His teeth came together in an empty click, exactly where my throat had been moments before.

I twisted around, catching the rival wolf's ear in my mouth. The thin flesh tore to ribbons as he pulled free with a yelp, prancing back to escape further mauling. I let out a series of harsh barks, hoping Dean would surrender to instinct and retreat from the sound. To my relief, the ploy worked, and I gained a brief respite from fighting.

It was desperately needed. My chest was heaving for a breath I couldn't quite seem to catch, and my muscles burned with the effort of staying alive. Dean was a shrewd opponent and had kept me on my toes with an impressive commitment to foul play. I could still feel grains of sand stinging in the corners of my eyes from when he'd kicked it up in my face. It was only through sheer desperation that I'd stayed shy of his jaws, using the sound of his snarl to orient myself.

That snarl sounded again, and my eyes narrowed into feral slits. I almost wished I'd missed his ear and gouged out an eye instead; the arrogant triumph shining in them was really giving me the shits.

Dean stalked forward, enforcing the deadline by which I had to make my next decision. I need to knock him off his feet, I thought, retreating as I tried to think of a way to manage the task. Flipping him over would be like catching the snitch in a game of Quidditch; not just a game-changer, but a game decider.

My retreat triggered something in him; he closed in even faster, springing for my throat. His reaction triggered something in me, and I turned tail and fled. He chased me thoughtlessly, like a dog after a rabbit, unable to resist the urge to run down that which was fleeing, that which he considered prey. I let him gain on me, feigning fatigue. When he was close enough, sure enough of his victory, I whirled upon him. Dean toppled beneath my weight, paws scrabbling for purchase, but there was none to be found in the sand. He whined in terror as I seized his throat in my jaws and squeezed.

His pelt was thick, and it prevented my teeth from sinking into the hot flesh underneath, but my grip was still strong enough to cut off his air supply. Realising what I intended to do, Dean struggled with all the violent force of desperation, writhing and kicking and yapping. I held on grimly and stepped to the side, out of the reach of his legs.

With time, his struggles became feebler, easier to rebuff. Now and again, Dean would resist spasmodically and to no purpose — we both knew that he'd lost the fight. Eventually, he went limp. When I felt sure he was actually unconscious, and that it wasn't another one of his tricks, I let him go and sat on my haunches, blinking up at the crowd.

The students in the tiers had gone quiet with my victory. It was eerie, after relying on their blood-thirsty cheers to fuel my violence; their morbid curiosity was almost a palpable force. They wondered if I had killed him. It wasn't unusual for things to get out of hand at a Placing Tournament; death was considered an acceptable - albeit unfortunate - risk.

They wondered if they should cheer.

"Ivy Thatcher."

My ears pricked backward, and I looked over my shoulder, just in time to see Colden leaping down from his perch on the lowest tier. I left Dean face-down in the sand and started walking, calling on my transformative energy along the way. There was an indescribable sensation of tightening, of hot prickling as my muscles, ligaments and bones were shoved into a genetic jaffle-maker and I was compressed into a human shape. Soon my paws had unfurled into trembling fingers, and my silver fur had receded into a ponytail, niftily secured with a strap of shifting-leather.

I came to a stop several feet away from Colden, struggling to find the will to meet his eyes. I should have been thrilled to have won, but it was hard to feel anything but anxious as the High Alpha looked at me with such blatant disapproval. Dominance radiated from him in waves that made me feel physically ill.

"Congratulations," he said shortly. "You are now entitled to the position of Omega within the High Pack."

I nodded my thanks, incapable of words. Colden glanced over my shoulder, those piercing blue eyes taking in the crumpled form of my rival. His jaw tightened minutely.

"He's not dead," I said hastily, hoping to placate him. "Just unconscious. I strangled him until he passed out."

"I see." Colden looked somewhat relieved, and I remembered how much paperwork came with a dead body — if the deceased had a family or a pack that needed to be notified in the event of their injury or demise, of course. If not, then the corpse would simply be shipped off to the leather-tanning factory and quickly forgotten. "I appreciate your restraint."

Colden's face smoothed over before I could think of a reply. He'd slipped into a telepathic trance, and I knew it would be rude to interrupt whatever conversation he was having in his head. While I waited for further instruction, I saw another boy jump down from the stands. I couldn't make out much of his face thanks to the low-riding visor of his baseball cap, but the cap itself marked him as the High Beta, for I'd seen him wearing it at assembly.

Damian stopped by Dean's body, nudging him in the ribs with a foot. When there was no response, Damian stooped down and grabbed the scruff of his neck, using that hold to drag Dean — a complete dead weight, still in his horse-sized wolf form — out of the arena as if he was as light as an empty school bag.

"Ivy," Colden said abruptly, reclaiming my attention. "Having won this fight, you may choose to initiate one more. Are there any other members of the High Pack whose rank you'd like to challenge?"

There was an unmistakable warning in his voice, despite his neutral expression. I chewed on my lip, taking a moment to mull over my options. On one hand, I could decline the chance to jump up the ranks again and appease Colden. It was clear he thought I should be happy with the position I'd already earned, and part of me agreed with him. It was my first day. I didn't need to be making any more enemies.

But I also didn't want to be stuck as an omega for the rest of the year. There was little respect and a lot of work in the position. It was essentially the equivalent of an internship; all the menial chores the High Pack didn't care for would be filtered down through the ranks to me, and I knew I'd end up fetching coffee, doing paperwork and pulling overnight shifts for dormitory patrols. The thought struck a nerve, even though there was nothing to blame save the system our entire shadow society was founded upon. And how could I blame the system without blaming myself for endorsing it? I'd invested everything in the social hierarchy, pinned my entire identity on my position at Swan Hill Academy.

"I want to initiate a second fight," I blurted out.

Colden's eyes narrowed. "As is your right. Who will you challenge next?"

A name came to mind instantly. I already knew which position I wanted. I'd wanted it back the second it had been revoked at Swan Hill Academy, following the devastating turn of events that still haunted my dreams.

I refused to accept that I'd peaked in life at high school.

"Piper," I said.

It was a single word, but it had a devastating effect. The spectators screamed their anticipation. Colden's hands formed into white-knuckled fists, and they trembled as if he was wrestling with the urge to hit me for my insolence.

Summoned like a demon, Piper dropped from her perch in the stands. Although the drop was several times the length of her body, she landed with grace and ease, absorbing the impact of the landing with bent knees.

"Do you understand the gravity of what you want?" Piper asked as she approached, looking me over from head to toe. "You must put the needs of the people before your own."

"I know," I said defensively, even though I was pursuing the rank for entirely selfish reasons. "What are your rules for the fight?"

"Free for all," she said automatically. "There will be no restrictions on morphing or weaponry."

"I don't need weapons," I said with a frown, a little put off by the freedom with which we would be fighting. Normally there were severe restrictions in these kinds of duels, designed to give the current champion the advantage. Dean, for example, had fought only in wolf form, as he'd considered the animal part of him to be the strongest.

"Then don't use them," she quipped. "But know that I will."

I could feel my forehead furrowing as my frown deepened. Was she truly so confident in her own abilities?

"I accept the terms," I said grudgingly, cracking my knuckles. It was a nervous habit. I couldn't help but feel that I was missing something — something important.

Something that could get me killed.