"My brother was right."

  The unexpected voice made Rosie jump so violently, she nearly lost her footing, fumbling to locate the source.

  Clutching the towel tighter around her, steam still escaping her naked skin, she froze as her gaze landed on the figure of a woman—was she sitting on Rosie's bed? Oh yes, she definitely was. And with an all-too-familiar smugness etched across her face.

  "Who are you?" Rosie blurted before she could think better of it.

  The woman leaned back as if she owned the place, gaze sweeping over the modest comforts of Rosie's room before settling on her.

  "Briar." The name rolled off her tongue like a lazy challenge. She stretched out further, utterly at ease. "Sister to the infamous Alpha."

  Sister? Gods, she did own the place.

  The warrior—because there was no way this woman was anything else—tilted her head, short brown hair skimming over her chiseled shoulders, watching Rosie with the detached amusement of someone assessing an interesting but ultimately unthreatening curiosity.

  Now that Rosie was truly looking, the resemblance was impossible to miss—the squared jaw, the sharp symmetry of her features, the cool, watchful gleam of storm-grey eyes catching the light. A signature intensity, shared in blood. Even the faint crease near the corners of her eyes hinted at something familiar, a tell that likely only surfaced when a smile stretched their lips.

  "The only one he listens to." Briar added, arching a brow, her lips pressing together in something that wasn't quite a smirk. "At least for now."

  Rosie didn't answer. Her gaze flicked toward the door, instincts sharpening.

  Since her arrival, the guards stationed outside had never left their post. Their presence had been a constant, a quiet but undeniable reminder of her place here—watched, contained, untrusted.

  But now, they were gone.

  Briar hummed, watching the realization settle over her. "I sent them off," she answered, effortlessly reading her silence. "Figured I could handle you myself if you decided to go all rabid on me."

  Briar's gaze swept over Rosie's towel-clad form with slow, deliberate scrutiny. Damp strands of hair clung to her shoulders, cascading over the exposed curve of her collarbone before the towel took over, shielding what little it could. In that thin barrier, Rosie found a fleeting sense of comfort—fragile, barely enough.

  Heat crept up her neck under the weight of that appraisal. It wasn't just curiosity in Briar's eyes—it was judgment, cool and cutting, the insult unmistakable.

  It took no fool to notice that Briar was, in every way, her opposite.

  Where Rosie was lean, built for quiet endurance rather than brute strength, Briar stood tall and unwavering, every inch of her honed from years of training. Muscle shifted beneath sun-kissed skin, a testament to a life spent fighting, pushing, winning. There was no softness to her—no hesitation in the way she moved, no uncertainty in the way she held herself.

  The warrior spoke her mind with the ease of someone who had never feared the consequences. Rosie, on the other hand, had learned caution early—a lifetime of knowing how to please, when to yield, which battles were worth fighting.

  And yet, despite the stark contrast between them, Rosie couldn't help but wonder—hadn't she been taking away, would she have been more like Briar?

  She doubted it. Some people were born with fire in their veins, unshakable even in the worst storms. That had never been her. She had learned to survive in the shadows, to guide with quiet words and unseen influence. Where Briar challenged the world, Rosie had always known when to bend to it.

  No, she wouldn't have been like Briar. She wasn't sure she even wanted to be. But Goddess, there were times she wished she had even a fraction of that confidence. That ability to stand without flinching.

  "Heard my brother nearly killed you this morning."

  The sharp voice sliced through Rosie's thoughts, yanking her back to the present.

  She hesitated, unsure if a response was needed. Briar's gaze was steady, expectant. There was no room for avoidance. The weight of it pressed against her, heavy enough that she had to fight the instinct to cross her arms, to shrink beneath it.

  Briar didn't blink, didn't shift. Just waited.

  Rosie swallowed, her throat dry. "His idea of training apparently involves drowning me," she murmured, the words barely more than a breath.

  But saying it aloud brought it all back—the burn of water in her lungs, the clawing panic, the helpless thrashing before Luca's hands had dragged her back to the surface.

  Her voice shook, betraying her.

  Briar watched.

  She was finished with her examination, her piercing gaze settling on Rosie like she had already made up her mind. Her lazy grin faded, and with it went that playful crease. "You needed it. Badly. No offense—but you've got about as much muscle as a half-drowned rabbit."

  Heat crawled up Rosie's neck, embarrassment flashing into irritation, though her voice retained its natural softness, no matter how hard she tried to sound sharper.

  "Is that what he was right about? My lack of muscle?"

  Briar's lips twitched, amusement tugging at them. "I guess he was right about that too. But no."

