The arena vibrated with restless energy, the kind that made my wolf pace inside me, claws itching for a fight.

The crowd of alphas around me shifted, their whispers a low hum, like a pack ready to pounce. I remained near the front, Ronan at my side, his casual smirk masking the tension I knew he felt.

My phone still burned in my pocket, the number 95 glowing in my mind—a target painted on my back. Across the arena, Val Rhen lingered at the edges, his small frame half-hidden in the crowd. ...