The days passed quietly. I slipped into a simple routine—waking early, eating when I felt like it, pacing the fortress halls or sitting near the windows where sunlight spilled in. Sometimes Kira walked with me, other times I preferred the silence. The mornings came slowly, filled with the echo of footsteps on stone and the distant hum of Pack life outside the thick walls. It wasn’t peace. Not yet. But it was better than what I’d known.

  I kept my hands busy with small things—helping in the kitchens when they’d let me, carrying linens down to the lower levels, even dusting forgotten corners of the halls when no one was watching. It felt strange, being useful. No one expected much. No one pressed. Just quiet glances and nods of acknowledgment. The pups I’d met in the orphan room still waved at me when they passed, like I was someone worth noticing.

  The weather shifted with each passing day. Cool breezes slipped through the high windows, and one morning, I woke to the soft patter of rain against the stone. It made the air feel clean. Fresh. At night, I curled beneath a blanket, listening to the wind moaning through the fortress cracks. There was something comforting about the stillness, even if it didn’t feel like it belonged to me just yet.

  On the third morning, I found Kira waiting outside my door, her hair pulled back messily like she’d been up for a while. She didn’t say much, just handed me a mug of something warm and sweet, then sat on the floor beside the wall like it was the most natural thing in the world. We didn’t speak. We didn’t need to. The silence wasn’t heavy anymore. Just… there.

  For the first time since I arrived, I didn’t feel like I had to flinch at every sound or question what someone wanted from me. It wasn’t trust. Not yet. But it was something close.

  ~~~

  After some time, Kira leaves and then Apolloh enters.

  He doesn’t knock. Just walks in like he belongs there—like he always has. His presence fills the space without trying to. I sit a little straighter without meaning to.

  “There’s a meeting,” he says, voice steady but quieter than usual. “With the Elders. The Beta. A few others. I want you there.”

  My brows pull together before I can stop them. “Why?”

  He shifts, almost like he expected the question. “Because you’re the Luna. Even if you don’t feel like it yet, they need to see you standing with me.”

  I look down, my fingers twisting the hem of my sleeve, feeling the weight of everything he just said. It’s not just a title. It’s more. And I know it. The thought of sitting in that room, with everyone watching, unsettles me. But I can’t stay hidden forever.

  Finally, I nod, my voice barely above a whisper. “Okay.”

  The meeting is held in one of the larger chambers of the fortress, a room where the stone walls rise high and the air feels colder, as if the walls themselves are watching. The long table in the center is occupied by the Elders, their faces stern and unreadable, and a few other high-ranking wolves whose names I barely recognize. Apolloh stands at the head of the table, his back straight, gaze sharp. He looks every bit the leader he is, but there’s something in his eyes I can’t quite place.

  I take a step into the room, feeling like an outsider, standing just inside the doorway. The eyes of the room shift toward me. Their gazes feel heavy—expecting, assessing. I feel the weight of it, the pulse of silent judgment. My heartbeat quickens, but I don’t move. I can’t.

  Apolloh glances at me, then nods toward the seat beside him at the table. The weight of his gaze makes my chest tighten, but I force my legs to move. The chair scrapes against the stone floor when I sit, a small noise that feels like a loud declaration in the quiet room. The Elders shift, but none of them say anything.

  “Thank you for joining us,” Apolloh’s voice breaks the silence, but there’s an edge to it—calm but firm. “We have matters to discuss that concern not only our Pack, but the balance we’ve worked to maintain. Laika,” he adds, turning to me, “will be joining in these discussions from now on.”

  A murmur moves through the room. I feel every pair of eyes on me, some curious, others… less welcoming. It’s clear this wasn’t expected. The tension in the air grows thicker, like the room is holding its breath.

  One of the Elders, a woman with silvered fur and sharp eyes, speaks up, her voice low but filled with authority. “And what exactly does Laika’s presence here mean for the future of our Pack, Apolloh?” Her words hang in the air, each one a challenge.

  The Elder’s words cut through the room like a blade, but Apolloh doesn’t flinch. He keeps his posture firm, his gaze steady as he addresses the group.

  “Laika is the Luna,” he says, his voice carrying the weight of finality. “Whether anyone here is ready to accept it or not, that’s the truth. And as Luna, her presence at this table is necessary. This is not just about my leadership; it’s about the future of the Pack.”

  A low murmur ripples through the room, and I feel the heat of the stares pressing down on me. Some of them are skeptical, others intrigued, but all of them are thinking the same thing—how can someone like me be the Luna?

  I don’t speak, don’t offer any defense. It’s not my place to argue. Apolloh’s declaration stands, and I’m stuck in the middle of it. The weight of the title feels heavier now than ever, but I don’t have time to think about it. Not yet.

  The silver-furred Elder narrows her eyes, her lips tight as she considers his words. “And what do you expect from us, Apolloh? To simply accept this… shift without question?” Her voice is cold, measured. “You’re asking us to follow a Luna who’s never been trained for the role. Who hasn’t earned it.”

