Derick dismissed the recruits at dusk, though Paige swore he had made her run harder, fight longer, and sweat more than anyone else on the field. Her body aches in places she didn't know existed, but the fire in her chest burned brighter. She wasn't going to break; not for him, not for anyone. She stormed toward the barracks, muttering curses under her breath. “Arrogant, overgrown dog—”

“You should be careful who hears you say that,” a voice teased.

Paige turned to see Sara, jogging up beside her, with a mischievous grin, Sara had quickly become the closest thing Paige had to a friend in this place.

She frowned confused, “how did you hear that?” She knew she hadn't been that loud.

Sara laughed it off, “I have good hearings. So who has you in this mood?”

“Derick Wofeblood of cause,” She replied. “Who even name their child Wofeblood, what happened to Richard?”

“Derick Richard?” Sera chuckled.

“See, that doesn't sound so bad.” Paige smiled, matching Sara's pace as they walk.

“Well,” Sera continued. “The Wofebloods are a big deal around here, this camp is on Wolfblood mountain which belongs to the Wofebloods and the Sub-military was founded by Derick's great-grandfather, together with captain Rash the first.”

Paige rolled her eyes, “that's for the history lesson. Is that why he acts like he hates me more than the rest?”

Sara smirked, her eyes glinting. “He's like that with everyone. Most of it has to do with his brother…”

Before Paige could press, the dinner bell changed, sharp and metallic. The movement vanished with the stampede of recruits racing toward the good like it was salvation.

That night, as Derick sat alone in his quarters, he unfolded the yellowed journal that once belonged to his great-grandfather. The pages smelled of leather and ash, the ink faded but legible.

“Year 1 of the Accord. We build the Sub-military together, Wofeblood and Rash. To bring order. To give humans their illusion of control. They believe this is their rite of passage, their honor. To be equal with us.. How pathetic.”

Derick's jaw tightened. His grandfather's words were a reminder:the Sub-military was not just a camp. It was a leash. A leash to keep humans tame, distracted, and prepared only for the shadows they were allowed to see.

But somewhere along the line, the Rash family had twisted that vision. Derick had seen fragments of reports buried deep in archives—whispers of experiments, of soldiers who never returned. And Philip…

His brother's name was a knife. Derick closed the journal, heart heavy. Philip was out there in the dark, tangled in the Rash family's secret.

And now, so was Paige's. He had come to learn the names of the soldiers in his brothers unit, he could not contain his surprise when he saw Joe Anthony on the list. At least now he knows why a fragile girl such as Paige would enlist in the Sub-military, to find answers.

The thought of her sent a ripple of heat through him, unbidden and unwelcome. He dragged a hand down his face, cursing under his breath. Every time she looked at him--defiant, fire sparking in her eyes, his wolf stirred, restless, ravenous. Her scent clung to him long after drills ended, sweet and maddening.

He told himself it was irritation. Fury at her insolence. But his body betrayed him, tightening with want whenever she drew near. She wasn't his type: too reckless, too human. Yet his wolf prowled inside him, whispering what his pride refuses to admit: mate.

Derick shoved the journal aside, gist curling. He rubbed his palm over his obvious erection and groan in pleasure and anger. He would not give into that pull. Not with her, not here.

Paige tossed in her bunk, restless. Every muscle screamed from drills, but the ache running through her now wasn't from training. It was deeper. Hotter. She clenched her sheets, trying to will it away, but the pressure only coiled tighter inside her chest.

She needed air.

Sliding from the bunk, she slipped outside. The night air was cool, sharp against her overheated skin, but it did nothing to calm the fire crawling beneath her flesh.

Then she froze.

Derick emerged from the shadows of the tree line, his chest bare, slick with sweat from a midnight run. Moonlight poured over him, catching the ridges of muscle, the veins on his arms, the raw power in every step. His storm-gray eyes locked on her, and the world tilted.

Paige's breath hitched. Heat shot straight through her, pooling low, throbbing. Her thighs pressed together on instinct.

Derick stopped dead, his nostrils flaring. His growl was low, feral, because he smelled it. Her arousal.

His jaw clenched. His body hardened instantly, the evidence straining against the thin fabric of his shorts. For a long, charged moment, they just stood there, chest heaving, caught in something bigger than with of them.

Then be broke.

With a guttural sound, Derick closed the distance and grabbed her waist, hauling her flush against him. The heat of his body seared into her, hard planes pressing against every soft curve.

His mouth crashed into hers, rough and desperate. Paige gasped inti the kiss, the taste of salt and sweat on her tongue, the sheer hunger of him stealing the air from her lungs. His lips were demanding, his teeth nipping, his tongue sweeping deep until she moaned against him.

Her hands clawed up his shoulders, nails digging into slick skin. His grip tightened, dragging her impossibly closer, his hips grinding against hers with raw, primal need. She arched into him, lost in the ferocity of it, in the heat and urgency that burned away every thought except more.

Derick groaned into her mouth, the sound vibrating through her chest, through her bones. His hand slid lower, gripping her thigh, hitching it up against him, until she was pinned against his body, trembling, burning, drowning in him

It was savage, it was forbidden. And she wanted it with every breath.

The world blurred---heat, pressure, teeth, tongue—

And then Paige jerked awake in her bunk.

She lay there panting, sweat dampening her sheets, her body still humming with the phantom feel of his mouth, his hands. A soft, strangled groan escaping her throat before she could stop it.

It had been a dream. Just a dream.

But her body didn't care. It still arched for him. “This is going to be hell,” She thought.