Even from thirty feet away, I catch her scent. The bond pulls at me as physically as a rope around my ribs. The primal part of me surges, and I have to lock my knees to stay put.
Violet stands at the edge of the training grounds in simple black leggings and a tank top that shows her arms, her shoulders, the curve of her waist. Her hair is pulled back in a high ponytail that sways slightly every time she moves. She looks small compared to the shifters around her. Vulnerable.
Beautiful.
Everything inside me demands I go to her. I force my boots to stay planted in the dirt.
She’s scanning the crowd, looking for familiar faces. Her eyes pass over me without stopping, without acknowledgment, and a knife twists in my chest.
Anne waves to Violet from across the field. Sienna is beside her.Violet moves toward them, and I tell myself to look away before I do something stupid like follow her.
“Alright, everyone. Pair off!” Ethan calls out. “We’re starting with basic grappling. Find a partner from your own pack who is close to your skill level.”
I watch from the sidelines as people pair up. Violet stands there alone while everyone else finds partners.
Out of nowhere, Rachel approaches her, wearing that predatory smirk I’ve seen when she’s about to make someone’s life hell.
No. No, no, no.
“Need someone?” Rachel’s voice carries across the field, sweet and mocking.
Every muscle in my body tenses. I take a step forward before Ethan’s hand lands on my shoulder.
“Don’t,” he murmurs. “Let her handle it.”
“Rachel will destroy her.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’ll be surprised.”
They move to a training mat. Rachel circles Violet like a predator, her movements fluid and confident. It takes everything I’ve got not to intervene. Not to stop this before it even starts.
But I stay rooted in place, fists clenched so tightly that my nails dig deeper into my broken skin. Jaw locked. Wolf howling inside my chest.
Rachel lunges. Fast. Using her shifter speed to advance on my mate.
Violet sidesteps. Just one motion, smooth and controlled. She catches Rachel’s wrist mid-swing. Twists. Uses her attacker’s momentum against her.
Rachel goes down hard.
The watching wolves fall silent.
I can’t breathe. Can’t process what I just saw.
Violet offers Rachel her hand. “Good try.”
Rachel slaps it away and scrambles to her feet on her own, her expression darkening with humiliation and rage.
Pride explodes through me. Hot and fierce andoverwhelming pride. My wolf preens inside me, practically vibrating with satisfaction. That’s our mate. Strong. Skilled. Perfect.
Rachel comes at her again, actually trying this time, and suddenly, possessive rage floods through me. Other males are looking. Watching my mate fight. Assessing her as she moves with grace and precision. Their eyes are on what’s mine.
I force myself to stay still. Force myself to breathe through the violence building in my chest.
Violet blocks Rachel’s strikes. Deflects her grabs. Stays just out of reach when Rachel tries to use her weight advantage.
Where the hell did Violet learn to fight like this?
The crowd grows. More wolves stop to watch. And with all these eyes on her, I become more agitated. More possessive. More desperate to eliminate the threat of all these males gaping at her, wanting her, thinking they have any right…
