“There are different kinds of strength. Different kinds of weaknesses,” he says. He rubs his palms together, eyes darting over me again. He’s assessing me for openings, I realize instantly. He’s going to attack me again. “Why do you think the packs are separate from each other?”
“Because we needed somewhere to put all the bloodthirsty killers, Alpha Daemos,” I respond lightly, with a sweet smile.
His fist lashes out. I step back, then again when another strike comes for me. I make the mistake of blocking with the flat of my palm, and the force of his blow causes my arm to bend at the elbow and pain to burn up my right side.
“Maybe you shouldn’t test the patience of abloodthirsty killer, then,” he says. But the cold ferocity of his voice is offset by the same simmering glow in his eyes. By that challenge.
“I’m trembling,” I snap sarcastically, as if we aren’t both incredibly aware that he just scared the shit out of me on the floor.
Stark takes a deep breath and straightens. “Therealreason is because every pack has a weakness. Just as every soldier does. Strategos are intelligent. Masterful on the battlefield. But their reaction times are often slowed by the information they must constantly process. Phylax are physically formidable, but they’re less maneuverable than Daemos.”
“Andyourpack’s weakness?”
The question earns me another physical assault. Footwork carries us across the room, between the shelves. I’m sweating by the time he relents.
“Daemos get… carried away,” he rasps. The breathlessness in his voice and the way his eyes dart over me makes the hair on the back of my neck lift.
My gaze jumps unwillingly to that dark room off the side, where the unmade bed is. I think about the crack that Tomison made about Stark once—about how he seemed like the type who’d do all the riding.
I curl my fingers into fists, letting my fingernails bite into my palms, letting the pain drag me away from that deeply unwanted line of thought.
“And so we compensate for each other’s weaknesses,” I say, stepping slightly farther from him to ready myself for his next probing attacks.
“Correct. Just the same, every soldier has weaknesses and strengths,” he says.
“And our packmates compensate for those. Our?—”
“No,” he snaps harshly.
Another flurry of attacks. I’m stumbling away from the shelves, panting by the time he explains. The severity of his expression is haunting.
“You are anAlpha. You are not permitted the luxury of open weakness.”
Fuck, this man is intense. “Everyone. Has. Weaknesses,” I hiss.
He steps closer to me, crowding my space. His chest is rising and falling rapidly from the exertion. His musky, amber smell reaches my nose, and I immediately breathe through my mouth because I need to stay sharp.
“You’re right,” he says. My eyes widen. I thought he’d die before saying those words to me. “But we areselectiveabout who we show those truths to. Understand?”
I swallow roughly. He doesn’t wait for my response, turning away abruptly and striding away from me. I study the slope ofhis shoulders for a moment. They’re rising and falling as if he’s agitated.
For a moment, hidden meaning gathers around us like angry storm clouds. His name forms on my tongue. I can’t say why. There was just something so heavy, so charged about the way he turned away from me.
“St—”
He whirls on me. I don’t have time to dodge fully, so I try to lessen the impact of his blow by moving my body parallel to his momentum. It hurts, but it doesn’t break anything. I dance away quickly, catching my balance near one of the glass cases.
Annoyance fizzes in my blood. I can feel bruises already forming.
“Was that playing at weakness, too?” I growl out.
He strides towards me.Quickly. “How many gammas are in each pack?”
“Wh… Two?” I say.
He lashes out again. I grunt and deflect, dodge, then suffer another punishing hit. “Two or three,” he says. “What is a rider’s biggest vulnerability, when mounted?”
I ready myself, widening my stance. “Uneven terrain.”
