Chapter 21: Across the Rope

Ronan's POV

I saw the rifle a half second before she did.

The mark on my wrist had been burning since the fight began.

When the barrel came up, it burned white.

Every muscle in my body turned toward the rope.

I had one foot lifted.

Then Hester's hand closed on my good arm, small and hard.

"Not you, boy," she said.

"He'll kill her."

"Not you. Look."

I looked.

The shooter was on the Bloodmoon side, among the pack, and the rifle was at his shoulder.

The big hunter with the burned hand was standing three paces from him.

He had walked over from the Ashfang side an hour ago.

He had stood at the rope with the Bloodmoon wolves, and none of them had told him to leave.

He hit the barrel upward with his forearm.

The shot went into the sky and rang off the standing stone.

The baker was on the shooter's back before the sound faded.

The mechanic took the rifle, and two sisters in wool coats sat on his legs.

Nobody had given an order.

The foot I had lifted came down on my own side of the rope.

I had given my word.

Keeping it hurt more than the silver round had.

In the ring, Roxanne hadn't moved.

She had her knee on Warrick's chest, and she was looking at him, not at the shot.

"You see that?" she said.

Warrick turned his head.

His own pack had a hunter pinned to the ground. His own baker was sitting on him.

"Your wolves just chose, Warrick," Roxanne said. "Not me."

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