Riley's face went pale. "Twenty minutes? That's barely enough time to?—"
"You'll be fine," Adrian interrupted, his voice carrying the calm authority of an Alpha. "Your warm-up routine is precise and focused. You can zone in faster than anyone I've ever seen."
She took a deep breath, her shoulders straightening. "Right. I'm heading to the women's locker room to change. Meet me in the warm-up area?"
"Absolutely."
Adrian leaned down and kissed her cheek, not caring about the growing crowd of cameras and fans who had noticed their interaction. The gesture was natural, instinctive—marking his territory as much as showing affection.
"Riley! Riley Vaughn!" Voices called from the gathering crowd. "Who is this man? Are you dating? Is this your boyfriend?"
The questions came rapid-fire, accompanied by the flash of cameras and the thrust of microphones. Riley's jaw tightened with annoyance, but she handled it with the grace of someone accustomed to unwanted attention.
"I need to focus on my match right now," she said firmly, then disappeared toward the women's locker room.
Adrian made his way to the women's warm-up area, positioning himself where he could watch the door. The familiar pre-competition energy surrounded him—the scent of determination and controlled aggression, the sound of gloves hitting pads, and the quiet intensity of athletes preparing for battle.
But as minutes ticked by without Riley emerging, a thread of concern wound through his chest. She was meticulous about her routines, never one to waste time or delay unnecessarily.
She's probably just being thorough,he told himself.Getting into the right headspace.
The minutes stretched like hours, each second scraping against Adrian's nerves like claws on stone. His eyes remained fixed on the women's locker room entrance, watching for the familiar flash of Riley's dark ponytail or the confident stride that announced her presence.
Something was wrong. Riley was disciplined to her core. She would never cut her warm-up this close. The tournament assistant had already called her name twice.
Adrian's tiger prowled restlessly, instincts screaming danger even as his rational mind tried to find logical explanations. Maybe she was stuck in some conversation. Maybe she was dealing with pre-fight nerves differently than usual. Maybe?—
Pain exploded like a lightning strike to his chest. Not his pain—hers. Raw, searing agony that made his knees buckle and his vision blur around the edges. Terror followed immediately after, her fear flooding through their connection with such intensity that his tiger roared silently in response.
"Riley," he growled, already moving.
He didn't care about protocol or precedent or the shocked faces of tournament staff as he shouldered past them. His mate was in danger, and nothing else mattered. The women's locker room door slammed against the wall as he burst through, his enhanced senses immediately cataloging the space—empty stalls, the lingering scent of fear and sweat, and there, crumpled on the floor near the far corner, Riley.
She was curled on her side, both hands clutching her left knee, tears streaming down her face as she rocked back andforth. The sound that escaped her throat was part sob, part scream, and it tore something primal loose in his chest.
"Adrian!" Her voice cracked on his name, raw with pain and relief. "Get the medics. Someone—they came from behind—I couldn't?—"
He was beside her in three strides, his hands hovering over her trembling form as he fought the urge to gather her up immediately. Through their completed bond, he could feel the sharp, grinding agony radiating from her knee, and his tiger demanded blood.
Someone had hurt his mate. Someone would pay.
"Who did this?" His voice came out as a low growl, barely human.
"I don't know." Riley's breathing was shallow. "I was changing, and someone hit me from behind. My knee just—God, Adrian, I think it's bad."
He could see that for himself. Her left knee was already swelling, the joint twisted at an angle that made his stomach clench. But what made his vision go red around the edges was the deliberate nature of the attack. This wasn't some random accident or locker room altercation. Someone had targeted her specifically.
"I'm getting you out of here," he said, sliding his arms beneath her with infinite care.
Riley gasped as he lifted her. "Don't—the medics can come here?—"
"I'm not leaving you alone for another second," Adrian cut her off, his voice brooking no argument. The Alpha in him had taken complete control, and every protective instinct was screaming.
He carried her through the arena corridors, ignoring the stares and whispered questions that followed in their wake. The makeshift medical room was located near the main offices,a cramped space with two examination tables and basic emergency equipment.
The medics looked up as Adrian shouldered through the door, their professional calm immediately shifting to focused urgency as they took in Riley's condition.
"What happened?" The lead medic, a middle-aged woman with graying hair, was already moving toward them.