Ronan moved first. Fast. Cleaner than I expected. He didn't circle—he lunged. I barely pivoted in time, his shoulder slamming into mine instead of my chest. The impact jarred through my bones. The pack noise rose instantly—not cheering, not yet—but alert. Testing. Ronan recovered smoothly. "Too slow," he muttered. My wolf snapped against my ribs, fighting some unseen barrier, wanting to shift and take control but unable to. I reset my stance. He came again. This time I met him. Our forearms clashed. Dirt sprayed beneath our shoes as we strained, muscle against muscle, some of it splashing across my cheek and into my snowy white hair. He was strong. Older. Experienced. But I wasn't weak. Injured and healing, yes—but weak? Fuck no. I twisted, broke contact, swept low. He stumbled—not down, but close. A few wolves murmured, and I could feel the excitement building in the air around us. Ronan's eyes sharpened. "Better." Then, lower— "But it seems you still need to be carr
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