Isla’s POV~
I stepped out of the bathroom, the steam hit my face.
The mirror was fogged up, but I didn’t need to see myself to know I looked tired.
I was wearing the towel, holding the dirty clothes in a bundle.
I expected the room to be empty.
I hoped it was empty.
I just wanted to curl up and wait for my skin to dry.
But he was there.
Brock was sitting on the heavy wooden chair in the corner.
His legs were spread, his phone in his hands.
He was typing, his thumbs moving fast.
The blue light from the screen made him look cold.
I froze, clutching the towel tighter to my chest.
My heart did that stupid flip, the one that happened when I was near any of them.
“I…
I’m done,” I said.
He didn’t look up.
He kept typing.
“Great.
Get dressed.
We leave in ten.”
I stood there, water dripping from my hair onto the carpet.
“Where are we going?”
He stopped typing.
He looked up.
“We are doing a pack tour today.”
I stared at him.
I looked at his face.
The sharp jawline, the way his hair fell perfectly into place.
He was beautiful.
“Do I have a choice?” I asked.
I kept my voice flat.
Brock finally looked up fully.
He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
It was a dangerous smile.
“No,” he said.
I rolled my eyes.
Of course, I no longer had a choice.
“Fine,” I muttered.
Twenty minutes later, I was dressed.
He handed me a bundle of clothes.
Black leggings, an oversized grey hoodie, and new sneakers.
I pulled them on, and they fit.
Perfectly.
It was terrifying.
I stared at the hem of the hoodie.
It hit my hips exactly right.
The leggings hugged my waist without being too tight.
How did he know?
How did any of them know my size?
I had never worn anything this nice in my life.
My clothes were always hand-me-downs or cheap stuff from the clearance rack that hid my shape.
Was it Maddox?
Did he tell them?
Brock had made me breakfast.
Eggs, bacon, and toast.
I ate it because I was starving, and because if I didn’t, he’d probably force-feed me.
He led me out of the room.
His hand was on my back, right at the small of it.
His palm was heavy.
He guided me like I was a trophy he had just won.
Like I was something to be shown off.
We walked down the long hallway.
The pack house smelled like wood, and leather, and wolf.
It was too big.
Every wolf we passed stopped.
They turned their heads.
They stared.
Some of them looked curious.
Most looked at Brock with respect, and then at me with confusion.
“Good morning, Alpha Brock.” The voice was bright and cheerful.
I turned, and I froze.
Oh.
The woman standing there was…
she was perfect.
That was the only word for it.
She was tall, taller than me by at least three inches.
She was wearing a sports bra and leggings that showed off muscles I didn’t know women could have.
Her arms were defined, her stomach was flat and hard.
She was smiling at Brock.
My chest tightened.
It wasn’t jealousy.
It was shame.
I looked down at my own hands.
They were shaking.
I was thin, not fit.
My skin was pale from hiding indoors.
I had scars on my back that I couldn’t show.
I looked… I dunno next to her.
Of course.
Their pack was full of women like this.
Women who weren’t broken.
Women who hadn’t been beaten by their fathers.
Women who didn’t flinch when a door slammed.
Stop it, Isla.
Stop comparing yourself.
You don’t care about being pretty.
You just want to survive.
God, I hated that I cared.
“Morning, Kiera,” Brock said.
He didn’t take his hand off my back.
He squeezed slightly.
“Training going well?” Brock asked.
His voice was different now.
Bored even.
“Amazing!” Kiera said.
She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Slade’s new regimen is brutal, but I’ve never felt stronger.”
Then her eyes slid to me.
She didn’t look at me with hate.
She looked at me with curiosity.
She assessed me, head to toe.
“You must be Isla,” she said.
She stepped forward and extended her hand.
Her palm was calloused.
“Welcome to Black Star.”
I looked at her hand.
I didn’t want to take it.
But Brock’s hand on my back pressed harder.
I reached out.
When our hands touched, I realized how weak I was.
Her grip was firm.
Strong.
Confident.
She could probably crush my hand if she wanted to.
Everything I wasn’t.
“Thanks,” I managed to say.
Kiera smiled at me.
It was a genuine smile.
And I hated her for it.
I hated that she was being nice, because it made it harder to hate her back.
If she was a bitch like Bella, I could fight her.
But she was just…
nice.
“If you ever want to join training,” Kiera said, looking at me with excitement, “you’re more than welcome.
We have sessions specifically for—”
“She’ll think about it,” Brock interrupted.
His voice was smooth, but there was steel underneath it.
His hand tightened on my back, his fingers digging into my spine.
