Page 46 of Fated to the Lone Shifter
I keep my distance, at first. But then I catch him watching Sera again—too long, too hungry.
My wolf stirs, bristling.
Not this again.
I step between them, almost on instinct. “Alright, everyone outside. Hydration check, twenty push-ups, then meet me by the hose rig.”
They scatter. Sera lingers a second, glancing up at me with those guarded eyes that always look like they’re holding back.She doesn’t say anything. Just gives me the smallest nod and walks off.
And I swear, I feel the sun get hotter.
Marcus slinks out last. I grab his shoulder before he gets through the door.
“You got something you want to say?” I ask, low enough so the others don’t hear.
He smirks, all teeth. He gives it a moment. “Nah, Benson. Just admiring your… leadership style.”
I narrow my eyes. “Keep your admiration to yourself. And your hands.”
His grin falters for just a split second. Then he shrugs and walks out.
I watch him go, jaw tight, blood humming. There’s something off about him. And it’s not just the way he looks at her—it’s the way he moved the night of the full moon. The way he reappeared after the attack with that camera like he’d been expecting the attack or had the camera all along.
I don’t trust him. And if he lays a single finger on her, I’ll gut him.
I head out to the field. Sera’s already got the hose over her shoulder, waiting for my instructions. She looks exhausted, but sharp—like a blade that’s been through hell and come out gleaming.
“Ready, probie?” I ask.
“Always,” she says, no hesitation.
My chest tightens again.
Goddammit.
This is getting dangerous.
For both of us.
By mid-afternoon, the sun’s baking the compound, and the drills are grueling enough to weed out the weak. Which is exactly the point.
I’ve had them hauling the hose line up and down the trail incline for the last hour, then back into a ladder climb and simulated flare-up containment. They’re soaked, smoked out, and ready to collapse.
And Sera? Still standing. Still locked in.
She’s pushing herself harder than anyone—ignoring thirst, wiping sweat from her brow with a grim set to her jaw, waiting until the last recruit has had their fill before even glancing at the cooler, refusing to quit even when her knees start to buckle. I keep expecting her to break. She doesn’t. She just resets and keeps going. The girl’s not human.
Correction: she’s notjusthuman.
I call for a pause. She crouches in the shade near the tree line, pulling off her helmet, steam rising from her skin like she’s about to ignite.
“Probie,” I bark.
She looks up fast, waiting for a reprimand.
Instead, I toss her a protein bar and nod toward the water cooler. “Take five.”
She catches it without a word and drags herself toward the cooler, shoulders tense. It’s not just exhaustion—it’s nerves. Guilt. She’s been somewhere she shouldn’t have been. She’s holding something back. I can feel it crackling in the air between us like static before a lightning strike.
