Lena
“Observe,” the instructor’s voice booms across the packed training arena. “Alpha Kade demonstrates a classic takedown against a lighter opponent. Note the use of leverage.”
I stand on the sidelines, trying to make myself small. My classmates press in on all sides, their scents a cloying mix of sweat and anticipation. On the mat, Kade circles a younger beta who looks terrified. This isn’t a lesson. It’s a performance.
“A good Alpha knows how to control the entire field of battle,” Kade says, his voice loud enough for all of us to hear. He’s not even looking at his sparring partner. His eyes are scanning the crowd, a predator looking for a new toy.
His gaze lands on me.
A cold knot tightens in my stomach. He gives his opponent a dismissive shove, sending the beta stumbling backward.
“Sometimes,” Kade continues, a cruel smirk playing on his lips, “distractions on the periphery must be… neutralized.”
He moves. It’s not a lunge toward his opponent. It’s a wide, theatrical leg sweep that extends far beyond the sparring mat. It moves with impossible speed, aimed not at the beta, but at me.
My mind screams to move, but my body is frozen. His boot connects with my ankles. The world tilts sideways. A sharp crack echoes in my ears as my wrist hits the stone floor, my entire body weight following it down.
A white-hot lance of pain shoots up my arm. The air is knocked from my lungs in a pained gasp.
Laughter. It’s a familiar chorus, led by Kade’s friends. It washes over me, a second wave of pain that is somehow worse than the first.
“Kade, watch your spacing,” the instructor says, his tone holding all the urgency of a man ordering lunch. “Careless.”
Kade just shrugs, offering me a look of feigned innocence. “My apologies. Training accidents happen.”
He turns back to his bewildered opponent and ends the match in a single, brutal move. No one is watching the beta. They are all watching me, the omega who can’t even stand on the sidelines without causing a problem.
Elara and Finn are at my side in an instant.
“Let me see that,” Elara says, her healer’s voice soft but firm as she gently cradles my arm. I bite back a whimper as her fingers probe the swelling joint.
“Accident my ass,” Finn spits, his eyes narrowed into slits, fixed on Kade’s retreating back. “I should put an arrow through his kneecap.”
“Don’t,” I whisper, my voice hoarse. “It’s not worth it.”
Sam joins us, pushing his spectacles up his nose, his face a mask of cold fury. “There are three academy bylaws he just violated. Section four, paragraph two: intentional endangerment of a non-combatant. Section seven…”
“It doesn’t matter, Sam,” I cut him off, letting Elara help me to my feet. My wrist throbs with every beat of my heart.
They help me back to our dorm. Elara wraps my wrist tightly with a compression bandage that smells of herbs and mint. She works in silence, her lips pressed into a thin line.
“You shouldn’t let him do this to you,” Finn says finally, pacing the small room like a caged wolf.
“What am I supposed to do, Finn?” I ask, the words tasting like ash. “Challenge him? I’m an omega. He’s an Alpha heir.”
“There are other ways to fight,” Sam says quietly, his eyes finding mine. “Not all battles are won with fists.”
I want to believe him. But as I lie in my bunk later, the throbbing in my wrist a constant, miserable reminder of my place here, his words feel hollow.
Sleep refuses to come. The moon is high when I finally slip out, the familiar path to the forgotten training ground calling to me. My father’s journal is a comforting weight in my hand.
Tonight, the pain makes everything harder. My wrapped wrist makes a proper fist impossible. I try to move through a blocking sequence, but a sharp, stabbing pain forces me to stop. I cry out in frustration, kicking one of the rotting dummies.
“Fighting with an injury like that is foolish.”
The voice comes from the deepest shadows near the armory wall. It’s low, gravelly, and it sends a shiver of pure ice down my spine. I freeze, my heart hammering against my ribs.
A figure detaches himself from the darkness. He moves with a liquid grace that is utterly silent. It’s him. Ronan. The reclusive combat instructor. His face is all harsh lines and shadow, his eyes reflecting the pale moonlight like chips of obsidian.
“Your stance is compromised,” he says, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “You are overcompensating for your wrist, leaving your entire left side exposed. One good push and you’re on the ground.”
I stare at him, speechless. Has he been watching me? How many times?
“Your father’s forms are brilliant,” he continues, taking a slow step closer. “But they require a foundation you do not have. You are copying the words from the page, but you don’t understand the grammar.”
He stops a few feet away. “Continuing down this path will only lead to more injuries. You will break yourself against a wall of your own making.”
“What do you want?” I finally manage to say, my voice tight.
His eyes seem to bore right through me, seeing every secret, every weakness. The air grows heavy, charged with a tension I can’t name.
“You have two choices, omega,” he says, his voice dropping lower still. “You can give up. Accept your place, lick your wounds, and pray that alphas like Kade grow bored of you.”
He lets the silence hang for a moment.
“Or, you can let me train you. Properly. I will tear down everything you think you know and build a warrior from the ground up.”
He looks from me to the darkness surrounding us.
“In secret.”
