Chapter 4: Sparring with Cruz
1351 Words
Rachael’s muscles still burned from the first round with Cruz, but she refused to show it. The gym lights cast sharp shadows across the mat, making the space feel smaller, more intimate. The other three Alphas had retreated upstairs after the perimeter alert turned out to be a false trigger—wild animals, Richard had said—but Cruz stayed.
He rolled his neck, tattoos shifting over muscle. “Ready for more?”
She nodded once. No words. Words gave too much away.
They circled again.
This time, Rachael attacked harder, faster, pouring every ounce of rage into her strikes. Knee to his thigh. Elbow to ribs. Palm strike the throat—he blocked them all, but barely. Cruz gave ground, eyes alive with something that looked like approval.
“Good,” he grunted after she landed a solid hit to his shoulder. “Use the anger.”
She spun low, swept his leg. He jumped it, caught her arm mid-follow-up, and yanked her off balance. They crashed to the mat together, her back hitting the padded floor with his weight on top.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
His body pressed against hers—hard chest, heat, the rapid beat of his heart matching her own. His hands pinned her wrists beside her head, but gently, careful of bruises. His face hovered inches away, dark eyes searching for hers.
The bond between them exploded, raw and electric. Need surged through her veins, hot and unwelcome. Her wolf whined, wanting to arch into him, to bare his throat and submit.
Rachael snarled and bucked, trying to throw him off.
Cruz didn’t budge. “Feel that?” His voice came out rough. “That’s not just hate.”
She froze, breathing hard. “Get off me.”
He released her wrists immediately and rolled away, sitting up with space between them. “I’m not the enemy, Rachael.”
“You keep saying that.” She pushed to her feet, wiping sweat from her brow. “But words don’t bring back the dead.”
Cruz stood more slowly. “No. They don’t.” He grabbed a towel from the bench and tossed it to her. “But truth might keep more from joining them.”
She caught the towel and pressed it onto her face. The fabric smelled faintly of him—sweat, pine, something wild. She hated how much she noticed.
“Show me more proof, then.”
He nodded toward the stairs. “Richard’s office. Now.”
They found the others in a large study on the main floor. Books lined the walls, a massive desk dominated the center, and screens glowed with security feeds. Richard sat behind the desk, Ryder leaned over his shoulder, studying something on the main monitor, and Zane stood by the fireplace staring into the flames.
All four heads turned when they entered.
Richard’s gaze flicked over her damp hair, flushed skin, then to Cruz’s bare chest. Something unreadable passed across his face.
“Perimeter’s clear,” Cruz reported. “Animals.”
Ryder straightened. “Good. We need her to see this.”
He gestured to the monitor. Rachael stepped closer.
The screen showed a frozen frame: the night of the fire, grainy footage from a hidden camera on Silver Mirage land. Flames roared through homes. Figures moved in the smoke—wolves in half-shift, claws extended.
Ryder zoomed in on one attacker’s hand.
The claws weren’t natural. They gleamed wrong—too uniform, too metallic at the tips.
“Synthetic,” Ryder said. “Lab-grown keratin over steel cores. No pack uses them. Too traceable.”
He clicked on another image: a chemical residue report. Accelerant not found in any known werewolf territory.
Zane spoke quietly. “We have samples from three survivors who escaped with burns. Same compounds.”
Rachael’s throat tightened. She remembered those survivors. Two had died later from infections. One had vanished.
Richard leaned back. “Someone went to a lot of trouble to make it look like us.”
She stared at the screen until the images blurred. “Who profits from two packs destroying each other?”
“That’s what we’ve been trying to find out,” Richard said. “And why they’ve been watching you.”
He opened a drawer and pulled out the small listening devices Ryder had shown her earlier. Three black dots no bigger than buttons.
“We swept the house after we brought you here. Found these in your room. Professional grade. Not ours.”
Rachael’s stomach turned. Someone had known she was coming. Had wanted her to succeed—or fail—spectacularly.
Cruz moved closer, not touching, but near enough she felt his heat. “You weren’t random, Rachael. You were bait.”
The bond pulled at her again, four directions at once. Her wolf wanted to lean on them, to let them shield her from this new horror.
She stepped back instead.
“I need air.”
Richard stood. “Balcony’s safe. Doors stay open.”
She walked out alone.
The balcony overlooked endless forest under moonlight, snow glinting like broken glass. Cold air bit her skin, clearing her head.
Footsteps behind her—soft ones. Zane.
He stopped at the railing beside her, hands in pockets. “It’s a lot.”
She didn’t look at him. “My entire life has been about killing them. Now you’re saying I was manipulated into it?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched. Snow fell in fat flakes.
Zane spoke again, voice gentle. “I lost my little sister in a pack skirmish when I was fifteen. Wrong place, wrong time. I blamed the other pack for years. Hated them. Planned revenge.” He paused. “Then I found out it was friendly fire. Covered up to avoid shame.”
Rachael turned to him.
“I carried that hate like armor,” he said. “It nearly destroyed me. When I finally let it go… I could breathe again.”
She looked away. “Letting go feels like betraying them.”
“No. Finding the real people responsible—that’s justice. Hate aimed wrong only helps the ones who hurt you.”
The bond hummed softly between them, warm and steady.
Inside, she heard Cruz’s low laugh at something Ryder said. Richard’s deeper voice answered. They sounded… normal. Like men, not monsters.
Her wolf whined, confused.
Zane stepped back. “We’ll give you space. But the balcony door stays open. No one leaves alone tonight.”
He left her there.
Rachael gripped the railing until her knuckles went white.
Someone had burned her world and painted the four Alphas’ hands red.
Someone had watched her grow up hating.
Someone was still watching.
A new sound cut through the quiet—a soft electronic beep from inside the house.
Richard’s voice, sharp: “New feed. Someone’s live.”
Rachael spun and ran back inside.
The four Alphas crowded around the monitor again. A new window had opened: live camera feed from her bedroom. Empty now, but the red light blinked active.
Ryder’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “Tracing the signal.”
Cruz’s face was stone. “It’s not from our system.”
Richard looked at Rachael. “Whoever’s behind this—they’re watching right now.”
The screen flickered. Text appeared, white letters on black:
WELCOME HOME, LITTLE WOLF.
THE GAME HAS JUST BEGUN.
The feed cuts to static.
In the silence that followed, Rachael felt the bond shift—protective, fierce, united.
For the first time since the gala, hate wasn’t the loudest thing inside her.
Fear was.
And something else she refused to name.
Cruz cracked his knuckles. “They just made a mistake.”
Ryder’s smile was cold. “They showed their hand.”
Zane’s eyes met hers. “We will keep you safe. No matter what.”
Richard stepped forward, voice steady. “From now on, you don’t walk anywhere alone. Not because we don’t trust you. Because they want you isolated.”
Rachael looked at the blank screen.
The real killer was out there.
And they knew she was here.
- Writer
