Page 3 of Rivals

Towardthem.

“This is just about the money,” he muttered, adjusting the rear view mirror.

His registration for the annual mating run sat in the glove compartment, filled out weeks ago during a moment of financial panic. A full year of free housing—utilities included. No more rent. No more job stress. No more wanting to chew his leg off rather than go in to work.

He'd be able to reset. Leave his crappy job. Take a breath. Find a job that he wanted to do. Something that would make him happy, rather than drain him like a beige vampire.

The trees thickened as he neared the entrance to the woods. Other cars already filled the gravel lot—other volunteers, other desperate souls willing to trade a night of dignity for financial security.

Nick parked and leaned back in his seat, exhaling slowly. His hands trembled slightly as he cut the engine, but he forced them still against the steering wheel.

"Get it together," he told his reflection in the rear view mirror. "It's just one night. One run. Then you're free. It's just good sense, really."

Outside, other volunteers milled around, mostly wearing expressions that saidwhy am I here? Some looked as nervous as he felt, shifting their weight and glancing at the forest like it might lunge at them.

But others had the kind of giddy anticipation that made his stomach churn.We are not the same,Nick thought grimly, eyeing one guy who looked way too excited about the prospect of being tackled by horny werewolves.

“Think of it as just… another corporate team-building exercise,” he muttered, but the words felt about as solid as his retirement plan. The forest loomed around them, vast and ancient, like it knew what was happening and was judging them all accordingly.

Nick inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with crisp mountain air. Earthy, pine-scented, wild. His brain made the mistake of linking it to something familiar—someonefamiliar. He wasnotabout to dwell on that.

This was about money. About freedom. Not about… workplace distractions.

Statistically, it wasn’t even a concern. Hundreds of wolves attended these things. The odds of actually knowing the one who caught him? Practically non-existent. They’d take what they came for, and he’d never see them again. One night. One chase.Simple risk-reward analysis: financial stability in exchange for a few hours of potential discomfort.

Clean. Efficient. Simple. Nick exhaled and squared his shoulders. He could handle simple.

The werewolves might be intense, but they weren’t actually dangerous. No-one ever died during these wild nights. Too much legal red tape.

His analytical mind kicked in, running through the numbers. He’d memorized the terrain maps, identified the best escape routes. He'd been running five miles every morning—his cardio was solid. He had a plan, and he could outrun some dumb dogs all night long.

“It’s just a game,” he told himself, rolling his shoulders back. The words steadied him, like a familiar suit of armor.

He was good at games. Especially the ones where winning meant outsmarting his opponents.

Even if, this time, his opponents were supernatural predators with enhanced senses and raw animal instinct.

No pressure.

He let his mask of confident indifference settle into place. Whatever primal fear tried to crawl up his spine, he buried it beneath layers of rational thought and careful planning.

He was going to do this, and he was going to win.

Chapter two

Viktor

Viktor’s bare feet slammed against the forest floor, each stride eating up the distance, driving him deeper into the primal dark. Moonlight slashed through the canopy in silver ribbons, flickering over his skin as he vaulted fallen logs, ducked low branches, his breath sharp and steady.

A howl split the night to his left. Through the trees, he glimpsed another wolf already closing in on their human prey, bodies tangled in the age-old chase. The air was thick with heat, with hunger—lust and fear bleeding together into something heady, something electric. It crawled under Viktor’s skin, sharpening every instinct.

He growled low, shaking it off. Not yet.

Faster. He pushed harder, chasing the wind, chasing the feeling. The weight of the world—boardrooms, spreadsheets, expectations—peeled away with every pounding step. No suits, no forced civility, no aggravating humans questioning his every move.

Just speed. Power. Freedom.

Somethingreal.

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