  Apolloh doesn’t back down. “I’m asking you to see her for what she is. She has every right to be here. And you will respect her, just as you respect me.”

  The room goes still at his words. A few of the wolves exchange wary looks, but no one dares speak up right away. It’s clear Apolloh has made his stance known. This meeting is as much about testing the Pack’s loyalty as it is about any practical matter.

  The room remains quiet, the weight of Apolloh’s words hanging in the air. One by one, the Elders exchange looks, their silence stretching for what feels like an eternity. Finally, the silver-furred Elder sighs, her gaze flicking to Apolloh, then back to me.

  “Very well,” she says, her voice tight with reluctant acceptance. “We will respect the Luna’s place here, though it may take time for some of us to adjust.” Her words are clipped, each one a careful concession, but they’re enough for now.

  Apolloh nods once, acknowledging her, before turning his attention to the rest of the table. “Now that that’s settled, we have more pressing matters to address.”

  His tone shifts, becoming even more authoritative, the mood in the room changing in an instant. The tension lingers, but it’s now focused on the task at hand.

  “We received word of another threat,” Apolloh continues, his eyes scanning the room as he speaks. “It’s not just rumors this time. There’s talk of another attack, and this time, it’s coming from outside the Pack.”

  The murmurs return, low and uneasy, but Apolloh holds up a hand to silence them. “We need to prepare. The Pack cannot remain vulnerable any longer. We must make our moves carefully, but decisively.”

  I sit back in my chair, trying to process what he’s saying. Another attack? The same one from the letter? After everything that’s already happened, I don’t know if I’m ready for more. But I can feel the gravity of the situation settling over me, thick and undeniable.

  The Elder who spoke earlier, a gruff-looking male with a scar across his cheek, leans forward. “We’ve been waiting for the right moment to strike first. But with all this chaos in the Pack, can we really afford to make a move now?”

  Apolloh’s eyes narrow. “We don’t have a choice. If we wait, we risk everything. The Pack needs stability—and we need to show them that we can protect them.” His gaze flicks toward me. “And Laika, as Luna, will be an integral part of that. Her role is more than just symbolic now. She will stand with me in this.”

  The room goes still again. It’s not the first time Apolloh’s made that claim, but there’s a weight to it now. The Pack needs more than just leadership. It needs unity, and I’m starting to realize just how much is riding on my presence—on me being something I don’t know how to be.

  The room is thick with the weight of Apolloh’s words, but the Elders don’t remain quiet for long. The scarred male speaks again, his tone sharp and cutting.

  “If Laika is to be a part of this, we need to be sure she’s ready,” he says, glancing at me like I’m some fragile thing that might break at any moment. “This isn’t a game. The attack we’re preparing for could tear the Pack apart if we don’t act swiftly. She’s hardly had time to adjust. How do you expect her to handle the pressure?”

  I bristle at his words, but I keep quiet, not wanting to provoke him further. Apolloh’s response comes quickly, his voice firm and unwavering.

  “She’s stronger than any of you think,” he says. “Don’t mistake her silence for weakness. The Pack may not see it yet, but Laika is capable. She will be an asset, not a burden.”

  His words feel like a shield, and I can almost taste the pride in his tone. But underneath it, I sense the weight of his own doubts—the fear that maybe he’s pushing me too far too fast.

  The silver-furred Elder leans back in her chair, folding her arms across her chest. “We’re not debating Laika’s strength. We’re debating the consequences of rushing into action without proper planning. If we move too quickly, we risk alienating those already unsure of Apolloh’s leadership. If we move too slowly, we risk another attack that could break us.”

  Apolloh doesn’t hesitate. “We’re not moving blindly. I’ve already begun preparing—recruiting loyal wolves, making sure our borders are secure. But I need your cooperation. I need all of you to follow my lead. And that means accepting Laika as Luna.”

  The air in the room thickens. There’s no more room for argument, but the tension is palpable. The scarred male clenches his jaw, obviously unhappy with the decision, but he nods, his reluctance clear.

  “We’ll follow,” he grumbles. “But we expect results, Apolloh. If this goes wrong—”

  “It won’t,” Apolloh cuts him off, his voice final. “Now, we prepare. We act soon. Everyone here will have a role to play, and Laika will stand beside me, as she should.”

  I feel every set of eyes on me again. Some skeptical, others unsure, but all of them waiting for me to prove that I belong.

  I sit straighter, not because I feel ready, but because I can’t back down now. Not in front of them. Not in front of Apolloh.

  The air outside is cooler than I expected, and the fortress walls cast long shadows as we make our way toward the training grounds at the back. The moment we step through the archway, the sounds of metal clashing, wolves sparring, and commands being shouted fill the air. The open area is expansive, covered in dirt and worn patches of grass, and scattered with various weapons and training equipment. Several wolves are already in motion—some practicing hand-to-hand combat, others working with weapons, their grunts and growls cutting through the air. A pair of wolves circle each other in a sparring match, their feet pounding against the earth with each strike. The tension in the air is palpable, like the whole place is alive with energy.

