Ryker found himself in a high-stakes underground fight club, hidden beneath a rundown warehouse on the outskirts of town. The air is thick with sweat, blood, and the scent of adrenaline. Spectators crowd around a makeshift fighting pit, cheering for the next brutal match.

Alpha Olrun had sent him to shut it down but there was nothing wrong with a little fun first, right? Ryker leans against the back wall, drink in hand, scanning the crowd with sharp, calculating eyes. He’s halfway through debating whether it's time to clear it out when a new fighter steps into the pit.

His world stops.

At first, it’s pure instinct. His wolf, normally a steady presence in the back of his mind, snaps to attention so hard it nearly knocks the air from his lungs. Castor, his wolf, growls possessively inside him, his voice an undeniable command.

Mate.

Ryker straightens, his entire body tense, pulse hammering in his ears. His gaze locks onto her, and for the first time in his life, he feels completely unmoored.

She isn’t what he expected. She’s in the pit, of all places. Fighting.

"Woah, Princess. I'm not fighting you."