Page 18

18

Wyatt

T hey think they’ve got me boxed in.

I tilt my head to watch them, weighing them up. Giving them one last chance to back down before they do something they’ll regret.

I enjoy how their glowing eyes widen when they realise exactly who they’re dealing with. They thought I was just a giant when I was in human form? Well, that’s nothing compared to how terrifying my wolf is.

My wolf stands nearly five feet at the shoulder, far larger than any normal shifter. My midnight-black fur bristles along my spine, muscles rippling beneath my coat, as I lower my head. I've been told my wolf's eyes glow like molten gold in the darkness, the only feature that betrays what I truly am when I'm in this form.

None of them are alphas, just bad sportsmen looking to take me out early. They might think they’re here to improve their own chances, to take me out in a group because they know there’s no way they can beat me, one on one, but I have no doubt who sent them.

Brad.

He knows Naomi’s mine and doesn’t want to risk me winning the Games. He needs me to stay weak, on the outskirts, and easily discredited, so I can’t avenge whatever he’s done to my mate and her sister.

And because he’s a coward, he’s sent these idiots to deal with me instead of doing it himself.

Deciding that their time to retreat is up, I release a deafening snarl that sends the roosting birds up into the night sky.

The sound echoes through the forest, a primal challenge that seems to shake the very air. This is who I truly am, not the careful, controlled man I present to the world, but this wild force of nature. After years of holding back, of checking my strength and tempering my instincts, there's a savage freedom in finally unleashing my wolf.

If they want to see a vicious rogue, I’ll give them one.

Fear glints in the wolves’ eyes as they exchange hesitant glances, their ears flattening slightly, their confidence cracking.

I prowl forward, my massive wolf dwarfing theirs, gold eyes burning in the darkness. I was big before. Now, I tower over them, and they sense my undiluted rage.

One of them, a lean, dark-coated wolf, hesitates, ears flicking back, questioning the wisdom of their ill-thought-out plan.

I’m not a wolf slinking off in defeat. Far from it.

Grayson, the biggest and boldest, a wolf I’ve seen practising in the training area, lunges first, and the fight begins.

I catch him mid-leap, jaws clamping down on his scruff, twisting his body and throwing him hard into a tree.

He yelps as he hits the ground, scrambling up just as the others close in on me. Teeth flash in the darkness. Claws rake through fur, and the bitter tang of spilled blood fills the air.

Not my blood, though.

Years of surviving as a rogue have honed my fighting skills beyond what these pack-raised wolves can comprehend. They fight by rules, by training patterns drilled into them since they were pups. I fight by instinct, by necessity. The difference is immediately apparent and glorious.

My wolf channels all of his pent-up anger and frustration on teaching these pups a lesson. All I wanted to do was go for a run, but this was much better.

The second wolf dives for my flank, but I pivot, meeting him head-on. My shoulder slams into him with enough force to send him skidding. He snaps his jaws, aiming for my throat, but I duck low, lunging under his attack and catching his leg in my teeth. I whip my head, sending him sprawling on the leaf-covered dirt.

The third wolf takes his opening and hits me broadside, knocking me momentarily off balance. A bite bounces off my hind leg, sharp but not penetrating. I twist violently, shaking him off before his teeth can sink any deeper.

Grayson’s back up, circling, blood dripping from his muzzle. The other two gather themselves, panting, tails flicking with uncertainty, waiting for a window of opportunity they’re not sure will come. At least, not without incurring a nasty injury that will put their own chances in the competition in jeopardy.

I’m done playing, and they know it.

The forest around us grows eerily quiet. Even the nocturnal creatures have fallen silent, sensing the predators in their midst. The pale moonlight filters through the branches, casting dappled patterns across our fur as we circle each other.

I rush them, a blur of fur and force, and hit Grayson first, taking him to the ground and driving my weight into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. His claws scramble for purchase, but I hold him down, snarling inches from his throat until he goes limp, eyes rolling back in submission.

The others don’t come to his aid. Instead, they stand back and watch, waiting to see if I’ll end their friend and then turn on them. The idea is tempting, but deep down, I know I’ll be helping Brad, giving him exactly what I want if I get myself removed from the Games. It would play right into his hands to have me forced off Dean’s territory and leave my mate alone with him.

I’d be shooting myself in the foot, and I certainly wouldn’t be helping Naomi.

Eyeing up the two panting, injured wolves, I let out a low warning growl, stepping forward, making myself even bigger.

Don’t mess with me, I warn. Leave.

I could kill them. The thought passes through my mind with cold clarity. One quick snap of my jaws, and Grayson would never move again. There would be consequences, banishment at the very least, but in this moment, with adrenaline coursing through me and their attack still fresh, part of me wants them to know the true price of challenging someone much stronger so recklessly.

The youngest of the small gang doesn’t need to be told twice. He turns tail and runs, hoping to make it back before I finish his friend and catch up to him. Smart.

I won’t chase him, even though my wolf’s desire to hunt is strong.

