The training grounds are silent in the pre-dawn darkness, just the way I like them. No distractions. No audiences. Just the pure focus of a warrior preparing for battle.

Since our unexpected “guest” arrived in the middle of the night five days ago, I don’t seem able to control any aspect of my life. From my siblings to the scouts, everyone is far too preoccupied with whatever strange connection we might have with Lara. Alaric and Lucas both argue that she’s the strongest strategic move. If we can turn her loyalty to us, getting her to regain her strength and connections, the tactical advantage would be massive

But this morning is different. My wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, anticipating our “guest’s” arrival. Five days of watching her heal—watching her watch us—has set my teeth on edge. Time to see what she is really capable of.

“This is unnecessary,” Alaric says from behind me. I don’t bother turning around. “She’s still recovering.”

“She’s well enough to try escaping twice,” I counter, testing the edge of a practice sword. “If she’s strong enough for that, she’s strong enough to train.”

“I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Lucas speaks up. Of course he does. He’s still bitter about my holding him down last night after he started swinging at me in my sleep.

“Training with a newly escaped prisoner who can’t even fully shift isn’t ‘wonderful,’“ Alaric replies. “What if she injures herself again or tires herself? We might as well be training her to break out.”

“Maybe.” I give him a thin smile. “But she’s stubborn enough to try anything, even if she fails. Besides, what’s the point of having slaves if we can’t have fun with them?”

Lucas lounges against a wooden post, looking annoyingly relaxed. “You just want an excuse to put her on her back.”

I shoot him a glare, but before I can respond, her scent drifts across the training yard. Still that maddening almost-there quality, like trying to grab mist. The guards escort her through the gate, and I have to admire her composure. Most wolves would show fear facing an Alpha King in combat. She looks merely inconvenienced.

She’s traded the healing room’s loose shirt and pants for proper training gear—close-fitted black pants and a sleeveless top that reveals toned arms marked with old battle scars. Her dark red hair is pulled back in a tight braid, practical and severe. Every movement speaks of controlled power, even without her wolf.

“Good morning, Luna,” Lucas calls cheerfully.

Her eye twitches at the title. “I’m not your Luna.”

I smirk. “Not yet.” I toss her a practice sword. She catches it smoothly, testing its weight with practiced ease. Definitely not her first time handling a blade. “Let’s see what the mighty Alpha of Starfang can do without her wolf to help.”

“Kian,” Alaric warns, but I ignore him.

“The point,” I say, moving to the center of the training circle, “is to see if you deserve the reputation that preceded you. They say you trained every day with your warriors. That you never asked them to do something you wouldn’t do yourself.” I raise my sword in challenge. “Was that just propaganda, or can you actually fight?”

She steps into the circle, her stance shifting subtly. Professional. Practiced. “I don’t have anything to prove to you.”

“You have everything to prove.” I begin circling her slowly. “Right now, you’re just a defeated Alpha who lost her pack and her wolf. But if you can show us something worth seeing...” I let the implications hang in the air.

Her jaw tightens. “And if I refuse?”

“Then you prove every wolf who said female Alphas are weak was right.”

The words hit their mark. Fury flashes across her face before she masks it, but I’ve seen enough. She wouldn’t back down now.

I move easily, watching her as she probes my defenses. It’s a dance, this sparring. Each Alpha sizes up the other, taking note of strength, style, reach. We trade a few half-hearted blows, not trying to hurt each other yet, but just test.

To my surprise, I find myself enjoying the sensation. Like good chess, every move is made without direct purpose or thought, each player anticipating their opponent.

Until suddenly, without warning, she attacks.

The first real clash of our swords rings through the morning air. She is fast—faster than I expect for someone without wolf-enhanced reflexes. Her strikes are precise, economical, targeting weak points in my guard with surgical accuracy.

I counter her attacks, testing her defenses. She adapts quickly, never falling for the same feint twice. When I press forward with my superior strength, she redirects my momentum rather than meeting it head-on. Smart. Technical. But not enough.

“Is this all the mighty Lara Black has to offer?” I taunt, forcing her to give ground. “No wonder Jackson took your pack so easily.”

Her eyes blaze. The next sequence of strikes comes faster, harder, fury giving them extra bite. But there is something else there too—a pattern I almost recognize...

Too late, I realize my mistake. She’s been holding back, analyzing my fighting style. The next strike slips through my guard like water through fingers, the flat of her blade smacking hard against my ribs.

