Darian's expression flickered, freezing for just a moment. His scent spiked with something sharp—fear, perhaps, or calculation. Then he turned to Selene, wounded and helpless as a kicked pup.
"These things aren't mine. They're gifts—from wolves who care about me. They have sentimental value." His voice rose with desperate conviction. "I could starve through three winters before I'd ever sell someone's heartfelt gesture for tribute." He pressed a hand to his chest. "All I want is to earn my way through my craft. Through my own two claws."
"I'm not trying to steal the rite championship from you. I'm begging you—just give me back the tribute prize."
His voice was raw, shredded, barely a rasp.
Selene's eyes shimmered with emotion, her hand stroking his hair. "You sweet, foolish pup..."
The other rite contestants closed in around us, accusations flying like snapping jaws:
"Darian is literally kneeling and begging you. What more do you want?"
"I can't stand these privileged Alpha parasites—thinking bloodline means they can steal other wolves' work."
"Making him return the tribute prize isn't enough. His rite entry needs to be voided entirely!"