Page 305 of Salt Between the Wolves

Soren felt none of it, because there was only the white wolf beneath him, the taste of blood, and the fury burning through his body with a clarity that had nothing human left in it.

Vargan drove his hind legs into Soren's ribs and threw him sideways, then came after him before he had fully regained his footing, moving fast, older than he looked, and stronger than grief had allowed Soren to remember.

The white wolf's jaws snapped inches from his face, and Soren twisted away, claws carving through ice as he slammed his shoulder into Vargan's chest, and they collided again, this time with Vargan holding.

For one breath they were locked together, black and white, rage and command, the two halves of a war everyone had pretended could still be avoided, and then Soren saw Eira lying motionless beyond Vargan's shoulder, the sight driving through him harder than any bite.

He struck again, not to warn or to prove strength, but to end it.

The blow landed hard enough to drive Vargan off balance, and for the first time since the fight began, the white wolf stumbled.

Soren did not hesitate as he crashed into him with all the force his larger frame could deliver, and the two of them tore through the snow before Vargan hit the ground beneath him.

The black wolf was on him instantly, slamming a massive paw onto the white wolf's chest while another pinned his shoulder, sending snow spraying beneath their struggle.

Vargan twisted, fought, and tried to rise, but Soren drove him back down as the white wolf snarled and snapped at his throat, though it was already too late.

Soren's jaws closed around the side of Vargan's neck, not crushing but waiting.

The entire pass fell silent as every warrior present recognized the position, knowing the challenge was over, the victor had been decided, and only the final choice remained.

Beneath him, Vargan stopped struggling, and for several heartbeats neither wolf moved while the black wolf stood over the Alpha of Frostvein with his jaws resting against the vulnerable line of his throat, where one bite would have been enough.

Blood dripped onto the snow as the wind howled through the pass, yet nobody dared speak or move.

Then Vargan lowered his head in a small, barely visible motion of submission, the oldest law and the only law that mattered.

Around them, Frostvein warriors began dropping to one knee one after another, not to Soren but to the outcome and to the law their Alpha had accepted.

The black wolf held the position for another breath and then another, making certain and making everyone see, before finally releasing Vargan's throat.

However, he did not step away, and his eyes remained fixed on the white wolf as a promise, a warning, and a judgment that would not be forgotten, declaring without words that a line had been crossed and the law itself had answered.

A murmur moved through the gathered warriors, not of surprise but of disbelief, because every wolf present understood what submission meant beneath the old law.

Soren could kill him here and now, since no challenge could be answered twice and no judgment could be appealed, leaving the choice solely to the victor.

The black wolf's jaws tightened briefly against Vargan's throat before loosening again, and a collective breath swept across White Pass as shock followed, because mercy was not the expected outcome after a challenge this public and after blood had already been spilled.

Slowly and deliberately, Soren lifted his head from Vargan's throat, and the meaning was unmistakable: life granted, not earned.

The white wolf remained motionless beneath him for a long moment, until Vargan lowered himself further, not in submission but in acceptance of the sentence—exile, a harsher punishment than death for many wolves.

The pass fell silent once more, and no one questioned it or protested, because the law had spoken and both Alphas had accepted its cost.

The black wolf held Vargan's gaze for one final moment before stepping back and shifting, the transformation slower this time, controlled, a deliberate return to the man beneath the wolf.

Cold air struck his skin as blood ran down his shoulder and chest while someone from Ironfang was already moving toward him, and a dark cloak settled across his shoulders as Soren fastened it without taking his eyes off Vargan.

The white wolf remained motionless, waiting and accepting, as Soren turned slowly and let his gaze sweep across both armies before speaking in a voice that carried easily through the silence.

“By the Law of Yielding, Vargan Frostvein stands defeated.”

No one moved or challenged it.

"The sentence is exile."

The words echoed across White Pass.