Rowan's POV
The gym reeked of sweat and iron, the kind of sharp tang that clung to the back of your throat. My boots slammed against the floor as I stormed in, Fenric, my Lycan, clawing just beneath my skin like fire. My chest heaved, anger burning me alive.
And then I saw him.
Elias.
He was hammering a punching bag with brutal precision, every strike reverberating through the chain it hung from.
His face was tight, jaw clenched, sweat dripping down his temple like diamonds under the harsh lights. Lucian and Ronan were on the other side of the room, casually lifting weights, their low chatter mixing with the dull thud of Elias' fists.
I didn't think. I just moved.
In three strides I was across the room, my hand fisting the front of Elias' shirt. The force of my grab slammed him back against the wall, rattling the rack of weights behind us.
Elias' head snapped up, his eyes flashing with surprise, and maybe, just maybe, a hint of challenge.
"What is—" he started.
