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It’s off.”
    “It is not.” Her back went ramrod straight. “I can move smoother than anyone else in this class.”
    He met her militant gaze. “Ten laps. Now .”
    Swallowing at his unusually harsh tone, the ebony-skinned girl took off to do the required laps. Emmett turned back to the three boys who remained. “Gentlemen, you have something to say?”
    One of them, a slender kid named Aaron, stepped forward. “She’s right—she is better than all of us at the hand to eye stuff.”
    “Not today—she’s too busy playing head games.” Sending them back to their training, he waited for Jazz to return.
    “Grab a drink and a seat,” he said when she did, red-faced from having done the laps at full changeling speed as required. After making sure the boys had enough to carry on with, he walked over to hunker down in front of her. “Why do you think I made you do that?”
    A shrug. “I was mouthing off.”
    “Yeah.” And because he knew something of young female pride, he reached out to tug on one of her braids. “You are top of the class.”
    A small smile peeked out.
    “But, kitten,” he said, meeting her gaze, “that won’t get you far if you can’t hold your temper. You can still be Jazz, still be a smart-ass, too, if you want”—that got him another small smile—“but you need to learn to work within a hierarchy.” Because that was how changeling packs stayed strong, though they were often far fewer in number than either of the two other races. And if his mother was correct in her predictions, that internal strength would become even more important in the years to come. These kids were all highly independent predatory changelings—his job was to start teaching them to work as a unit.
    “I think I understand,” Jazz said after a thoughtful pause. “It’s how the sentinels and soldiers work to protect the alpha—they know they can always rely on each other.”
    “Exactly.” Rising, he tugged her to her feet, “Go on, finish your training routine, and then we’ll do some one-on-one combat.”
    A sharp grin. “I’m going to kick the boys’ butts tonight.”
    Chuckling as he watched her slide easily into the graceful rhythm of combat, he wondered what Ria would think of the measures DarkRiver was taking to protect its future. Would she understand, or would she be repelled by the threat of violence, by the aggressiveness that was an inherent part of a predatory changeling’s nature? Not that he had any intention of discussing those things with her—not as long as he could avoid it. She’d clearly been brought up in a sheltered environment—why ask her to worry about things she didn’t have to? Protection was his job. His plans for Ria Wembley were all about pleasure . . . of the most decadent, delicious kind.
    His entire body thrummed in anticipation.
     
    R ia stayed home for two days after the explosive events in the gym, seeing Emmett only to say hi.
    He scowled at her when she looked out the window on the second day. She had a good feeling she knew what he was thinking—that she was running scared after coming apart in his arms—but tempting as it was to head out and put him straight, she stayed in.
    Of course, that temptation wasn’t the sole one where Emmett was concerned—her body wasn’t letting her get much sleep. Now that it had had a taste of real pleasure, it wanted more. The sleepless nights left her frustrated in more ways than one, and she intended to punish the damn cat for it.
    But first, she had to do something.
    On the third day after he’d crushed her up against the basement door and kissed her senseless, she walked out dressed in a deep peach skirt suit teamed with a white silk shell. Emmett looked her up and down, then did it again . . . slow. Her cheeks felt like they matched her suit by the time he finished.
    “I like it.” A slow, feline purr.
    She thrust a list at him. “Interview locations.”
    He raised an eyebrow as he scanned the list, but all he