Tariq took a few steps forward. Even after the scene he’d just made with Zora, he couldn’t shake the nervousness—not only about his own fight, but hers as well.

  Tariq wasn’t a fighter. He’d only been in one fight his entire life. Still, his father had insisted he learn how to fight, even letting him choose the style. Tariq had picked boxing, much to his father’s dismay, earning him a long lecture:

  The entire body is a weapon. Use it as such.

  So instead, his father had him learn something closer to American kickboxing, along with some wrestling techniques.

  The werewolf snarled as it slowly paced in front of Tariq, its massive claws carving deep indents into the ground. For a moment, the world slowed as Tariq felt his adrenaline peak. Then, almost perfectly in sync, he and the wolf charged.

  The werewolf leapt, claws outstretched toward Tariq’s neck.

  Anything feral will throw itself at you, his father’s voice echoed. They go straight for the vitals.

  Tariq slid beneath the attack, reaching up mid-slide to grab the werewolf’s leg.

  If you can predict and react, you’ll win every time—even when it feels hopeless.

  He surged to his feet and hurled the werewolf down on the ground in front of him.

  And imagine if humans could go beyond their limits. There’d be nothing that could stop us.

  The werewolf slammed onto its back with a heavy crash, cratering the ground and letting out a pained yelp.

  As it writhed, Tariq stared down at it in awe, then looked at his hands and smiled.

  “Get up,” he said, backing away.

  As if it understood, the werewolf snarled and flipped back onto all fours. Tariq dropped into a staggered stance, right leg slightly back, as they began to circle.

  “Pompous motherfucker…” the beast growled in a gravelly voice.

  Tariq froze.

  Only one person had ever called him that.

  “Wyatt?” he asked.

  The werewolf stopped pacing, its mouth curling into a wicked smile. “Tariq,” it growled, bloodied fangs gleaming in the sunlight. “Always better than everyone else.”

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  “Wyatt, calm down,” Tariq said, maintaining his stance. “We don’t need to do this.”

  Wyatt chuckled. “But I do. You’re the one person I can’t stand. Always so quiet. Always the favorite.”

  Tariq tensed as Wyatt’s legs bent like coiled springs, ready to pounce.

  “Now that I’m in control,” Wyatt snarled, “NO MORE!”

  Wyatt launched himself forward, claws aimed for Tariq’s midsection. Tariq reacted instantly, taking a small step back and sending an uppercut directly into the lower part of Wyatt’s jaw. A shockwave rippled through the air as bone fractured, sending Wyatt flying upward. His claws raked across Tariq’s chest as he passed.

  Tariq felt warmth—but didn’t stop.

  Dropping his hands and spinning, he brought his leg up and whipped his heel into Wyatt’s jaw, sending him crashing through a wall and back into the building.

  Tariq lowered his foot and stared at his chest, expecting blood. Instead, he saw only the ash-formed clothing, untouched.

  “What’s happening to me…” he muttered.

  There was no way Wyatt hadn’t hit him. He’d felt it. And the power behind that kick—no human alive could generate that kind of strength.

  A howl snapped him back to the moment.

  Right. Take care of this first.

  Tariq silently thanked his father as he dropped back into his stance.

  This time, Wyatt didn’t charge.

  The ground beneath Tariq began to rumble. Dirt piles burst upward—hundreds of them. Each mound twisted and reshaped itself into a wolf, black fur sprouting, yellow eyes locking onto him.

  In seconds, Tariq was surrounded.

  “I wanted to end you with my own claws!” Wyatt shouted from inside the building. “But as always, you’re too much for me to handle!”

  Tariq turned to see Wyatt’s glowing red eyes watching from the shadows.

  Suddenly, hot breath brushed the back of his neck.

  His eyes widened—

  —and he was sent flying to the left, smashing through walls before skidding to a stop in what looked like a lecture hall.

  Pain tore through his body as he struggled to breathe.

  “Fuck…” he croaked.

  His ribs were shattered. Looking down, he saw a deep indent in his side, panic starting to rise the longer he stared in shock.

  Suddenly his ribs popped back into place, pain flaring briefly before vanishing entirely. Tariq collapsed onto his back, staring at the ceiling as his breathing steadied and he tried to gather his thoughts.

  The wall to his right exploded inward.

  Tariq snapped his head up to see Zora flying through—locked in combat with… Jennifer?

  Zora extended her arm, firing a blast of light. Jennifer twisted midair as black tentacles shot from her hand, yanking her aside. More tentacles erupted from her mouth, wrapping around Zora’s now glowing form and sending them both crashing through the opposite wall.

  Jesus... I can’t keep sitting here, Tariq thought with a sigh.

  He got to his feet, dusted himself off, and sprinted back toward the courtyard.

  Stepping through the hole, he found Wyatt waiting at the center. The wolves snarled as they closed ranks around him.

  “What happened, Wyatt?” Tariq asked. “I’ve never done anything to you to deserve this.”

  Wyatt tilted his head. “It’s not just you, Tariq. It’s everyone— you, Zora, my parents, my sister,” he growled. “They’re all going to die. You’re all going to die. The abuse. The whispers behind my back. It all ends today!”

  Tariq clenched his fists.

  So that was it.

  Zora’s name was on that list. All she’d ever done was brighten people’s days.

  Rage surged through Tariq as his body began to glow a pale blue. The wolves slowly closed in.

  If Wyatt wanted a real fight—

  He was going to get one.