POV: Nyra
The air crackled.
Not with magic. With heat.
Nyra slammed her palms against the training mat, panting, sweat slicking her spine as her wolf threatened to push forward—again. Her body couldn’t hold it much longer. Not without Kael.
Not after last night.
The taste of him still haunted her lips. His scent clung to her skin, buried in the curve of her thighs, under her nails. She’d begged for him. Taken him. And still, the bond throbbed like a wound not stitched shut.
“Control,” Torren barked from the other side of the room, arms crossed. “Again.”
She growled under her breath.
Torren raised a brow. “Didn’t catch that, Princess.”
Lucan whistled from the shadows. “I did. I believe she said ‘shove your training up your furry ass.’”
Mira snorted behind him. “She’s not wrong.”