  Her tone dipped, teasing but deliberate. "He said something else about you, you know."

  A deliberate pause, while her lips her lips curled into an offhanded smirk—

  "Pretty."

  Rosie narrowed her eyes, suspicion flickering behind them. Luca had said that? To his sister? The thought felt... unlikely. Implausible.

  She simply could not picture it—Luca, the type to discuss women like this? And definitely not with his sister. There was something in Briar's tone, something too knowing, too carefully chosen, that felt like a game Rosie didn't know the rules to.

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  Briar must have caught the doubt shadowing Rosie's face, because she tilted her head slightly, amusement dancing in the depths of her gaze.

  "You don't believe me?"

  Rosie opened her mouth, but before she could respond, Briar shrugged.

  "Never mind," she said breezily, already moving past it. "He'll tell you himself one day."

  Rosie blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the uncomfortable promise hanging between them. But before she could dwell on it, Briar's gaze flicked to the untouched plate on the coffee table.

  "You didn't eat."

  The words were casual, almost dismissive, as if she hadn't just thrown out a remark designed to unsettle and left it hanging in the air.

  Rosie shifted, instinctively cursing the small furrow of her brows before muttering, "I slept through the night."

  Briar hummed—a sound that managed to be both indifferent and mildly disapproving. "That won't do, of course. Let's get you dressed and fed. You're meeting Clark before noon."

  She gestured toward the couch, where a neatly folded dress lay waiting. Rosie's gaze lingered on it for a moment, then drifted back to Briar, who clearly had no intention of leaving. With a quiet sigh, she grabbed the dress and retreated toward the bathroom.

  She had just wrapped her fingers around the door when something clicked in her mind.

  Pausing, she turned, peering out at Briar. "Were you the one who picked my clothes this morning too?"

  Briar didn't answer. She didn't need to. The smug tilt of her lips was confirmation enough.

  Rosie exhaled, eyeing her for a beat longer. The woman was up to something.

  For what purpose, she had yet to figure out.

  "What did he say?"

  Briar's voice cut through the air the moment Rosie stepped out of Clark's office.

  She was already on her feet, moving toward the exit, as if staying still for too long was against her nature. Her short brown hair bounced with every step, decisive in their swigs as everything else in her.

  "He wants to check on me again in a few days."

  The question had been more out of politeness than genuine curiosity, but Rosie answered anyway, falling into step beside her.

  Outside, the sun greeted them with a gentle warmth, casting long shadows across the packed dirt paths winding through the heart of the pack's territory. The scent of pine and earth filled the air, mingling with faint traces of sweat and fur from warriors returning from their border rounds.

  Rosie was quietly pleased to be in a dress again—this one a soft blue, its delicate straps exposing her shoulders and the upper part of her chest to the afternoon light while sparing her claim. The fabric fluttered against her thighs with every step, catching the breeze.

  She recognized a few of the faces passing by—mostly warriors she had glimpsed the day before. Their expressions ranged from guarded to outright wary. But a few hesitated, their gazes lingering just long enough to acknowledge her presence.

  She met their eyes when she could, offering small nods, quiet greetings. Packs didn't like rogues as a general rule. If she was going to be here for months, making friends was a better investment than making enemies.

  Briar said nothing, but Rosie could feel the weight of her scrutiny, as constant as ever. She ignored it as best she could.

  "Until then, he said to take it easy."

  A quiet snort curled in her throat. Take it easy. Rosie should tell Luca that—doctor's orders. Maybe then he'd stop dragging her into near-death experiences before sunrise. Doubtful.

  The thought alone made her lips twitch, though the idea of actually telling him was almost laughable. He didn't seem the type to take orders from anyone.

  Least of all her.

  "What's that smile for?"

  Rosie blinked, quickly schooling her expression. Goddess, this woman never missed a thing.

  "Nothing."

  Briar arched a brow, clearly unconvinced. She tilted her head slightly, gaze sharp and prying, not about to let it go. "Were you thinking about my brother?"

  Rosie recoiled. "What—no."

  But the warmth creeping up her neck told a different story. She felt it creeping up her neck, staining her cheeks against her will.

  Briar's grin widened, all sharp mischief and knowing amusement. "Oh, you were."

  There was a distinct enjoyment in her voice, like she was savoring a private joke at Rosie's expense.

  "Well, he's free, so I won't discourage you."

  Rosie frowned, turning her head away in a weak attempt to ignore the insinuation—only for a different thought to take hold.

  "Doesn't he have a mate?"

  Briar's expression cooled in an instant. Her gaze snapped to Rosie, sharp and assessing.

