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title: "Before the Challenge" wordCount: 2837

Blood Moon Rising: Chapter 35

"Tell me about the night you killed my brother."

Declan's hand, resting on the table between us, does not move. No tremor. No twitch. For the first time since I have known him, his fingers are completely still.

The safe house kitchen smells like burnt coffee and the metallic tang of fear-sweat that has soaked into the walls over the past three days. Dawn light cuts through the window, painting everything in shades of gray and gold. Twenty-four hours. That is all I have left before I walk into the Conclave building and challenge Garrett Voss in front of everyone who matters.

"You want the truth." His voice is flat. Not a question.

"Yeah."

He looks at his hand like he is surprised by its stillness too. "We received orders three weeks before the attack. Your father was trafficking humans through pack territory. Using Carrigan influence to move product across state lines. The evidence was—" He stops. Swallows. "The evidence was convincing."

"It was fabricated."

"I know that now." His jaw tightens. "I did not know it then."

I dig my nails into my palms, feeling the familiar sting, the crescent moons of pain that keep me anchored. The watch on my wrist—Dad's watch—sits heavy and dead at 11:47 PM. "Keep going."

"We were told to make it look like an accident. A gas leak. Quick. Painless." His eyes meet mine and they are empty, hollowed out by three years of carrying this. "Your father was at a Conclave meeting that night. Your mother was visiting her sister in Portland. It was supposed to be just—"

"Just my brothers." The words taste like ash. "Finn and Cade."

"Yes."

The silence stretches. Outside, a car alarm goes off, shrill and insistent, then cuts off abruptly.

"But they came home early," I say. "Mom and Dad. They came home."

Declan nods once, sharp. "We were already inside when your father's car pulled into the driveway. He knew immediately. I saw it in his face when he opened the door—he knew exactly what was happening and why." His hand finally moves, reaching for his left wrist, then stopping. "He told your mother to run. She would not leave him."

My throat closes. I cannot breathe. Cannot think. Can only see it—Dad standing in the doorway of our house, Mom beside him, both of them knowing they were about to die.

"Finn heard the commotion. He came downstairs." Declan's voice drops to barely a whisper. "He was seventeen. He looked younger. He was wearing a Seahawks jersey and he was—he was terrified but he stood between us and the stairs where Cade was sleeping."

"Stop."

"You asked for the truth."

"I know." I force the words out. "Keep going."

"I was the one who engaged him. Hand to hand. He was fast. Untrained but fast. He got in two good hits before I—" His breath catches. "Before I broke his neck. It was supposed to be quick. Painless. But his eyes—he knew what was happening. He knew he was dying and he was still trying to protect his brother."

The kitchen tilts. I grip the edge of the table, feeling the wood grain bite into my palms.

"I hear him every night," Declan says quietly. "The sound he made. Not a scream. Just—surprise. Like he could not believe it was real."

"Yeah, no." I shake my head, trying to clear it. "I do not need—"

"You asked."

"I know what I asked." My voice cracks. "What happened to Cade?"

"Your father killed two of ours before we brought him down. Your mother—" He stops. Starts again. "Your mother fought like she had nothing to lose. She took out Marcus Thorne. My cousin. He bled out before we could get him to a hospital."

Good, I think viciously. Good.

"Cade never woke up. The gas had already—by the time we reached him, he was unconscious. He died in his sleep."

Small mercies. The thought is bitter and wrong and I hate myself for thinking it.

"We staged the scene. Made it look like a faulty furnace. The Conclave paid off the fire marshal, the police, the coroner. Everyone who needed to look the other way." Declan's hand is still now, resting flat on the table. "I followed orders. I believed what they told me. And I killed your brother."

I stare at him. At this man who has saved my life twice, who has betrayed everything he knew to help me, who killed Finn with his bare hands.

"I cannot forgive you," I say finally.

"I know."

"But I understand why you did it."

His eyes widen slightly. Not much. Just enough.

"You believed you were following orders. Doing the right thing. Protecting people from a monster." I lean back, putting distance between us. "You were wrong. But I understand."

"That does not absolve me."

"No." I meet his gaze. "It does not."

The silence that follows is different. Heavier. Like something has shifted between us, some fundamental understanding reached.

"I need you to help me finish this," I say. "I need you there when I challenge Garrett. I need you to make sure the Rogue Coalition gets in position. I need you to—" My voice breaks. "I need you to be there."

"And after?"

"After, you leave. You disappear. You find somewhere the Conclave cannot reach you and you—" I swallow hard. "You live. You live with what you did. That is your punishment."

Declan nods slowly. "That is more mercy than I deserve."

