Draven.
Meredith's retreating figure vanished beyond the hedges of the courtyard, her silver hair catching the morning light.
I stood there, jaw clenched, arms heavy at my sides, wondering what new brand of madness gave her the audacity to argue with me when she reeked of pheromones and had the nerve to walk into the training grounds like she wasn't a walking trigger for chaos.
Her scent lingered like heat rising off sunbaked stone, and every step she took dragged that dangerous aroma behind her.
Pheromones.
It was too early for them to be this strong.
Too soon.
And yet, I had smelled it—heady, sweet, thick with need. No perfume in the world could mimic the biological storm she was radiating. No potion could fake that scent. It was real. And it was trouble.
If my warriors had been any less disciplined or focused, the entire ground would have turned into a frenzy.
Fortunately, they were too immersed in drills to notice. But I wasn't. My senses were sharper.
