The storm still hummed inside Lyra’s veins long after the ring fell silent. She stood trembling in the center, her chest heaving, blood drying on her arm. Every muscle screamed with exhaustion, but the power refused to settle. It sizzled beneath her skin, daring anyone to challenge her again.
No one did.
The warrior who had nearly torn her throat out now bowed low, fur bristling but head dipped. Submission. The pack’s eyes shifted from him to her, their murmurs rising in uneasy waves. Fear. Awe. Suspicion.
Ronan stepped forward. His presence cut through the noise like a blade. He moved with that lethal stillness she had already come to recognize—the calm before a storm that could break bones with a single strike. His gaze locked on hers, and Lyra’s throat went dry.
“You think this prov
