“Never let your guard down,” he growls.
I headbutt him in the mouth. He reels back from the blow, releasing me, and I’m on him. I punch him across the face, hard. He tumbles to the side, and I roll to my feet. I don’t give him a chance to recover. I kick at him, aiming for his chest. He shifts out of the way, and I stomp the ground next to him. He recoils quickly, striking the back of my knee with his elbow.
I stumble forward, but I catch myself long enough for him to get to his feet. His blue and green eyes are wild, bearing down on me. A line of blood trickles out of the corner of his mouth where I head-butted him.
He pauses to wipe the blood away. “You’re tough.”
“When you spend your life fighting, you learn how to hold your own,” I say. “Not that you’d know anything about that.”
I come at him, swinging with a backhand, a forearm, an elbow. He blocks every single one before grabbing my face with one palm and pushing me away. I fall backward and land on my ass.
Rage clouds my vision, and I leap at him, my claws and fangs out, the urge to rip him apart taking over. My roar echoes off the walls as I swing for his face. He leans out of the way and grabs my arm, wrapping me up and enclosing me in a bear hug. His chest against my back, his breath on my neck, his arms pinning mine to my chest.
I struggle, growling and kicking. He holds me firm and says in that same low tone he had when I was in the middle of my climax, “Calm down.”
It’s like cold air pours into my lungs, and I gasp. My body starts to shiver all over as the rage drains from my body.
“You can’t defeat your enemy if you lose your head.” The sound of his voice is like sex and honey drifting on the heat of his breath. Without thinking, I lean my head back against him, and it’s like I’ve sunk down into a warm bath.
And then he releases me. I stumble, my knees threatening to buckle. As my senses return to me, I notice that everyone else has stopped and is now watching us. The looks on their faces . . . is that surprise? Maybe some disgust?
Fuck. Embarrassment wells up inside me, and all I want to do is crawl into a hole and die.
“Very good de-escalation, Mr. Vaultmore,” Professor Kayne says. I can’t look up and I can’t look at Aydan. I look down at the floor.
“Let’s move on.”
Aydan walks up to me, and I step away, my hands shaking.
“I need . . . I need to sit this one out.” I say it loud enough for the professor to hear.
He walks up to me and asks, “You injured, Ms. Kamaria?”
I nod. “Got the wind knocked out of me.”
He studies me for a moment, and I know he’s not going to let me out of it. Aydan says, “She should probably sit out the rest of the class. I think she might’ve gone a little too hard.”
I can’t read the professor’s face. I feel like Aydan and I were caught necking on my grandparent’s couch and now we’re trying to cover ourselves.
“Fine,” he said. “Hit the showers, Kamaria.”
I turn and walk away without looking back.
Chapter Eight—Saffron
She’s tied to a table.
A pregnant wolf with dark hair and eyes struggles against her bonds. Thin streaks line her pale, filthy cheeks, and dirt cakes the hem of her tattered white gown. Her bare feet are almost black with mud.
Her lips move, but I can’t hear her voice. Tears run down her face as she looks off into the darkness. She wants to be let go. Her eyes begging to be freed.
A man steps into the light. He has white hair, pale blue eyes, and tanned skin. For an older man, he’s terribly handsome—strong jawline, broad shoulders, and muscular arms. Despite his tall and imposing frame, there’s nothing about him that suggests that he’s a guard or a soldier.
He leans over her. Time slows down, and I can read his lips. For the greater good . . .
His hand brandishes a huge syringe. It’s empty with the plunger pushed down. The thick needle looks six inches long. The woman’s eyes widen with panic, and suddenly, her fear runsthrough me like an icy knife. She thrashes against the restraints one more time in vain.
Stop it! I yell, though no one can hear me. Let her go!