Chapter 10

Rhea

His voice was rough, casual, with an edge of impatience. He moved into the gym like he owned it, every step radiating confidence bordering on arrogance. My wolf whined, desperate to get closer, to touch him, to confirm what she already knew. I forced myself to stay still, to breathe, to think past the chaos in my head.

"He—he just left," I managed, hating how my voice shook. "Emergency. Family thing."

The man made an annoyed sound. "Damn it. I came all the way here to challenge the old bastard." He shrugged off his jacket and tossed it onto a bench, revealing more of that bronzed, scarred torso. Old wounds marked his ribs and shoulders—fight trophies, proof of survival. He rolled his neck, joints popping audibly, then turned that sharp amber gaze back to me. "You. Come here."

It wasn't a request. It was a command, casual and absolute.

I took an involuntary step back. "What?"

His mouth curved into a smile that was all teeth and challenge. "Old man's not here, so you'll do. Spar with me."

Every rational thought I had screamed no. I needed to leave. Needed to get away from him before my wolf did something stupid, before I said or did something that exposed me. But the way he looked at me—like I was interesting, like I might actually be worth his time—made something reckless flare in my chest.

"I don't know if—"

"What, scared?" He crossed the space between us in three long strides, looking down at me with open amusement. "You're pretty scrawny for a Beta. But if Gideon's training you, you must have some skill. Or are you just wasting his time?"

The casual dismissal stung more than it should have. I'd spent three days getting beaten down, told I was weak, pushed to my limits. I'd bled and sweated and refused to quit. And this arrogant stranger thought I was wasting time?

"I can fight," I said, lifting my chin.

His grin widened. "Yeah? Prove it."

---

He moved to the center of the mat, falling into a loose fighter's stance that looked deceptively relaxed. Everything about his posture said he didn't take this seriously, didn't think I'd be any challenge at all. My wolf snarled at the insult even as she trembled with the need to get closer to him.

I forced myself to focus. Raised my hands the way Gideon had taught me, weight balanced, guard up. The man's eyes tracked the movement and something flickered in his expression—surprise, maybe, or interest.

"Gideon's old-school stance," he said. "Predictable."

Then he attacked.

His fist came at my face so fast I barely registered the movement. Instinct took over—I jerked my head to the side, felt the breeze of his knuckles passing a hair's breadth from my cheek. My heart hammered. If that had connected, I'd be on the floor.

"Not bad," he said, circling. "Quick reflexes."

He feinted left, then drove a hook toward my ribs. This time I wasn't fast enough. His fist clipped my shoulder, not hard but enough to send me stumbling. The impact jolted through me, and where his skin had brushed mine, a wave of heat rolled through my body—not painful, but overwhelming, like standing too close to a bonfire. The mate bond recognizing its other half. My wolf howled in recognition and need.

He froze. Just for a second, his eyes widening, his hand flexing like he'd felt something unexpected. Then he shook it off and reset his stance, but I caught the confusion flickering across his features. "You okay?"

"Fine." I wasn't. My shoulder burned where he'd touched me, my wolf was going insane, and I could barely think past the overwhelming need to close the distance between us. But I couldn't show weakness. Couldn't let him see how much he affected me.

I forced myself to move, to attack like Gideon had drilled into me. Low hook toward his exposed ribs—hit where they're not looking, where their guard is weak. He clearly hadn't expected me to go on the offensive. He twisted away but not quite fast enough. My knuckles grazed his side.

For a heartbeat we both stood there, breathing hard. Then the man laughed—a real laugh, startled and delighted. "Okay. You've got some bite after all."

His entire demeanor shifted. The casual arrogance dropped away, replaced by sharp focus. When he came at me again, it was with real intent. Not to hurt me, but to test me, to see what I could do. We fell into a rhythm—strike, block, dodge, counter. He was faster, stronger, more experienced, but he didn't overwhelm me. He pushed just hard enough to make me work for every defense, every opening.

And with every exchange, with every moment our bodies moved in sync, the bond pulled tighter.

After maybe ten minutes he called a halt, stepping back with his hands raised. "Stop. Your footwork's sloppy."

I was gasping for air, sweat soaking through my shirt, but I'd held my own better than I'd expected. "What do you mean?"

He moved behind me before I could react. His hands landed on my shoulders—warm, firm, and that rush of recognition flooded through me again, the bond singing that this was right, that he belonged to us. My wolf crooned in contentment. I went rigid, fighting to keep my breathing steady, to not lean into his touch like every instinct demanded.

If he felt it too, he didn't show it. "Your weight's too far forward. Makes you easy to unbalance." His hands shifted, adjusting my stance, and I bit my tongue to keep from making a sound. "Back more. Like this. Feel the difference?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice. His scent surrounded me—hot amber and leather and something wild and sun-scorched that made me dizzy. It was nothing like Kael's cold, controlled presence. This was fire and freedom and reckless joy, and I wanted to drown in it.

"Try again," the man said, stepping back.

For the next hour he taught me. Not with Gideon's harsh efficiency but with surprising patience, breaking down each movement, showing me how to use my smaller size as an advantage, how to read an opponent's tells. When I got something right, his eyes would light up with genuine approval. When I messed up, he'd demonstrate again without frustration.

The physical contact was unavoidable—adjusting my grip, correcting my stance, demonstrating holds and counters. Every touch sent that warmth cascading through me, the mate bond humming with satisfaction at the closeness, and by the time he called another break, I was wound so tight I thought I might shatter.

The man tossed me a water bottle. I caught it on reflex, fingers brushing his for just a heartbeat, and the intensity of the connection made my breath hitch. He heard it. His amber eyes narrowed, studying my face with sudden focus.

"You okay?" he asked, his voice rougher than before. "You've been acting weird since we started."