A wisp of a girl gasped as we passed, and my stride hitched. I recognized her. It was the fuzzball from the woods. Eyes wide, she bolted. My muscles tensed to follow, even as my tender calf twinged, but a fae chasing a warg child was a fae asking for a lesson in disembowelment.

Dark blond hair streamed behind her. Pale blue eyes darted a glance over her shoulder. Round face. A gap in her front teeth perfect for holding the handle of a sucker.

Dell would know the girl. I could ask her who she was and if she had a history of mischief.

“I understand congratulations are in order,” a husky voice rolled over my shoulder.

My shoulders snapped straight, and I fixed a neutral expression in place before turning. Graeson mirrored me, leaning his weight against my leg and a bit in front, as if holding me back from lunging. I hadn’t realized my hands were fisted until I noticed the wolf was the one restraining me. Who was I becoming that a wolf called rabid yesterday was today the coolheaded one?

Every instinct tingled at Bessemer’s nearness. His smugness rankled. I wanted to bare my teeth and growl at him. It wasn’t a Gemini instinct. It was pure wolf. The sting of pelt beneath my skin shocked me out of my aggression. I hadn’t tried to recall the warg shape. I hadn’t drawn on magic at all. It had leapt to me, slid under my skin and stretched it taut.

I cleared the gravel from my throat and replied, “Are they?”

The antagonistic bent of the words made me cringe. Graeson shifted his paws, placing one on my boot and leaning all of his weight to that leg as if to say, Zip it.

“Yes, they are.” Imogen joined her alpha in squaring off against me. “I told Bessemer about our fight.”

Of course she did. Tattletale. It was barely a fight.

Gods have mercy, barely a fight and I had almost killed her. Graeson would have gutted her if I’d left her behind.

Was this my life now? This casual violence? This anticipation of teeth and the sting of claws emerging from my fingertips unwelcomed?

No immediate answer came to me, so I stood there and waited for one of them to elaborate.

“Imogen is the most dominate female in our pack, aside from my own lovely Aisha.” Bessemer didn’t spare a single sideways glance at Graeson. He only had eyes for Imogen. “She tells me you bested her.” He paused, perhaps hoping I would contradict her story. I might have, if I had any idea what she’d told him. “None of the other females are willing to fight someone of your…” he rolled a few words around his mouth, “…caliber.”

Lightness spread through my limbs, a weight lifted from my shoulders. “The selection is over?”