"Yeah, well." I stand, my chair scraping against the floor. "I am not doing this for you. I am doing this because I need you functional for the next twenty-four hours. After that, I do not care what happens to you."

It is a lie. We both know it is a lie. But he does not call me on it.

"I will be there," he says. "When you need me. I will be there."

I walk out before I can say something stupid. Before I can tell him that I wish things were different, that in another life maybe we could have—

Not my circus.

---

The main room of the safe house is controlled chaos. Iris has spread maps across every available surface—building layouts, security protocols, guard rotations. Tobias is on his laptop, fingers flying across the keys. Mira is cleaning weapons with the focused intensity of someone preparing for war.

"Sloane." Iris looks up as I enter. "We need to finalize the plan."

I sink into the chair across from her. My body aches. Three days of manifesting alpha power has left me feeling like I have been hit by a truck, then backed over for good measure. "I am listening."

"Garrett's swearing-in ceremony begins at sunset tomorrow. Every major pack leader will be there. Every Conclave member. Every wolf who matters." Iris taps the map of the Conclave building. "Security will be tight but they will not be expecting an internal challenge. Old law says he cannot refuse a bloodline challenge in front of the Conclave."

"And if he does?"

"He loses face. Looks weak. The other alphas will question his right to lead." Iris's smile is sharp. "Garrett Voss would rather die than look weak."

Tobias spins his laptop around. "I have the guest list. Two hundred and thirty-seven confirmed attendees. Sixty-three pack alphas. Forty-two Conclave members. The rest are high-ranking wolves from across the country."

"Witnesses," I say.

"Exactly." Iris leans forward. "You challenge him publicly. In front of everyone. You tell them what the Conclave did to your family. You expose the experiments, the lies, everything."

"And then I fight him."

"And then you fight him." Iris does not look away. "If you win, you become Conclave Alpha. You dismantle the system from the inside. You change everything."

"And if I lose?"

Mira sets down the gun she has been cleaning. "If you lose, we burn it down."

I look at her. "What?"

"The Rogue Coalition will be in position around the building. If Garrett kills you, we attack. We burn the Conclave to the ground and everyone in it." Mira's voice is calm, matter-of-fact. "They will not get away with killing another Carrigan."

My stomach drops. "You will die."

"Probably." Mira picks up another weapon. "But we will take them with us."

"No." I shake my head. "That is not—I am not asking you to commit suicide for me."

"You are not asking." Iris's voice is hard. "We are offering. This is bigger than you, Sloane. Bigger than any of us. The Conclave has been killing rogues, experimenting on wolves, consolidating power for decades. If we do not stop them now, they will keep doing it. Forever."

I want to argue. Want to tell them this is insane, that I am not worth dying for, that there has to be another way. But I look around the room—at Iris with her scarred hands and fierce eyes, at Tobias who has risked everything to help me, at Mira who has been preparing for this war since before I knew it existed—and I realize they have already made their choice.

"I am not fighting for revenge anymore," I say quietly. "I am fighting to dismantle the system that made the massacre possible. I am fighting so no one else loses their family the way I lost mine."

Iris nods. "Then we are fighting for the same thing."

Tobias closes his laptop. "The ceremony starts at six PM. Garrett will take his oath at six-thirty. That is when you challenge him."

"How do I get in?"

"Front door." Mira's smile is grim. "You walk in like you own the place. Like you have every right to be there. Because you do."

"Security will try to stop me."

"Let them try." Iris stands, rolling up the maps. "You are an alpha now, Sloane. Act like it."

---

Mira finds me on the roof two hours later. I am sitting on the edge, legs dangling over the side, watching the city wake up below. Seattle spreads out in every direction—glass and steel and water, beautiful and brutal and completely indifferent to the war brewing in its shadows.

"You should be resting," Mira says, settling beside me.

"Cannot sleep."

"Understandable." She pulls out a flask, takes a drink, offers it to me. "Whiskey. The good stuff."

I take it. The burn feels good, grounding. "Do you think I can win?"

Mira is quiet for a long moment. "I think you are your father's daughter. And that terrifies them."

"That is not an answer."

"It is the only answer that matters." She takes the flask back. "Garrett is stronger. More experienced. He has been Conclave Alpha for three years. He knows every dirty trick, every way to make you lose control."

"So I am going to die."

"I did not say that." Mira looks at me, really looks at me. "Your father was not the strongest alpha. He was not the fastest or the most brutal. But he was smart. He built coalitions. He made people believe in something better. And the Conclave killed him for it because they knew—they knew—that ideas are more dangerous than claws."

I think about Dad. About the way he used to sit at the kitchen table late at night, reading reports, making calls, trying to change a system that did not want to be changed. About how he died protecting that dream.