Kiera blinked, surprised by the interruption.
She looked at Brock, then back at me.
She saw the way he was holding me.
The possessiveness.
She nodded slowly.
“Oh.
Okay.
Well, the offer stands.”
Brock didn’t say goodbye.
He just started walking, pulling me with him.
I stumbled a little, trying to keep up with his long strides.
I looked back at Kiera.
She was still standing there, watching us.
I flashed her a forced smile.
We kept walking.
It happened six more times in the next fifteen minutes.
Every time we passed a group of wolves, the same thing happened.
They stopped.
They looked at Brock with respect, and then they looked at me.
But it wasn’t the look I was used to.
This was warm.
It was respectful.
A female wolf with two toddlers clinging to her legs stopped us.
She had a baby in a carrier on her chest and another one holding her hand.
She was laughing at something Brock said.
Her arms were thick with muscle.
Like she could crush a skull with one hand while holding a baby with the other.
Another one walked by with a basket of laundry.
She was wearing a tank top.
Her shoulders were broad.
She nodded at Brock.
What kind of Pack was this?
My father always told me that female wolves were fragile.
He said we were made for breeding and cooking and keeping the house clean.
He said we were biologically weaker.
That was why he beat me.
Because I wasn’t strong enough to fight back.
Because I was a girl.
But these women…
they looked like they could kill my father in ten seconds.
They looked happy.
They looked free.
It made my stomach churn.
It wasn’t just jealousy.
It was grief.
I was grieving for the life I never got to have.
I was grieving for the weakness that had been beaten into me.
We reached the edge of the clearing.
Brock stopped.
“Here we are,” he said.
I froze.
The training grounds were massive.
It was a dirt field surrounded by trees.
And it was full of wolves.
At least fifty of them.
I scanned the crowd.
Half of them were women.
My breath caught in my throat.
He was bigger than her, twice her size.
She ducked under his punch, swept his legs, and pinned him to the ground.
She had her forearm across his throat.
He was tapping the ground.
Submitting.
She stood up and offered him a hand.
She was laughing.
To my left, a mother was doing push-ups with a toddler on her back.
The kid was giggling.
She did twenty in a row without stopping.
Her back muscles rippled under her skin.
Teenage girls were practicing kicks with female instructors.
The sound of their feet hitting the pads.
They all had power.
They all had confidence.
They took up space.
I took a step back.
I felt small.
This can’t be real.
Can it?
My father lied to me.
He had to be lying.
Female wolves aren’t supposed to be like this.
They’re supposed to be…
less.
They’re supposed to be the ones waiting at the door with a meal.
They’re supposed to be the ones who flinch when a voice gets loud.
But right here… they were fighting.
And they were winning.
I looked at my own hands.
They were thin.
Pale.
My nails were bitten down to the quick.
I had scars on my wrists from where my father grabbed me too hard.
I couldn’t even hold a fork properly when I was nervous.
How could I be a mate to these men?
They were gods.
And I was…
nothing.
“Isla.”
The voice was low.
Dark.
It vibrated in the air and hit me right in the chest.
I turned my head.
Slade stepped into my line of sight.
He had been in the middle of the field.
He was covered in sweat.
It was glistening on his neck, running down his chest, soaking into the fabric of his singlet.
His shirt was grey.
It was damp.
It clung to him like a second skin.
My pussy clenched.
Hard.
I didn’t want it to happen, but it did.
My wolf purred, merely by hearing his voice.
Slade looked…
dangerous.
He was wearing a singlet that showed off everything.
His arms were thick, veins popping along his biceps.
His shoulders were wide enough to block out the sun.
The sweat made his skin look slick.
I stared at the V-line of his hips.
The fabric of his shorts hung low.
I could see the dark trail of hair leading down into his waistband.
He was beautiful.
I swallowed hard.
My mouth was dry.
Focus, Isla.
I mentally slapped myself.
Stop looking at him.
But it was hard to look away.
The way the sweat rolled down his chest…
it was hypnotic.
He walked toward us.
He didn’t look at Brock.
He looked right at me.
His eyes were dark, almost black.
“You look confused,” he said.
He stopped a foot away from me.
I could smell him.
I nodded.
I couldn’t lie.
“I thought…” I started.
My voice shook.
I cleared my throat.
“I thought female wolves were supposed to be weaker?
That’s what…
that’s what I was told.”
Slade’s expression shifted.
Something softer crossed his face.
It wasn’t pity.
It was…
understanding?
He took a step closer.
He was invading my personal space.
Brock didn’t stop him.