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“Confidence leads to complacency.”
Denzel says the words softly. As a warning.
Right before he powers a kick straight at her jaw.
Elara groans at the impact. She folds in the middle as she flies backward, then groans again as she hits the ground. The grass no longer feels soft. She can no longer smell its moist color.
It feels like cement. All she can smell is outrage. Blood fills her mouth, flooding her mind with the taste of copper.
“Elara!” Laith cries. He launches himself at Denzel, true anger twisting his features.
Denzel barely glances at him as he spins so fast he’s a blur. His hand shoots out, flat palmed and extended, and strikes Laith in the chest. He’s also sent flying, landing on the grass in a tangle of limbs and grunts.
Denzel straightens, not even breathing hard. “It’s the attack you never expect that you need to be prepared for.”
The pain has spread from Elara’s jaw to her whole head. It suffuses her brain, drenching it. The agony clings to her skull, making it feel fragile and weak.
Two words Elara refuses to be defined by. Not anymore.
She leaps to her feet, using the pain to fuel the fury at being caught so off-guard. She’s a werewolf. A powerful one. Others need to realize who they’re messing with.
Denzel’s brows twitch to see her already upright, but he quickly recovers. He lifts his fists, ready to fight, his center of gravity angling toward her.
Except Elara’s hurting.
And she’s angry.
She has no intention of backing down.
She leaps, a battle cry climbing up her throat and erupting almost as a growl. Her wolf is just below the surface, primal and thirsty for retribution. Denzel also launches forward, determined to meet her.
But he won’t be touching her again.
Elara unleashes the pressure that was accumulating within her. A ball of fiery energy explodes out, searing the air yet impossibly silent. It hits Denzel in the chest and he flies back just like she did. Except Denzel lands feet away, gouging through the grass like its buttercream. He skids to a halt, unmoving.
“Denzel!” Elara cries, running to his lifeless form. What did she just do? “Denzel!”
His leg twitches, then rights itself from the undignified sprawl it was angled at. Relief tsunamis through Elara as she goes to kneel beside him. “I’m so sorry?—”
Denzel pushes to his feet with a growl, making her stumble back a step. “What the hell, Elara?”
She blinks. Then blinks again. How can she answer that question when she has no idea what just happened? “I…I think it was a combination of the pain and anger…”
Denzel jams his hand through his close-cropped hair. “You just blasted me!”
“I’m so sorry. I really am.” It was never a conscious choice.
Laith joins them, slipping a protective arm around her shoulder. “We’re still learning how to control all of this.”
“You’re supposed to be honing your wolf strength and speed!” Denzel half-shouts. “Not… Not your magic!”
Kade’s warnings filter through Elara’s mind. His warnings that Denzel and the wolves will see her as a threat because she’s far more powerful now feel prophetic.
Because she’s not just a werewolf. She’s also a witch.
Laith frowns. “We both have magic.”
Denzel already knew this, but the blatant show of exactly how powerful that could be is now irrefutable. Elara’s taken their powers from unspoken to undeniable.