Pain flares, more from wounded pride than actual injury. My wolf surges forward, eager for real combat. I barely pull back the instinctive burst of Alpha power that would have knocked her across the yard.

She dances back, a familiar gleam in her eye. I’ve seen it in my own reflection countless times—the satisfaction of a warrior who’s just proved a point.

“Not bad,” I admit, rolling my shoulder. “For someone who lost her wolf.”

“I haven’t lost everything.” Her voice is steel wrapped in silk. “My father trained me to fight before I could walk. The wolf just made me stronger.”

“Your father trained you well.” I shift my stance, letting her see I am done playing. “But you’re in my territory now. Time to show you what a real Alpha can do.”

The next exchange is brutal. I stop holding back, letting centuries of combat experience flow through my muscles. She meets every strike with desperate grace, but I can see the strain in her movements. Without her wolf’s stamina, she is tiring quickly.

Finally, I see my opening. A swift combination of strikes ends with her sword clattering away and my blade at her throat. She doesn’t yield, doesn’t even blink. Just stares up at me with those fierce hazel eyes, chest heaving from exertion. Her scent is stronger now, the familiar honey and winter green almost overwhelming. Adrenaline, remnants of wolf, and woman blended into the most intoxicating scent I’ve ever smelled. My wolf demands I grab her, slam her against a wall and make her mine, here and now.

“Yield,” I growl.

“Never.” She doesn’t looks away, confidence and challenge glittering in her eyes.

Part of me wants to fight, to take her right there on the training field, to make her mine completely. The rational, thinking part of my mind won’t let me, recognizing the challenge in her eyes.

Her voice holds all the authority of an Alpha command, despite her lack of power. My wolf stirs, impressed despite myself. Even beaten, she refuses to submit.

“The fight’s over,” I say. “You lost.”

A strange smile curves her lips. “Did I?”

Too late, I feel the small knife pressed against my ribs—the blade she must have palmed during our exchange. If this had been real combat, we’d both be dead.

Despite myself, a rueful grin breaks across my face. Damn, the woman has nerve.

And fuck, if that isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

If I had doubted the power of the attraction before, there is no denying it now. My body demands I claim her, take her, taste her until there is no question she is mine.

Laughter breaks the tension. Lucas slow-claps as he approaches. “Oh, I like her. She fights dirty.”

“She fights smart,” Alaric corrects, studying her with new interest. “Always keep a hidden advantage. Isn’t that what you taught us, brother?”

I step back, lowering my sword. She immediately drops the knife, but her eyes never leave mine. The challenge in them is clear: I might have won the fight, but she’s won something else. Respect.

“Where did you learn that particular move?” I ask, genuinely curious.

“My father.” Something like grief flickers across her face. “He said sometimes the appearance of defeat can be its own weapon.”

“Wise man.”

“He was.” She rolls her shoulder, wincing slightly. “Are we done here? Or do you need to prove your superiority some more?”

I should be angry at her tone. Instead, I find myself grinning. “Oh, we’re just getting started, little Alpha. Same time tomorrow?”

She blinks, surprise briefly replacing the wariness in her expression. Then understanding dawns—this hasn’t just been about testing her skills. It’s an offer. A chance to regain her strength, to train with warriors who won’t hold back. Who won’t treat her as an invalid or a former prisoner or a female who can’t meet their standards. She might be our slave, but that won’t mean we’ll keep her in a cell. Much.

“Tomorrow then,” she agrees quietly.

As the guards escort her back to her chambers, I catch Alaric’s knowing look. “What?”

“She’s dangerous,” he says simply.

“Of course she is. That’s what makes her interesting.”

Lucas snorts. “That’s not all that makes her interesting. You should do something about the stick in your pants.”

“Fuck off, you twat.” I’m tempted to slug him, but he’s not wrong. That surge of adrenaline is bleeding into something far less innocent, and the last thing I need is for Lara to have another claim over me.

“Did you notice how your wolf reacted when she landed that hit?” Alaric asks.

I had. The surge of satisfaction, of rightness, had been impossible to ignore. My wolf doesn’t just approve of her strength—it craves it.

“The moonlight ceremony can’t come soon enough,” I mutter.

Alaric’s eyes narrow. “You still think binding her to us is wise? She’ll fight it every step of the way.”

I smile, remembering the fierce light in her eyes, the way she refuses to yield even with a sword at her throat. “Good. The best battles are the ones worth fighting for.”

And something tells me Lara Black will be worth every moment of the war to come.