Chapter 1

The locker room smelled of Tiger Balm, bleach, and the metallic tang of old adrenaline. It was a heavy, masculine scent that usually made Ada wrinkle her nose, but tonight, mixed with the relentless drumming of the rain against the high reinforced windows, it just smelled like loneliness.

Ada dipped the mop into the gray water of the bucket. She was nineteen, invisible, and entirely okay with that. In the Dark River Pack, you were either a warrior, a mother, or a worker. With a wolf that hadn't stirred since she was twelve and a face that disappeared in a crowd, Ada was firmly the latter. She was the "water girl," the one who restocked bandages, wiped down mats, and locked up when the heroes went home.

*Bang.*

The double doors at the end of the hall flew open, slamming against the concrete walls with enough force to crack the plaster.

Ada jumped, clutching the mop handle like a bo staff.

"Get him on the bench! Watch his teeth!"

Three large figures stumbled into the room, struggling under the weight of a fourth. They were trainees—big, loud, and terrified. Between them, thrashing like a trapped animal, was Jax.

Ada’s breath hitched. Everyone knew Jax. He was the Alpha’s nephew, the prodigy, the golden boy who moved faster than the eye could track. But looking at him now, "golden" wasn't the word that came to mind.

He was covered in mud and fresh blood. A jagged claw mark tore through his tactical shirt, weeping crimson down his ribs. But the scary part wasn't the wound; it was his eyes. They weren't their usual hazel. They were a glowing, electric violet.

*Blood Rage.*

The mythological curse of the warrior line. Sometimes, the wolf didn't want to go back in the cage. Sometimes, it wanted to keep killing.

"Dump him! Just dump him!" shouted Marcus, a burly enforcer-in-training.

They heaved Jax onto the wooden bench. Jax snarled, a guttural, wet sound that vibrated the fluorescent lights overhead. He slashed out, his claws tearing a gouge in the metal locker door next to him.

Marcus and the other two scrambled back, nearly tripping over each other to get out of range.

"We need a medic!" one of them yelled.

"I’m here," Ada said, stepping forward. Her voice was small, swallowed by the acoustics of the tiled room.

Marcus looked at her, then back at the snarling beast on the bench. "Ada? Where’s Doc Evans?"

"Gone for the weekend," Ada said, her knuckles white on the mop handle. "It’s just me."

Jax let out a roar that sounded more like a structural failure than a vocalization. He gripped the edge of the bench, the wood splintering under his fingers. The violet light in his eyes flared, blindingly bright.

"We can't stay," Marcus said, his face pale. "If he fully shifts in here, he’ll tear us apart. He doesn't know who we are right now."

"You can't just leave him!" Ada protested, though she took a step back as Jax thrashed again. "He’s bleeding out!"

"Then fix him!" Marcus yelled, already backing toward the door. "You’re the medic assistant, right? Do your job. Just... don't get eaten."

With that useful piece of advice, they fled. The heavy doors swung shut, leaving Ada alone in the dim, antiseptic room with a monster who was currently losing a war with his own instincts.

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