"Enough!"
Lyander's wolf tensed, jaws hovering just above Jason's throat. For a moment, it seemed he might ignore the order.
But Henry took a step forward, his eyes locked on the snarling beast before him. "Stand down. You made your point. Don't make me repeat myself. We need every man in this war. It wouldn't do well if you kill him."
The fire in Lyander's eyes flickered.
Then, slowly—grudgingly—he stepped back, fangs still bared, a deep growl rumbling in his chest. His eyes never left Jason's crumpled form, but he backed away, allowing the defeated beta to collapse fully to the ground, gasping for breath.
The crowd exhaled as one, the threat passed—but the warning had been delivered.
Lyander didn't just win the duel.
He dominated it—utterly, ruthlessly, and with such overwhelming force that it sent a ripple of fear through the crowd.