  "Where'd you hear that?"

  She hesitated, suddenly aware of how closely Briar was watching her. "Luca." Who else?

  A sharp exhale. Briar's gaze flicked around, checking their surroundings before her voice dropped, no longer playful—it was a warning, a threat edged in steel. "Luca talks too much."

  Her jaw tensed as she stepped forward, deliberate. The space between them shrank, but it wasn't intimidation—no, it was something quieter, heavier. She leaned in just enough for the weight of her words to press against Rosie's skin.

  "Forget he said that. And don't breathe a word of it. You hear me?"

  A chill curled around Rosie's spine. No teasing now. No mischief.

  Only command.

  She met Briar's gaze, searching for something—anything— to explain the sudden shift, but found nothing except unwavering intent. After a beat, she gave a slow nod.

  Briar studied her for a moment longer, unreadable. Then, as if nothing had happened, her lips curved back into that same wolfish tilt.

  "Nothing's stopping you, if that's what you're worried about."

  Rosie's stomach twisted. "That's not—"

  "Good." Briar didn't let her finish. She turned sharply, leading them toward the training grounds as if the matter had already been decided.

  Only, Rosie knew better.

  "Then you won't mind this."

  The scent of sweat, dirt, and sun-warmed earth thickened in the air, punctuated by the rhythmic thud of fists meeting flesh, the sharp clap of bodies hitting the ground, and the occasional barked command. Warriors moved in disciplined unison—sparring in pairs, sprinting across packed dirt, lifting weights, and running through drills.

  But Rosie barely registered any of it.

  Her eyes knew where to look, her gaze had already found him. If she had thought him attractive this morning—bare-chested and at ease—she had seen nothing.

  This was different. This was primal. The composed trainer was gone. In his place stood a predator.

  He moved with raw, lethal grace, muscles rippling beneath sweat-slicked skin, each flex and shift a display of coiled power honed to perfection. He was locked in a brutal sparring match with a man Rosie didn't recognize—or didn't care to. All that mattered was the way he fought.

  Fluid. Controlled. Relentless.

  There was no hesitation, no wasted movement. Every strike was calculated, designed to overwhelm, to break past defenses with sheer force and precision. He absorbed hits without flinching, countered with devastating speed.

  And Goddess, it suited him.

  Then—Luca's head snapped up. His gaze locked onto hers, razor-sharp, unyielding.

  Rosie's breath hitched.

  Her fingers twitched at her sides, heat coiling low in her stomach. The pounding of fists, the scent of sweat and dirt—the entire world dulled, narrowed. It was just him. Just her—

  A fist drove into Luca's stomach. A mistake.

  His body folded, breath leaving his lungs in a sharp whoosh. His opponent seized the opening—another strike, this time to the ribs.

  Rosie caught her lips between teeth, heaviness settling in her abdomen.

  But Luca wasn't down for long.

  Like a beast provoked, he twisted mid-fall, rolling onto his feet with inhuman speed. A blur of motion. A sound—low, primal—curled from his throat. A growl.

  Then, he struck. Faster than she could track, his opponent was slammed onto his back, the force rattling through the packed dirt. Luca's hand crushed his throat, fingers digging in. A knee drove into his chest, pinning him.

  Dominating.

  The fight was over. Luca knew it. His opponent knew it. But for a second longer, he stayed like that—breathing hard, shoulders heaving, pulse wild beneath his skin.

  Rosie exhaled, pulse hammering against her ribs. Gods. She had never been this aroused by a display of violence. Had her body suddenly gained a mind of its own? Its reaction was an insult to the Goddess, an awful, sinful—

  Luca's head snapped up again.

  His lips tilted, something dark and knowing curving at the edges. He had caught her staring. Found her so embarrassingly still locked on him.

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. She tore her gaze away, pulse still thrumming.

  She shouldn't be looking at him like that. She was mated, for Goddess' sake.

  What was wrong with her.

  Beside her, Briar was watching, that damned smirk firmly in place, one brow lifted in silent challenge.

  "Not thinking about my brother, huh?" she drawled, amusement thick in her voice.

  Rosie felt the heat spread further to her neck. "I'm not—"

  "Sure. Keep telling yourself that." Briar's knowing look was impossible to shake.

  She clapped Rosie on the back, steering her forward.

  "Come. I want you to meet Emlyn, the Gamma."

  Rosie barely had time to process before Briar was steering her forward.

  And very much to Rosie's horror—

  Straight toward the utterly maddening, bare-chested, sweat-drenched, muscle-bound Alpha.