jackson recovered fast, younger strength pouring into every move. He barreled into Thomas, using his greater mass to drive him sideways into the circle of wolves. The pack parted just enough. Thomas hit the floor hard but rolled, coming up with a slash that opened Jackson’s side.

Blood sprayed across the wooden floor. The metallic scent hit me hard. Jackson barely reacted. He twisted, driving Thomas backward despite the blood running down his shoulder.

He was tiring Thomas out, wearing down the older wolf’s experience with sheer power.

Thomas came at him again, low and savage, aiming for the belly. Jackson spun at the last second and clamped his jaws on Thomas’s shoulder. The crunch of bone echoed. Thomas howled and wrenched free, blood matting his fur. He was breathing harder now, limping slightly, but his eyes still burned with that desperate, cornered rage. He knew what losing meant. Everything. His power, his secrets, his life.

The pack roared louder with every clash. Some shouted for Jackson. Others for Thomas.

Jackson pressed the advantage. He was stronger, faster, fueled by everything Thomas had tried to take from him. From us. He drove Thomas back across the ring with a series of brutal snaps and shoulder checks. Thomas’s movements grew sloppier, exhaustion and old injuries slowing him. Jackson feinted high then dropped low, sweeping Thomas’s legs out from under him.

The older alpha crashed to the floor. Jackson was on him instantly, massive paws pinning him down. His jaws closed around Thomas’s throat, teeth pressing against fur and skin but not yet breaking through. Thomas thrashed beneath him, claws scrabbling uselessly at Jackson’s sides. Blood welled where they connected. The hall fell into a tense, breathless hush.

The hot rush of victory was edged with something darker. He held Thomas there, throat exposed, ready to end it. One bite and it would be over. The pack watched in silence now, every eye fixed on the two of them.

I stayed rooted. This was the moment. Jackson had the old alpha at his mercy.

His jaws remained locked around Thomas’s throat, teeth pressed against fur and pulsing skin. One slight shift and it would be over. Blood trickled down Jackson’s muzzle. The entire hall had gone deathly silent, every wolf frozen in place, waiting for the kill that would reshape their world.

Then Jackson lifted his head just enough to look across the ring. His eyes found mine.

Through the bond I felt the storm inside him — the burn of victory, the weight of years of control, the raw instinct screaming to end the threat to me once and for all.

It would be so easy. Thomas would be dead. The monster who burned my family, who ruined so many lives, gone in one snap of jaws. But then I remembered my mother’s screams. My sister’s blood on the floor. The promise I had carved into my own bones the night everything burned.

This was mine.

I shook my head once. Small. Deliberate. No.

Jackson stilled. For a heartbeat the bond surged between us —conflict, then acceptance. He did not kill. Instead, he growled deep in his chest, a sound that vibrated through the entire hall. He held Thomas by the throat. At first Thomas thrashed wildly, but then went limp. His head tilted back in full submission, exposing the vulnerable underside of his throat completely. A low, broken whine escaped him.

The power transfer hit the room like a thunderclap. Even I felt it — a rush of raw alpha energy flooding into Jackson, ancient and heavy. The pack gasped. Some wolves dropped to their knees instinctively. Others stared in stunned silence.

Jackson was alpha now.

He released his father’s throat and stepped back, shifting to human form in one fluid motion. He stood naked in the center of the circle, blood streaked across his side and ribs, but he didn’t flinch. He stood tall, breathing hard, radiating new authority. Strength. Dominance. His gaze swept over every wolf present, daring them to challenge what had just happened.

No one did.

My cat purred with fierce possessiveness at the sight of him. Mine.

Then Jackson looked down at Thomas and commanded, voice low and absolute, “Shift.”

Thomas had no choice. He shifted back, chest heaving, staring up at the son who had just stripped him of everything.