CHAPTER 6

Matthew’s caramel eyes locked onto hers, a knowing glint surfacing. "I know because my cousin never accepts a loss. And that" he pointed toward the dirt track where a fiery red stallion was now muscling ahead of the pack, while a white contender also surged forward to challenge the lead, "is Roman’s beast. He always puts his faith in Jordan."

Willow’s lips parted. Roman’s horse? That meant the Alpha was here, presiding over the games. Her pulse spiked, and her eyes instinctively scanned the sea of faces in the auditorium. He was nowhere to be seen among the tiered seating of the common pack members. Shifters of his standing the high-tier Alphas and stakeholders never rubbed shoulders with the general public during the heat of a race.

Then, her gaze drifted upward.

There he was. High in the fortified V.I.P. gallery, shielded by reinforced glass that overlooked the entire Redwood Bay circuit. He stood at the very edge of the balcony, chest broad and powerful, hands buried deep in his pockets. A cadre of dark-suited Enforcers and advisors stood like statues behind him, watching the kinetic energy of the race unfold. Roman wore dark sunglasses, obscuring his eyes, but his presence was a physical weight that seemed to anchor the entire stadium.

Willow shook her head and balled her hands into fists. Focus, Willow! Had she known he was the patron of this event, she would have feigned an illness to stay at the Grant House. Suddenly, her allegiance shifted; she no longer cared for the red stallion. She found herself silently rooting for the white horse as it overtook the black mare, Cage.

Beside her, Blair continued to cheer with an intensity that bordered on hunger. Now it made sense Blair wasn't just supporting a horse; she was supporting the prestige of the Vale name.

"For a second, I thought Cage was going to take it. Damn, that mare is fast," Tyler commented, leaning into Willow’s space. Meanwhile, Evan was casually working his way through a tub of popcorn, looking entirely too relaxed.

That brat. Willow glared at her brother. He surely knew Roman would be presiding over the track today, but he hadn't breathed a word of it. Noticing her look, Evan simply arched a brow. To avoid Tyler overhearing, Willow pulled out her phone and fired off a message.

Willow: He is here. And you didn't think that was worth mentioning?

Evan glanced at his device, then back at her with a confused frown before typing a reply.

Evan: Who? Roman?

Willow: Don't play the saint with me. You know exactly who.

Evan: Oh. I assumed you knew. Everyone knows the Castelo Track is his territory. It’s the premier racing circuit in the north.

Willow’s eyes widened as she read the screen. Castelo? She had always assumed every piece of Vale property was branded with the Lanka name.

Willow: Why Castelo? Why not the Vale Track?

Evan: It was his mother’s maiden name. It’s a tribute.

Willow looked back up at the glass gallery, but the silhouette was gone. Returning her attention to the dirt, she saw that Cage had suddenly reclaimed the lead from Jordan. Blair’s cheers died in her throat, replaced by a stunned silence.

Hah. Willow felt a petty spark of satisfaction. It seemed the great Roman Vale couldn't handle the sight of his investment falling behind and had retreated into the shadows. Rolling her eyes, she stood up. The race was entering its final lap, but her nerves and her bladder demanded a reprieve. Excusing herself, she navigated the stone stairs and headed toward the restroom corridor.

"Well, look what the forest dragged in!"

A group of rugged, rough-looking rogues whistled as she moved past the lounge area. Their scents were foul sour ale and unwashed fur.

"Moon above, look at those legs," one growled, his eyes raking over her denim shorts.

Willow gritted her teeth, her inner wolf snarling behind her ribs, but she kept her eyes fixed ahead. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

"What’s the price, sweetheart?" another laughed, jingling coins in his pocket. "I’ve got enough here for a very long night."

The group erupted in coarse laughter. Just as Willow began to turn, a hand wrapped around her shoulder, pulling her away.

"Willow, ignore them. They aren't worth the blood," Tyler’s voice was hushed, urgent. "Just keep walking."

"Ignore them? Did you hear the filth they were shouting?" Willow tried to wrench out of his grip, her eyes flashing with a predatory light. "Let me go. I’ll teach them exactly what a Grant female is capable of."

Tyler didn't let go; he practically dragged her around the corner as the whistling continued behind them. "Willow, please. There are four of them and only two of us. I won't have you making a scene in public. It’s beneath you."

He spoke with a logic that felt like cold water on her fire. Willow exhaled a sharp, frustrated breath. "Fine. Go take your call. I’ll be out in a minute."

Tyler nodded, stepping away to answer his buzzing phone. Since males were strictly forbidden from the inner sanctum of the ladies' area, Willow slipped inside alone. She took her time, splashing cold water on her face and smoothing her hair until she felt her pulse return to normal.

Satisfied, she grabbed her cap and stepped back out into the corridor. She turned the corner, only to collide with a wall of solid muscle. A yelp escaped her as a massive figure towered over her, blocking the path completely.

"W-what are you doing here?" Willow’s voice betrayed her with a slight tremor.

Stormy gray eyes raked over her face, lingering for a heartbeat on her parted lips. The intensity of his gaze was suffocating, as if he had been tracking her scent through the vents, waiting for the moment she was isolated.

"Well?" she tried again, her voice firmer.

How had he even accessed this area? Then she remembered—this was his domain. Every stone and shadow here belonged to him.

"I came to ensure you were unharmed," Roman said, his voice a low, resonant rumble. He looked... furious.

"How many times must I repeat myself, Roman? My safety is not your concern. You are not my Alpha."

"Someone has to be," he countered, his gaze hardening into shards of flint. "Especially since that pathetic excuse for a mate you’ve chosen can’t even hold a line when his female is insulted."

Mate? Willow’s eyes narrowed. So he had seen the encounter in the hall.

"Excuse me? You are crossing a line you have no right to touch. Do not speak of Tyler that way."

A muscle in Roman's jaw pulsed violently. "I speak only of what I see. A true male does not drag his female away from a fight she wants to finish. Only a coward leaves her alone in a corridor after she's been targeted by trash."

"He didn't leave me! He was being rational," Willow defended, her voice rising. "And he is my boyfriend, not just a 'friend'."

Roman’s eyes flashed with a dark, primal light. His nostrils flared as he cocked his head, a predatory tilt that made her heart hammer against her ribs. "Not for long."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He took a step closer, forcing Willow to stumble back. He took another, and another, until her shoulder blades hit the cold stone wall. Roman moved in, his massive frame eclipsing the hallway lights, trapping her in his shadow. The scent of him cedar, rain, and raw power filled her lungs.

He planted his hands on the wall on either side of her head, leaning in until they were inches apart. "I mean," he rasped, "that you will not be 'his' for much longer."

Determination, cold and absolute, burned in his gray eyes.

"How could you possibly know that?" she whispered. The heat radiating from him was making her head swim. When he brushed his knuckles against her cheek, a traitorous, shaky breath escaped her. Then, she noticed the bruised skin on his knuckles fresh marks of a physical altercation.

Before she could ask, his thumb moved to trace the curve of her bottom lip, the touch both gentle and possessive.

"You won't be his," Roman whispered against her ear, his hot breath ghosting over her skin, "because you already belong to someone else."

Willow’s mind fractured. She couldn't think, couldn't breathe. Summoning the last of her willpower, she pushed against his chest, creating a desperate sliver of space.

"D-don't ever corner me like this again! And what do you mean? Who are you talking about?"

Roman remained silent, but the look in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with fear. It was exactly what she had spent seven years running from.