Rachel charges again. Violet drops low, catches her arm, and sends her flying over her shoulder.
Rachel hits the mat with a thud that echoes.
Pride wars with the possessive fury in my chest. Violet is magnificent. But she’s drawing attention. She’s ours, but everyone is looking at her—and that makes me want to get her out of here, away from them, somewhere safe where…
“Holy shit!” Anne’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts.
Ethan appears beside Rachel, calling the match. Violet stands there, barely even panting, and I can’t look away. Seeing every detail. The flush on her cheeks. The shine of sweat on her skin, making it glow. The way her chest heaves with each breath, her tank top clinging to her.
Her eyes meet mine across the training ground.
I see the moment she registers my expression. Whatever she sees there makes her go still. Causes a certain look to cross her face—confusion, maybe. Or recognition of something she doesn’t understand.
Heat floods through me. My vision sharpens. I can see the pulsehammering in her throat from here, can smell the adrenaline and endorphins flooding her system.
Before I can move, before I can do anything stupid, Ryker Laurent steps into my line of sight.
Rage explodes inside my head.
His voice carries across the field as he talks to Violet. I can’t hear the exact words, but I see his smile. I see the way he looks at her like she’s something he wants.
Like he has any fucking right.
The wolf inside me slams against my control so hard, I stagger back a step.
Ethan’s voice cuts through my focus: “Everyone switch partners! Ravenhood with Moonvale this round!”
No. Not him. Anyone but him.
But Ryker is already leading Violet to a new sparring area, and I’m trapped on the sidelines, watching my mate pair up with another alpha’s son, one who has had his sights set on her ever since she corrected him during that presentation.
“Relax,” Ethan mutters as he appears beside me again. “Just breathe through it.”
I can’t. Because Ryker is demonstrating a hold with one hand on Violet’s waist, and my vision is tunneling to that single point of contact.
They start sparring. Ryker is skilled, I’ll give him that. His movements are precise and controlled. But there’s something in the way he touches her that makes my skin crawl.
His hands linger. Slide across her waist when they grapple. Hold her closer than necessary when demonstrating techniques.
The howling in my head intensifies. It’s constant and deafening. Demanding we intervene.
Not yet. Keep control. Just a little longer.
They reset for another round. Ryker pulls her close, both hands on her hips now. Lower than they should be. Too low. His fingers spreading across her body in a way that has nothing to dowith sparring.
I watch her face and notice the discomfort flashing across her features. I see her try to step back, but Ryker tightens his grip. Doesn’t let go.
My eyes home in on individual beads of sweat on Ryker’s forehead, count the threads in Violet’s tank top where his fingers dig in. Colors brighten to painful intensity. The urge to shift presses against my skin like a living thing trying to claw its way out.
My nails dig into my palms yet again. I feel the blood as the wounds reopen, the scent of it sharp and metallic, mixing with dirt and sweat and her scent carried on the wind.
Ethan says something. I don’t hear him. Can’t hear anything except the roar in my head, the rush of blood pounding through my veins, the single thought screaming louder than everything else: Get him away from her!
My control shatters.
I’m moving before the decision registers. Before thought catches up to action. My feet eat up the distance in seconds that feel like hours.
I reach them, and my hand closes on Ryker’s arm, ripping him away from Violet with enough force that he stumbles backward and falls.
