A dangerous smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. “Try it, little moon.”
The nickname heats my face as memories of our earlier encounter flood back.
“Ignore him,” Ethan advises. “Focus on me.”
I inhale deeply and refocus on Ethan, excitement bubbling in my chest. This is my first real fight. Well, aside from the mean girls at the institute. They were all nails and shrieks—nothing like this.
Then, I lunge at him, throwing a quick jab toward his face. He blocks it easily, but I follow with a low kick that catches him slightly off-guard.
“Not bad,” he says, circling me with newfound interest. “Your form needs work, but you’ve got good instincts.”
I attack again, this time with a combination I’d practiced hundreds of times alone in that basement. Ethan blocks most of my strikes, but I land a glancing blow to his ribs.
“Ooh, she got you!” Oli calls out, and I can see him jumping excitedly.
Ethan’s eyes narrow, and suddenly I’m on the defensive as he advances with lightning speed. His movements are fluid, controlled—nothing like the jerky attempts I’d been making. Before I can process what’s happening, I’m flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling, the breath knocked from my lungs. He secures my wrists over my head, his weight crushing me, and I start to panic.
The air in the room suddenly feels too thick to breathe.
The edges of my vision blur. I blink hard, trying to focus, but Ethan’s face… shifts. A jagged scar carves across his forehead.
And just like that, I’m 16 again and back at the Shifter Institute.
The main ceremony hall empties behind me as I take the shortcut to my dorm room behind the main stage.
Big mistake.
The narrow hallway stretches ahead, and suddenly, it feels twice as long. Two hulking figures step into view, blocking the exit at the end of the corridor. I recognized them immediately—the same assholes who kept smirking at me during the swimsuit ceremony and making obscene gestures.
“Look what we have here,” says the bigger one with a scar on his forehead. “A little mouse all alone.” I take a step back, my throat tightening. I hate that my body betrays me like this—showing fear when I need strength.
“I’m not a mouse, dumbass,” I snap, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Maybe if you’d paid attention during the ceremony instead of sniffing your own ass, you’d know the difference.”
The leaner one laughs, but it’s a hollow sound that makes my skin crawl. “Ooh, little mouse got claws.”
“Bet she purrs too,” says Scar Face, stepping toward me. “I’ve always wanted to make a mouse purr.”
I scan the corridor for an escape route.
“Back off,” I warn, “I’m not in the mood for whatever bullshit you’re planning.”
The lean one’s eyes gleam yellow in the dim light. “Your mood’s gonna change real fast, silver.” He nods at my hair. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with us.”
Like hell I am.
My back hits the wall. Shit. I didn’t even realize I was retreating.
“You know what they say about silver-haired bitches?” Scar Face asks, now close enough that I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“That we kick the asses of drunk wolves who don’t understand personal space?” I raise my chin, refusing to look away from his gaze.
His hand shoots out, grabbing my throat. Not tight enough to cut off air, just enough to show he could. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, drowning out the voice in my head, screaming to run.
“They say you’re special in bed,” he growls, his thumb tracing my jawline. “That you go wild. Isn’t that right, little mouse?”
I spit in his face. It lands square in his eye.
For one satisfying second, he flinches back. Then his expression darkens, and his grip tightens.
