"Every nerve screamed yes and no at the same time."
The heat of his breath lingered against my ear like a brand, his words dripping with the false sweetness of poison-coated honey: Yield, and I'll make it worth your while.
Every nerve in my body erupted into chaos, screaming contradictory messages that left me reeling. Yes, whispered the part of me that craved recognition, that hungered for someone to see my worth and offer me everything I'd been denied. No, roared my pride, my sense of self-preservation, the deep knowledge that nothing Gideon offered would come without chains attached.
My wolf thrashed inside me like a caged beast, a storm of defiance and unwanted attraction that made my skin burn where he touched me. Claws scraped against my ribs from the inside, as though my other half was trying to tear through flesh and bone to rip him away from me.
The sand beneath us was cool against my back, gritty between my fingers where my hands had clenched into fists. Above us, the night sky stretched endless and star-scattered, while torchlight flickered across Gideon's face, casting sharp shadows that made his smile look more predatory than ever.
"Get off me." The words came out as a hiss, low and dangerous. I twisted beneath his weight, testing his grip, feeling the burn of his fingers around my wrists. But I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me break, wouldn't let him witness fear or panic in my eyes.
His smirk widened, showing those perfect white teeth that belonged on a hunting cat. "Oh, little wolf. You say no with your lips, but your body tells a different story entirely."
The condescending endearment made rage bubble up from somewhere deep and primal. "My wolf says kill," I snapped, baring my own teeth in a snarl that was more animal than human.
For a fraction of a heartbeat, his practiced mask slipped. Something flickered in his golden eyes-not desire, not lust, but hunger of a different kind. The kind that wanted to possess, to own, to break beautiful things simply because they existed.
It wasn't about me at all. It was about conquest. About proving he could take whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it.
That moment of clarity cut through the confusion like a blade through silk.
The mate bond thrummed to life in my chest, tugging not toward the wolf pinning me down, but toward another-toward golden eyes that blazed with protective fury even across the distance that separated us. I could feel Darius's rage like an echo through our connection, distant but pulsing with the rhythm of a war drum. A reminder of who my heart truly belonged to, even if my pride refused to acknowledge it.
But louder than the bond, stronger than any magical connection, my own voice screamed the truth: I wasn't a prize to be won. Not Darius's. Not Gideon's. Not anyone's.
I was my own.
I let my wolf rise-not fully, not enough to trigger a complete shift, but just enough to flood my veins with supernatural strength. Power coursed through my muscles like liquid fire, sharpening my senses beyond fear, beyond doubt, beyond the suffocating weight of his expectations.
"You think you've already won," I said, my voice dropping to barely above a whisper. Dangerous. Deadly. "But you underestimated me from the very beginning."
He pressed harder, his knee digging into the sand beside my hip, trying to use his size and weight to intimidate me into submission. "Then prove it, little wolf. Show me this strength you're so proud of."
The challenge was everything my wolf craved-a chance to prove dominance, to establish hierarchy through violence and victory. But this wasn't just about physical strength anymore. This was about something far more important.
Control.
I forced myself to go still beneath him, every muscle relaxing despite my wolf's protests. Instead of thrashing wildly like a trapped animal, I focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the distribution of his weight, the exact pressure points where his grip might falter. He expected brute resistance, expected me to fight him with claws and fangs and desperate fury.
Instead, I gave him patience. Strategy. The kind of cold calculation that had kept me alive through years of navigating hostile territory.
And then I struck.
I shifted my weight suddenly, a sharp twist that caught him off-guard. My wrist turned at precisely the angle where his grip was weakest, where his fingers hadn't quite found their optimal hold. Pain sparked up my arm like lightning, but I didn't stop-couldn't stop. I rolled with fluid grace, using his own momentum against him, letting physics do what brute force couldn't.
In one swift motion, I slipped free. My body sliding out from under his like water through a broken dam, and I sprang back to my feet with the liquid grace of a predator ready to strike again.
Gideon froze.
For the first time since I'd known him, the smug certainty dropped from his face like a discarded mask. His lips parted in shock, eyes widening just enough to betray his complete surprise. He knelt there in the sand, looking up at me with an expression I'd never seen before.
Uncertainty.
"You-" He started to speak, then stopped, apparently at a loss for words.
I straightened slowly, brushing grains of sand from my palms with deliberate care. The torchlight caught the defiant tilt of my chin, and I let him see every ounce of pride blazing in my eyes.
"Didn't see that coming?" My voice was steady, controlled, nothing like the trembling girl he'd expected to break.
His expression hardened into something sharper, more dangerous than mere attraction or political maneuvering. Real anger flickered behind his eyes-the fury of a predator whose prey had suddenly revealed claws.
But the victory was mine, even if only for this moment. Even if he would undoubtedly find ways to retaliate later.
Outside the training arena, I caught the familiar scent of pine and leather that meant safety, that meant home. Caleb's presence lingered just beyond the heavy wooden doors, close enough to intervene if needed but far enough away to let me handle this myself.
He hadn't burst through the entrance like some gallant knight. Hadn't tried to rescue me from a situation I'd walked into with open eyes. But I knew he was there, steady and reliable as mountain stone, ready if I faltered.
And perhaps that knowledge-that someone trusted me to save myself while still being willing to catch me if I fell-gave me the final surge of courage I needed.
I met Gideon's gaze one last time, holding his stunned silence like a shield between us. Then I turned my back on him with deliberate casualness and walked toward the door, my steps measured and confident despite the adrenaline still singing through my veins.
Behind me, I heard him struggle to his feet, heard the soft hiss of sand falling from his expensive practice leathers. But I didn't look back.
For the first time in our acquaintance, it was Gideon Wicke watching me walk away.
And it felt like victory.