His Trouble Maker

Chapter 67

Chapter 67

JESSICA

I didn’t know why I was here anymore.

I stood on that cold stone floor, knees locked, jaw set, spine straining to hold together what little was left of me. My face was blank, my chin tilted just enough to fake pride, because that was all I had. That, and a body trained for war–even if the world had decided I was better off forgotten.

The arena was full now. Warriors lined the edges like shadows with sharp teeth. Blades at their hips. Bandages at their throats. Eyes tracking movement like it meant survival. Some stretched in silence, others ran drills with partners. But no one was really focused. Not until the doors opened.

A gust of cool air rolled through the room, slicing through the heat and the sweat and the whispers. Every sound died.

Grayson stepped in first and the room reacted on instinct. Spines straightened. Conversations died mid–word. Eyes dropped..

But it wasn’t him they were staring at.

It was the man beside him.

Goddess.

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Sa

He looked like Grayson–but ruined. Sharper. Hungrier. A twisted reflection, like someone had taken the bone structure and charm of the Alpha and drowned it in sin.

Same jawline. Same mouth.

But colder.

Filthier.

pla

A long, pale scar dragged down the left side of his face, cutting across his cheekbone and curling toward his mouth.

I couldn’t look away.

He was terrifying.

Utterly, absolutely terrifying.

But there’s something about him that makes you want to stay longer. Harder.

the way my breath

at him the deeper I notice their similarities and differences. It’s

hands, the slow curve of his smirk like he knew exactly how he made people

so lost in my thoughts I didn’t realized he was already walking. Riot didn’t

my braid, and he twisted it around one finger, gentle

why I wasn’t

stepping back, or demanding he stop looking at me like he’d already undressed my

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Chapter 67

part of me wanted to know what he’d

“W–why?”

He shrugged.

if that was an

if he didn’t

twisting the braid. His thumb grazed the inside of my wrist like he’d tracked the tremor there. He didn’t answer. He just smiled. And turned his head–just slightly. Looked past me.

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it

The shift.

The heat.

pressure that came when an Alpha’s wolf

Slowly, carefully, I turned.

stood like a statue carved from fury. His posture hadn’t changed, but everything about him was “alive” now–coiled, twitching beneath the

had started to gather at his knuckles. His chest

was his eyes* that

No longer blue.

No longer human.

and wild, the same color I’d seen in wolves just before they shifted

locked on

a slow, deliberate spark

Silence snapped tight.

Then-

room that

not from Riot, not from me, but from Grayson.

frozen in the center of it all, every hair on my arms rising, every breath catching in my throat like my body couldn’t

Grayson didn’t speak.

bones that wanted to shift. Muscles flexed beneath his shirt

was “this close* to snapping.

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