No one has landed a clean hit on me in years.
A surprised laugh bubbles up from my chest as I straighten, rolling my shoulders. "Well,that'sone way to welcome a new teammate."
Wraith doesn't waste breath on pleasantries. He comes at me again, a freight train of focused aggression. I sidestep, but he anticipates the move, catching me with a glancing blow to the ribs.
I respond with a sharp jab to his kidney, testing his defenses. He barely flinches. Instead, he grabs my arm, using my own momentum to slam me into the wall with enough force to knock the breath from my lungs.
The concrete cracks behind me. Or maybe that's my spine.
"You're protecting the omega," I realize aloud, grinning through the pain. "How chivalrous."
A growl rumbles from behind his mask, low and threatening. Not a word, and not a sound a human throat would normally produce. But the message is crystal clear.
Get out.
I have no intention of doing so.
With a sharp twist, I drive my knee into his solar plexus. He grunts—the first sound I've heard from him—and his grip falters just enough for me to break away.
We circle each other in the narrow corridor, two alphas locked in a dominance display as old as time itself. Blood trickles from a cut on my cheekbone. Must have split my fresh scar. Wraith's breathing is slightly labored, the only indication that I've managed to do any damage to him at all.
"I was told the Ghosts are a tight-knit group," I mutter, spitting blood. "But I expected at least a handshake before the beatings began."
Wraith lunges again. I duck under his arm, landing a solid uppercut to his masked jaw. His head snaps back, but he recovers instantly, catching me with a backhanded blow that sends me crashing into the opposite wall.
Pain blossoms across my shoulder blade. Good. Pain focuses the mind.
I launch myself at him, feinting left before driving my fist into his right side—the same spot I hit earlier. This time, he flinches, and I press the advantage, landing another jab to his jaw.
He responds by grabbing my hair and slamming my head against the wall.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
I drive my knee up between us, creating just enough space to free my right arm. With a snarl of my own, I channel all my remaining strength into a single, targeted strike straight to his throat.
The effect is instantaneous.
His grip releases as his body's survival instincts override everything else. He stumbles backward, one hand clutching his throat, the other braced against the wall. A wet, choked sound escapes from behind his mask—half cough, half growl. For the first time since our encounter began, the huge alpha looks vulnerable.
"Interesting," I mutter, cataloging this significant vulnerability for future reference as I push off the wall and roll my aching shoulders until they pop. "Your Achilles heel is your throat. Good to know."
Wraith's eyes snap back to mine, burning with hatred through the pain. Even with his airway compromised, he moves to position himself between me and the door to the shower room.
As if on cue, the door to the shower room flies open with a bang. Steam billows out, and with it comes a wave of that alluring omega scent, far stronger than before. Unhindered by doors or distance or scent suppressants.
My senses narrow to a single point of focus as the steam parts to reveal her—the omega whose scent has been calling to me since I first caught its trace.
She stands in the doorway, dripping wet and wrapped in nothing but a thin white towel one hand is clutching to her chest with white-knuckled intensity. Her other hand grips a fire extinguisher like she's readying a baseball bat as water droplets trickle down her pale skin, tracing paths down her neck, her collarbone, and disappearing beneath the edge of the towel. Eyes the very color of the sea lock onto me, pupils blown wide.
The world stops.
Time freezes.
My…scent match?
