Lorenzo
The crowd still roared when she spat her words at me.
“I will not be yours.”
Defiance dripped from every syllable, sharp as glass, fierce as fire. The pack drank it in, half in shock, half in awe. Wolves who had expected her to crumble now stood still, their voices fading into silence as they realized what they had witnessed.
She had not yielded.
She had stumbled, she had bled, she had been driven to the very edge of collapse—but she had risen. And when the final strike fell, when the circle cleared, she stood taller than any of them had imagined she could.
My chest ached with pride.
And hunger.
Gods, the hunger was a living thing inside me. The wolf in me snarled, restless, pacing behind my ribs, demanding I end this charade and claim her here, in front of them all, so the
