"...should have seen her face when she realized what happened," Darius was saying to someone Adrian couldn't see. "One clean shot to the knee and that human bitch was finished."
Adrian moved silently toward the sound, every muscle in his body coiled for violence. Around the next row of lockers, he found Darius sitting casually on a bench, talking to another fighter Adrian didn't recognize.
"I think Jessica was just upset about her defeat yesterday," Darius continued with mock innocence when he spotted Adrian. "Probably wanted a little revenge against Riley."
"You lying piece of shit." Adrian's voice was deadly quiet as he stepped closer.
Darius stood slowly, his green eyes glittering with malicious amusement. "Careful, acting Alpha. Making accusations without proof isn't very becoming of a leader."
"I could end you right now," Adrian said, moving within arm's reach. His tiger was roaring for release, demanding he shift and tear Darius apart with claws and fangs.
"But you won't." Darius's smirk widened. "Because the sentimental acting Alpha would never dream of ruining his precious reputation. Too controlled. Too measured. Too fucking weak."
Adrian's eyes flared gold, his hands beginning to shift into claws before he forced them back to human form. "I'm claiming my Alpha title soon. And when I do, you won't be able to hide behind pride politics anymore."
"We'll see about that." Darius grabbed his gear bag and brushed past Adrian, deliberately bumping his shoulder. "Good luck with your match. Try not to embarrass yourself too badly while thinking about your crippled mate."
Adrian watched him go, every fiber of his being screaming for violence. But Riley's words echoed in his mind—she wouldn't want him to jeopardize everything they'd worked for. He would win his match. He would claim his title. And then he would make Darius pay for what he'd done.
The tournament assistant appeared in the locker room entrance. "Kael! You're up in five minutes!"
Adrian finished changing into his fighting gear with mechanical precision, his mind already shifting into the cold, focused state that had made him a formidable leader. When hestepped into the arena tunnel, the roar of the crowd washing over him, he felt the familiar calm descend.
His opponent was larger, more experienced, clearly confident in his chances against the "first-time competitor." What he didn't know was that he was facing an Alpha tiger shifter whose mate had just been attacked, whose protective instincts had been triggered, and whose need for dominance and violence had been unleashed.
The fight was over in less than three minutes.
Adrian moved like liquid death, every strike precise and devastating. His opponent never had a chance to establish rhythm or mount any real offense. When Adrian's uppercut connected with the man's jaw, sending him crashing to the mat unconscious, the arena erupted in shocked cheers.
The referee raised Adrian's arm, declaring him the winner by knockout in the first round, but Adrian barely heard the announcement. He was already moving toward the exit, his mind focused on only one thing—getting to his injured mate.
The truck keys felt heavy in his hand as he ran through the arena parking garage, his heart pounding not from exertion but from the desperate need to see Riley, to hold her, to make sure she was safe. The engine roared to life, and Adrian pulled out into Philadelphia traffic with singular focus.
Darius had crossed a line. And Adrian was going to make him regret it.
SEVENTEEN
RILEY
The sterile white walls of the hospital room felt like a cage closing in around Riley. She sat rigidly on the narrow bed, her left leg elevated and wrapped in a temporary brace, fury radiating from every line of her body. The pain medication they'd given her dulled the sharp agony in her knee to a manageable throb, but it did little to quiet the rage burning in her chest.
"Honey, you need to try to relax," her mother said softly from the chair beside the bed. Her mother's warm brown eyes were filled with concern as she reached over to squeeze Riley's hand. "Getting yourself worked up isn't going to help anything."
Riley yanked her hand away, immediately regretting the harsh movement when she saw the hurt flash across her mother's face. But the anger was too raw, too consuming to contain.
"How can I relax?" Riley's voice came out sharp enough to cut glass. "That bitch just tried to end my career, Mom. How the hell am I supposed to be calm about that?"
The memory crashed over her like a tidal wave, dragging her back to those terrifying moments in the women's locker room. She'd been pulling on her fighting leggings, her mind stillbuzzing with the afterglow of the completed mate bond and the anticipation of her upcoming match. The connection to Adrian had been humming beneath her skin like a live wire, making her feel invincible and distracted all at once.
She'd been partially bent over when the attack came. A rush of movement from behind, then the brutal impact of Jessica Martinez's boot connecting with her knee with surgical precision. The sickening pop of ligaments stretching beyond their limits. The explosion of pain that had sent her crashing to the concrete floor.
But now, replaying the scene with crystal clarity, Riley remembered something else. A flash of movement in the shadows. Broad shoulders disappearing around the corner. Green eyes that had caught the fluorescent light for just a moment before vanishing.
"Darius was there," she said suddenly, her voice deadly quiet. "That son of a bitch was in the women's locker room."
Her mother frowned. "What do you mean?"
"When Jessica attacked me—I saw him. Just a glimpse, but it was him. He was watching." Riley's hands clenched into fists, her knuckles going white. "He orchestrated this whole thing."