Ash's POV
The arena was charged—not just with tension but with something volatile, electric.
The night air was crisp, the moon casting a silver glow over the clearing where the fight was about to begin.
And Opal?
Opal was standing across from him like she owned the damn place.
Her silver hair was tied back into a messy bun, a few wild strands falling loose around her face. She looked smug. Confident. Like she had already won.
Ash rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. He had fought plenty of battles. Brutal ones. Blood-soaked ones. Ones that left scars.
But this?
This was a different kind of fight.
This was his little sister demanding respect—and Ash, for the life of him, couldn't decide if he wanted to knock her on her ass or shake her hand for having the guts to do this.
A small audience had gathered.
Alpha Griffin. Arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
Brooks, Ridge, and Forrest.
Already causing trouble.
