Sparring without touching sounded easy on paper.
In reality, it was torture.
Grace stood at the edge of the mat, arms folded, eyes glittering. El had migrated back to the railing, coffee halfway to her lips, obviously delighted.
“Shadow only,” Grace said. “No contact. You read each other, you move, you learn. You hit, you owe Nolan paperwork.”
Kaiden nodded once. “Understood.”
I rolled my shoulders back, trying to ignore the way every wolf in the gym was pretending not to stare.
“Ready?” he asked.
My wolf was already pacing, tail high. I made her wait.
“Go,” Grace barked.
He came at me first—but not like in the tunnels, not like a king leading a charge. This was measured, contained. A step in, feint high, shift of hips that telegraphed a low strike if he’d actually thrown it.
Old