"Garrett will try to make you angry," Mira continues. "He will say things about your family. About Finn. He will try to make you lose control, to prove you are unstable. Unfit to lead."

"So I stay calm."

"No." Mira's smile is sharp. "You use it. You let him think he is winning. And then you show him exactly what a Carrigan can do when they stop playing by the rules."

She stands, brushing off her jeans. "I have weapons for you. Silver-edged knives. Nothing that will kill him outright—challenges have rules—but enough to give you an edge. And I have something else."

"What?"

"Your father's jacket. The one he wore to Conclave meetings. Tobias found it in storage." Mira's voice softens. "I thought you might want to wear it. Remind them who you are."

My throat tightens. "Yeah. I would like that."

"Good." She heads for the door, then pauses. "Sloane? For what it is worth—I am glad you are doing this. Your father would be proud."

She leaves before I can respond. I sit there, watching the sun climb higher, feeling the weight of what is coming settle over me like a shroud.

I am not ready for this. I am not strong enough, not trained enough, not anything enough. But I am going anyway because the alternative—letting Garrett Voss stand unchallenged, letting the Conclave continue destroying lives—is worse than death.

I realize something then, sitting on that roof with the city spread out below me. The Conclave is not afraid of what I can do. They are afraid of what I represent. A Carrigan who survived. A bloodline they could not erase. Proof that their system is not infallible.

That is why they will try to kill me. Not because I am strong. Because I am a threat to everything they have built.

And maybe—maybe—that is enough.

---

Dusk comes too fast and too slow. I stand outside the Conclave building, watching through the massive windows as wolves in expensive suits gather inside. The building is all glass and steel, modern and imposing, designed to project power and permanence. Inside, I can see Garrett at the front of the room, surrounded by pack alphas and Conclave members, looking every inch the leader he has spent three years becoming.

I am wearing Dad's jacket. It is too big in the shoulders, too long in the sleeves, but it smells like him—like cedar and old books and the cologne Mom used to buy him every Christmas. Mira's knives are strapped to my thighs, hidden under my jeans. My hair is pulled back, the scar on my eyebrow visible. I want them to see it. Want them to remember.

"Are you ready?" Declan appears beside me, silent as always.

"No." I do not look at him. "But I am ready to try."

Iris materializes on my other side, Tobias and Mira flanking her. The Rogue Coalition. My people now, whether I wanted them or not.

"We are in position," Iris says quietly. "Thirty wolves surrounding the building. If things go wrong—"

"They will not."

"If they do," she continues, "we will get you out. Or we will burn it down. Either way, the Conclave does not win tonight."

I nod. My hands are shaking. I shove them in my pockets, feeling the rough fabric of Dad's jacket, and the shaking stops.

"Sloane." Declan's voice is soft. "You do not have to do this."

"Yeah, I do."

"You could walk away. Disappear. Live."

"That is not living." I finally look at him. "That is just surviving. And I am done surviving."

Something shifts in his expression. Not quite pride. Not quite grief. Something in between.

"Then go," he says. "Show them what a Carrigan can do."

I take a breath. The air tastes like rain and exhaust and the sharp ozone smell that comes before a storm. Inside the building, Garrett raises his hand, beginning his oath. His voice carries through the glass, smooth and confident.

"I, Garrett Voss, do solemnly swear—"

I start walking. Each step feels like moving through water, like the world has slowed down to mark this moment. Declan follows without being asked. So does Iris. So do the others.

The doors are heavy, ornate, designed to intimidate. I push them open.

Every conversation stops.

The silence is immediate and total. Two hundred and thirty-seven wolves turn to look at me. I see shock. Confusion. Recognition. Fear.

Garrett stands at the front of the room, mid-oath, his hand still raised. His eyes lock on mine and for just a second—just one second—I see something flicker across his face. Not surprise. He knew I was alive. He has known all along.

His smile widens.

I walk forward. The crowd parts. No one speaks. No one moves. They just watch as I make my way down the center aisle, Dad's jacket hanging off my shoulders, the Carrigan bloodline written in every line of my face.

I stop ten feet from Garrett. Close enough to see the calculation in his eyes. Close enough to smell his cologne—expensive, cloying, wrong.

"I am Sloane Carrigan," I say clearly, my voice carrying through the sudden silence. "Daughter of Marcus Carrigan. Heir to the Carrigan bloodline. I challenge you, Garrett Voss, for the right to lead."

The room erupts. Voices shouting, wolves surging forward, chaos breaking out on all sides. But I do not look away from Garrett. Neither does he.

He raises one hand and the room falls silent again. His smile never wavers.

"I accept."