Jael grinned, and with a snap Z felt the hold on his mind release.
“But of course,” Jael said. “Please, join the line.”
Letting out a breath, Z turned toward his new pack.
He gasped. The leader—Alpha Brock—was now less than an arm’s distance away, a snarl showing the points of his canines.
Before Z could think, a fist collided with his jaw, knocking him onto the floor and shoving the wind out of him. For a moment his lungs burned with the need for air and his head rang from the punch. The pain in his jaw was the worst, his gums still sore from the surgery. The throbbing brought tears to his eyes.
“Don’t ever disrespect Master Jael again,” said Alpha Brock. With a grunt, he landed a kick to Z’s ribs.
Z cried out and crunched into a ball, trying to protect his stomach, but another kick didn’t follow. Tasting blood, he spit onto the chalky ground. He was glad that none of his new teeth came with it.
Shaking, he risked a glance at Master Jael, but the thaumaturge was standing calmly back, his hands in his sleeves. When he caught Z’s gaze, his eyebrows rose without mercy and he said, very slowly, “Get up and join your pack.”
Standing seemed impossible. The world was spinning and he wondered if that one kick hadn’t broken a rib.
But more afraid of the repercussions of ignoring an order than of the pain, Z pulled himself to all fours and, with a grunt, pushed himself onto wobbly legs. The Alpha stared down at him as Z stumbled to the end of the line. The other soldiers had not moved.
“You will soon learn,” said Master Jael, “that your placement in this pack is determined by strength, courage, and the ability to defend yourself. You will not see such mercy again.”
*
Z began to lose track of time. First the days and then the weeks and months merged into constant training. Formations. Strategies and tactics. And fights—so many fights. Like wolves in the wild sometimes fight for dominance, these soldiers fought all the time. Constantly trying to best one another, to show off, to prove their worth, to improve their station. Almost all of them seemed to have a thirst for violence that Z couldn’t claim, though he often pretended to desire the taste of blood and the crunch of bones as much as any of them. There wasn’t much choice.
He didn’t win all his fights, but he didn’t lose them all, either. After a year and a half—or what he guessed was close to a year and a half, with neither the long days nor the long nights to judge by—he found himself solidly in the middle of his pack. An average beta. After that one punch from Alpha Brock, he had never again allowed himself to be caught by surprise, and he had developed a knack for parrying and blocking. Offensive tactics didn’t come as naturally, but he could often avoid being hit for long enough to tire out his opponent.
It would never make him Alpha, but it kept him from becoming the tormented Omega.
Alpha Brock, on the other hand, remained ever on top of the pack. Undefeated, he picked more fights than any of them, as though he had to constantly remind himself and everyone else how much better he was. Z tried to stay out of his way, but it was impossible to avoid him entirely, and when Brock wanted to fight, there was no denying him. Z had received more bruises and scars from those fists than he could count.
The pack was standing around watching an impromptu brawl between Betas Wynn and Troya on an otherwise unremarkable afternoon when Z caught the scent of Master Jael approaching, along with another scent. Familiar and strange at the same time.
Z tore his eyes from the fight as the others picked up on the scents. The two fighters took another moment, but in a breath, they had released each other, and together they all rushed to line up for Jael’s entrance. Z recognized the cadence of Jael’s footsteps beside something awkward and shuffling. Jael had not brought anyone new to their barracks since Z himself had joined the pack.
Master Jael stepped out of the cave and into the training cavern, a new conscript at his side.
Z couldn’t keep back a gasp. Beside him, Wynn flinched at the noise, and he was sure they’d all noticed his reaction. He wasn’t the only one with advanced hearing.
The new conscript was his brother. Taller now, but otherwise not much had changed.
Ran took longer to notice him. Standing half a step behind Master Jael, dressed in uniform, pale and wide-eyed, he was busy scanning the faces of his new family.
Until his eyes landed on Z, and he froze.
“Alpha Brock,” said Jael, “this is the final recruit for your pack, Beta Ran Kesley.”
Together with the rest of the pack, Z clasped his fist to his chest.
“Beta Kesley, you may join your pack.”
Z gulped, waiting for the moment when Ran’s legs would betray him and recognition would flash across his face.
And it came, and Ran’s eyes did widen, but then he bowed his head and put up no resistance as his body joined the others at the end of the line and his balled fist hit his chest.