Chapter 7 Rhett

Rhett stood at the edge of the training ring, arms folded, jaw set. The clearing below him buzzed with movement. Task force recruits paired with Blackstone warriors in warm-up drills, the sound of fists against pads and boots against dirt. His pack moved like a single organism; disciplined, relentless. They didn’t waste energy. They didn’t posture. They didn’t lose.

Now, outsiders were on his soil for the first time, testing that standard. He hated it. He hadn’t dismissed the task force simply because something was happening in the borderlands. Ferals were vanishing. Patrols were going dark. There were tracks no one could explain.

If a threat was rising, it needed to be dealt with before it swallowed everything. He had enough chaos inside him already. He glanced across the field. Mira.

She was tying her braid back as she stepped into the ring, all muscle and sharpness and don’t-fuck-with-me energy. She wore a sleeveless black tank and tactical pants tucked into combat boots, her bare arms scarred and lethal.

He should’ve looked away, but he didn’t. His wolf surged forward at the sight of her, ready to meet the challenge he saw brewing in her eyes. She was watching him like she’d been waiting.

“Alpha Calder,” she called, voice cutting through the noise. Every head turned. Rhett’s brow lifted. “Enforcer Ellan.”

“I think it’s time I saw what your warriors are made of,” she said, stretching her arms with casual confidence. “Starting with you.” A ripple of amusement and curiosity passed through the gathered crowd.

Rhett exhaled through his nose. “You want to spar. She smirked. “Unless you’re worried about getting shown up in front of your pack.” He stepped into the ring without another word. The silence that followed was immediate and electric. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath.

Rhett faced her across the mat, her shoulders loose and her stance solid. Mira crouched slightly, weight balanced on the balls of her feet like a predator measuring distance.

This wasn’t about rank. This was instinct vs instinct. Bond vs will, and as his wolf prowled just beneath his skin, whispering take her, pin her, mark her, Rhett had to dig in hard against the pulse of desire tangled with violence.

Do not hold back, his wolf snarled. She can take it. He knew that, but the control it cost him to not reach for her—not in dominance, not in lust—was unbearable. He moved first.

Mira blocked his opening jab and countered with a spinning kick, nearly clipping his jaw. He ducked low, swept her leg, and she rolled mid-fall, landing in a crouch, already coming back up with a palm strike to his ribs.

Fast. She was so fast. Their bodies collided again, a blur of movement; strikes, counters, grapples. Rhett didn’t speak. He couldn’t. He was too focused on not letting his instincts run wild and not letting her win just to avoid the bond flaring in front of his entire pack.

Every time they connected, every time her palm hit his shoulder or his arm caught her around the waist, he felt the heat spike. Gods help him, she grinned like she was enjoying this too much.

On the edge of the ring, Jace watched them. In a brief break between blows, Rhett caught the Beta’s gaze once. The man wasn’t tense. He wasn’t jealous. He looked…spellbound.

Eyes locked on Mira. Focused, reverent, like he was watching a lightning storm and didn’t want to blink, and behind that—something else. Not desire, not yet, but an understanding.

An appreciation that settled over Jace’s expression whenever Mira moved with that wild, honed grace. It should’ve bothered Rhett. Instead, it twisted low in his gut, sharp and strange, because Jace wasn’t looking at him like that.

But if he ever did…Rhett threw the thought away like a live grenade. The match ended when Mira flipped him. Clean. Precise. She used his momentum against him, and Rhett hit the mat for the first time in years. Hard.

The pack gasped collectively, but Rhett didn’t spring up. He lay there a beat longer than necessary, breathing in the scent of her above him—sweat, smoke, pine—and staring into her silver eyes as she stood over him.

Mira didn’t smirk. She didn’t gloat. She offered a hand. He took it, and when their palms touched, the bond roared. Heat spiked down his spine, and his wolf released a silent, aching growl. Claim her. Not now. Not here.

Rhett stood slowly, gaze unreadable, hand lingering in hers a second longer than necessary.

Then he stepped back. “Not bad,” he said. Mira rolled her shoulder. “You’re rusty.” His lips twitched. “You’re reckless.” “Only because you held back,” she said. He didn’t deny it. She turned away, braid swinging, and Rhett, for the first time, didn’t know if the next move was his.