She’s fighting tohurt.
Every strike is personal. Brutal. Her knife comes at me again, and I deflect—steel screaming against steel—but she’s already transitioning. Knee toward my ribs. I block with my forearm. The force rocks me back.
The hatred coming off her is gut-deep. Not the cold calculation of a professional. Not even the hot rage of someone seeking revenge.
This is something deeper. Something that’s been living inside her, feeding on itself, growing teeth and claws and the kind of fury that doesn’t burn out—it just burns.
And it unsettles me.
I’ve faced plenty of people who wanted me dead. Occupational hazard. But this—
This is different.
I catch her wrist as she strikes again. Twist. She doesn’t resist the momentum—uses it, spins into me, and suddenly we’re too close. Her free hand rakes toward my eyes. I grab it. Lock both her wrists.
For a second, we’re frozen. Straining against each other. Her face inches from mine, teeth bared, eyes burning.
“What did I do to you?” The question comes out before I can stop it.
She doesn’t answer. Just wrenches free with a move that shouldn’t work but does because she’s willing to dislocate her own shoulder to make it happen.
The blade flashes. I lean back. Edge whispers past my throat close enough to feel. We separate. Circle. Both breathing hard now.
Her technique is Aurora standard—efficient, brutal, designed to end fights fast. But she’s layering something else over it. Street fighting. Pack mentality translated to human form. The kind of viciousness that comes from knowing your opponent isstronger and deciding you don’t care. You’ll take them apart anyway.
She comes at me again.
This time, I’m ready. Block. Counter. She deflects. We trade strikes—blade work so fast it’s almost too quick to track. Steel rings against steel. Each impact jolts up my arm.
She’s tiring. I can see it in the fractional delays. The way her breathing gets shallower. But she doesn’t stop.
Won’t stop.
Her blade slips past my guard. Cuts across my ribs.
It fucking stings, goddamit.
Enough.
This is ridiculous.
I grab her knife hand. Twist hard. Bones grind beneath my grip. She drops the blade.
Doesn’t matter. She lunges anyway. Bare hands reaching for my throat like she’ll kill me with her fingers if she has to. Like she’ll dig into flesh and bone and tear until there’s nothing left.
We crash together. Grappling now. No more technique. Just heaving bodies and fury and desperate strength. I’m bigger. Stronger. Should be able to end this in seconds. But she fights like something feral. Twisting. Clawing. Using every part of her body as a weapon.
My hand closes around her wrist, spinning her off balance. We stagger. Hit the wall. Stone digs into my back. Her weight presses against me. Not striking now. Just holding position. Fingers wrapped in my jacket. Face turned up toward mine, eyes burning. Both breathing too hard. And something shifts. The air changes. Thickens. Heat that has nothing to do with exertion floods my system.
Her scent hits me. Not the snow and blood and violence I’ve been tracking. Something underneath. Something that bypasses conscious thought and goes straight to hindbrain instinct.
Wild. Female.Want.
My dragon rumbles. Not fire. Not the need to burn. Something else.
Her pupils dilate. Lips part. That silver circle bleeds further into the green of her irises until her eyes are more wolf than human.
And I realize… she’s not looking at me with hatred anymore. The rage is still there. Still burning. But underneath it—
