Wide eyes take in the fist heading for his face. Maybe if Ross had expected me to fight with ruthlessness, he’d have been prepared. He would have been ready to block. Despite having the same supernatural speed as I do, he’s half a second late.

The bone of his eye socket makes an impression on my knuckles as a meaty thwack echoes through the clearing.

Thing is, werewolves are good at taking hits. While my punch would’ve laid out a human man, Ross only gives his head a quick shake before lunging at me.

He goes low, trying to knock me off my feet. Get me on the ground, on my back. But I dig in, bending forward and pushing back. And I use the position to pound on his ribs.

As we grapple, the surrounding pack members call out encouragements and jeers and advice.

“Keep your hold on him!”

“Go for the knees!”

“That’s a mean punch!”

“Rip his balls off!” Courtney’s cheer rises above the rest.

Without warning, Ross releases me, shoving my body away from his violently. The sudden shift has me briefly off-balance. Just enough time for him to land a blow to my gut first, then my jaw. I stumble back a step.

Roderick’s warning flashes in my brain, and my arm shoots up in time to block the leaping roundhouse. If the blow had hit my skull, it would have been a knockout for sure. Instead, I’m able to grab hold of Ross’s calf and use the man’s momentum to fling him over my shoulder.

He hits the ground hard, but I don’t let him have a moment to recover his breath. Every second counts.

“Bitch.”

That’s what he called her. The word pounds in my furious mind as I leap onto my pack mate’s chest and aim blows at his head. His arms protect his skull as best they can as frustrated snarls pour from his throat.

“Bitch.”

“Bitch.”

“Bitch.”

“If you won’t keep her on a leash, I will.”

“You touch her”—I growl the words as I rain down on him with my fists—“I’ll kill you. I swear it.” The threat comes out on my adrenaline-fueled pants. My voice is low. Monstrous.

Unfortunately, speaking must’ve slowed me down for a split second because Ross is able to snatch my wrist and wrench it to the side. In that opening, he lunges up, delivering a brain-rattling head butt.

Black spots flicker in my vision, messing me up enough for Ross to heave my weight off him.

We both end up back on our feet, fists raised, eyes wary. The tang of iron fills the air. Blood seeps out of a gash on Ross’s forehead and cheek. I can feel my own spilling from a cut on my brow, threatening to blind me.