John came at me again and there was nothing measured left in it. The calm control he had worn at the start of the fight had burned off into something sharper and more dangerous because he was no longer shaping the fight and he was trying to end it before the pack saw too much.
Blood ran from his nose and smeared across his mouth and one of his eyes had started to swell. Still he moved fast and direct and ugly because men like him did not slow down when they started losing. They doubled down and forced the moment harder.
I stayed where I was and let my breathing settle. Everything Ezra had driven into me that morning held steady under the pain and the noise and the weight of the pack watching.
Not faster or clearer. John lunged. His hand shot for my throat, fingers spread wide and brutal
