The training ground echoed with the sound of impact—flesh against flesh, bone threatening to break, growls that vibrated through stone. Dust spiraled beneath their feet, kicked up by every savage strike and counter. Zarek's body moved like a storm—wild, relentless, fury forged into fists and fire. Lioren, ever the ice to Zarek's flame, countered with a cold precision that bordered on merciless. Every hit he delivered was measured, meant to incapacitate, not maim—but the message beneath the restraint was clear: 'Back down.'
Neither of them would.
Spectators had long fled. The circle was empty but for the two mates, locked in the kind of fight that only ends one of two ways—submission or death.
"You're always so arrogant." Zarek's voice was raw with rage, breathless as blood trickled from his mouth.
Lioren's lip curled, his eyes glowing with that glacial silver that chilled even the fiercest wolves.
Zarek lunged, tackling Lioren with a snarl, pinning him to the ground with a feral roar
