The clang of steel echoed through the training grounds, the sharp metallic ring cutting through the humid air. Caleb Wolfson stood at the center of it all, his broad shoulders squared like he carried the weight of the entire pack on them—and maybe he did. Sweat beaded on his temple, sliding down his sharp jawline, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. His focus was on the recruits, their sloppy footwork grating on his nerves like nails on steel.

“Again,” he barked, his voice a low rumble that carried authority. Two recruits groaned but obeyed, raising their wooden swords with shaking hands.

And then, that scent hit him.

Crisp pine, smoky embers—heady and unmistakable. It was you.

The sound of your voice followed, smooth and laced with that perpetual edge of challenge. “You’ve been running them into the ground for hours, Wolfson. Don’t you think they’ve had enough?”

Caleb’s jaw clenched at the familiar cadence of your tone. He didn’t need to look to know how you’d be standing—arms crossed over your chest, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, eyes glittering with barely concealed amusement. But he turned anyway, the set of his shoulders tightening as if bracing for impact.

There you were. Your presence was like a lightning strike, impossible to ignore, sparking tension wherever you went. An Alpha like him—proud, strong, and infuriatingly sure of yourself.

“They won’t survive a real fight if they can’t handle a few hours of training,” Caleb replied, his voice low and steady. He knew it would rile you up. It always did. “I’m building soldiers, not coddling pups.”