Instead, I stand over Grayson, teeth bared, daring him to move. The whole forest is thick with the scent of blood and submission. It’s over, but my wolf doesn’t want it to be. Not when I have questions about what suddenly made them escalate from taunts and jeers to destroying my property, and now, a fight in wolf form.

The animal inside me wants more.

He wants to finish it, to make sure they never try this again. He’s sick of being pushed around and treated like shit. My vision tunnels, breaths ragged as I lean in, letting the last one know just how close he is to dying and to seeing what a feral rogue really looks like.

The taste of blood is sharp on my tongue as the thrill of domination rushes through my veins. This is what they fear, this moment when the civilized veneer falls away and the wolf takes control. I feel the primitive joy of victory, the surge of power that comes from proving, once again, that I am not to be trifled with.

But beneath that primal satisfaction is something darker, more troubling. The knowledge that with each display of strength, I’m confirming their worst suspicions about rogues. I prove that I am what they fear most. And the danger that my actions could take me away from my mate.

Then a growl rumbles through the trees. Not a challenge. A warning. From one of the few wolves in this place that my beast will listen to.

Blake Steel’s massive black wolf steps into the clearing, his gaze sharp as ice, and his presence, commanding enough that my wolf hesitates, even though his desire to finally stand up to these bullies is strong.

Stand down.

Blake’s meaning is clear. He won’t let me kill them. He doesn’t want to, but he’ll force me to submit or fight me if he has to.

My wolf bristles, rebelling against being told what to do and uneasy at being in the commanding presence of an animal just as powerful as ours. My wolf continues to press forward in defiance, tightening his hold ever so slightly, eliciting a pitiful whimper from the wolf that’s lying prone beneath me. He debates whether it’s worth it to finish this pathetic male and test himself against the giant alpha, too.

Blake stands perfectly still, his power so absolute that he does not need to display it. We both know he could force my submission, but he waits, giving me the dignity of choice.

Calmly, he watches to see what I’ll do, as if he can read my thoughts and is patiently waiting for my decision. He has faith I’ll choose wisely, and I want to prove him right.

Then, in the distance, a howl splits the night.

Soft. Familiar. Pleading.

Naomi.

It calls to something deep in my chest, something stronger than rage, or a thirst for revenge. She’s begging me to come back to her, and killing this wolf is something that could force us apart permanently.

Her howl isn't loud, but it cuts through everything else, including the blood pounding in my ears, the fury clouding my judgment, and the wolf's desire for vengeance. The moment I hear her, the fight drains out of me, my snarl fades, and my teeth retract from Grayson’s torn flesh.

Steel’s gigantic wolf stays in front of me, watching closely as I step back, reluctantly releasing my prize. When he sees my body relax and my wolf give way to my human form, Blake shifts back, standing with arms crossed, his expression neutral and unreadable. Nothing about him would suggest he was seconds away from witnessing a murder and potentially having to put down a dangerous rogue.

“Thanks for not killing anyone,” he says quietly, glancing around at the snapped branches and the marks and grooves in the soil that tell of a fierce fight.

I exhale and tip my head back, letting the cold air chill my sweat-dampened fur and my heated temper. Blood drips down my leg from a shallow scratch, but I barely feel it. All my focus is on Naomi, and what she must think of me. If my feet weren’t rooted to the ground, my wolf waiting for this powerful man to tell me what’s going to happen next, I’d run to her and beg her to see I’m not a crazed rogue.

Or, at least, I don’t think I am.

In the aftermath of my rage, a hollow emptiness settles inside me, accompanied by a sense of shame. Not for what I did, but for enjoying it. For proving, in some small way, that they're right to fear me. I wouldn't have killed Grayson, not really. But for a moment, I wanted to. Wanted to silence all the whispers and sneers, once and for all.

Blake's expression gives nothing away, but there's a certain understanding in his eyes. He's an alpha among alphas. Surely he knows this struggle, the constant battle between the wolf and the man. Between being civilised and controlled, and letting the inner beast out to play.

Blake glances at the bloody carnage around us, then toward the distant tree line where the howl went up. The direction of her.

His jaw ticks. “You need to get a handle on this. Before the next round, ideally.”

I sit back on my haunches and tip my chin up defiantly.

His smirk is knowing, his eyes flicking toward the night sky where the almost full moon hangs low.

“Sort yourself out before your wolf does something you’ll regret. Don’t get yourself banished over a few idiots who are just trying to push your buttons.”

I force my breathing to steady. In and out.

“Sounds easier than it is. I know.” With a tip of his head, he’s gone, leaving me alone to consider his words.

It's a vast understatement. Every sneer, every whisper, every reminder that I don't belong, chips away at the walls I've built to contain my wolf. And now with Naomi, with the promise of what we could be together, and my wolf itching to claim her permanently, the stakes are impossibly high.

Gritting my teeth, I swallow back a growl, my wolf still angry that his fun was cut short, because deep down, I know he’s right. That could have been the end of everything—my chances of winning a pack, my opportunity to help Maddie, and my future with Naomi.

Without being able to mark Naomi, and with another wolf trying to stake his claim on my mate, I’m hanging on by a thread. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending otherwise.