  I stop for a second, taking it all in. I’ve never been part of something like this before. The raw power, the focused energy—it’s overwhelming. I glance at Apolloh, who strides ahead, clearly at ease in this environment. I feel out of place, like I don’t belong here.

  “You’re here to learn, not just watch,” Apolloh says over his shoulder as we approach a group of Pack wolves who are working through some basic footwork drills. A few others are lifting weights, their muscles straining with effort as they prepare for more intense exercises. “You’ll start with the basics. The physicality of being a Luna is just as important as the authority. If you’re going to lead, you need to show you can protect the Pack, too.”

  I open my mouth to say something—maybe to tell him I’m not ready, that I don’t know the first thing about fighting—but the words stick in my throat. He’s already expecting this from me, and I can feel the pressure mounting.

  “First, we’ll work on stamina,” Apolloh continues, stopping in front of a set of wooden posts used for agility training. As we move closer, I notice a pair of wolves sprinting back and forth between the posts, weaving in and out with impressive speed. Their movements are fluid, effortless, and I feel a pang of doubt. How will I ever get to that level?

  “You’ll start slow,” he adds, turning back to face me. “But eventually, I want you to move as fast as you think. No hesitation. Your instincts will need to match your strength.”

  I swallow hard, feeling a lump rise in my throat. This isn’t what I imagined when I thought about my place here. But it’s real now. I can’t avoid it. I nod, though my feet feel like they might give out under me.

  A few of the wolves in the training area glance our way, some of them pausing to watch me curiously, others continuing their sparring or drills, their focus unwavering. I know they’re wondering how I’ll do, but I also feel like they’re waiting to see if Apolloh’s faith in me is justified.

  I follow Apolloh’s lead as he moves toward the center of the training grounds, the sounds of sparring and grunts from nearby wolves becoming a steady backdrop. My heart thuds in my chest, and the lump in my throat refuses to go away. This feels real now. There’s no turning back.

  He stops in front of me, his gaze focused and unwavering. “We’ll start with the basics—fighting stances,” he says, his voice low, cutting through the noise around us. “Everything starts here. If your stance is off, your whole movement will be off.”

  He demonstrates first, his body flowing into position with smooth precision. One foot forward, knees slightly bent, hands raised in front of him like a shield. “You want to keep your center of gravity low. You move from your legs, not just your arms. Everything is about balance.”

  I try to mirror him, shifting my feet into the same position. The stance feels awkward, like I’m too stiff in all the wrong places. I can feel the eyes of the wolves around me watching, their judgment like a weight on my shoulders.

  Apolloh doesn’t wait for me to get it perfect. “Good,” he says, his eyes scanning me for any sign of doubt. “Now, throw a punch.”

  I blink at him, not quite sure I heard that right. “A punch?”

  He nods, his voice steady. “A punch. Not hard. Just enough to feel your body move through it. You can’t think about it, Laika. You have to feel it.”

  I take a deep breath, lifting my fist like he showed me. But my arm feels stiff, my movements hesitant. When I throw the punch, it’s sloppy—too wide, too slow, nothing like the fluid strikes I’ve seen from the others.

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  Apolloh steps forward, his presence commanding. “Again. This time, keep your elbow in. Your punch should be like a whip—quick and controlled.”

  I try again, focusing more on my form this time. I bring my fist forward, the motion sharper this time, but it still feels clumsy. My breath is shallow, and I can feel the heat rising in my chest from the exertion.

  “That’s better,” Apolloh says, but his tone is firm. “Now, imagine you’re striking with the force of the wolf inside you. Every punch should be like a snap of the pack’s power. That’s how you defend yourself. That’s how you protect them.”

  His words cut deep. The weight of the responsibility presses down on me, but I don’t let myself falter. I try again, my body moving more fluidly this time, the motion coming more naturally. The punch isn’t perfect, but it’s better.

  The wolves around us continue with their own drills, their movements fast and fluid. Some spar in pairs, others working on agility, but my eyes keep drifting back to them—wondering how long it’ll take for me to move with that kind of grace.

  “You’re doing well,” Apolloh says, his voice softer now but no less intense. “Remember, strength isn’t just about muscle. It’s about control. When you strike, you need to channel everything—your anger, your pain, your purpose. Everything.”

  His words hang in the air, and I know he’s right. I can feel the pulse of something deep inside me, something wild, something that’s been locked away. Maybe, just maybe, I can learn to unleash it.

  I move with more confidence now, my feet light against the mat, slipping in and out of position with each step. My breathing is steady, but there’s a growing intensity in the air around me. I feel the weight of the eyes on me—other wolves have stopped sparring, their movements slowing as they watch. Some are leaning against posts, others are wiping sweat from their brows, their gazes fixed on me.

  Apolloh, too, notices. He gives a slight nod, but it’s clear he’s not about to slow down. “Now, you’re going to start throwing punches while you’re moving. No hesitation. Keep your stance strong, but don’t forget your feet. You need to be able to strike and move at the same time.”

  I nod, my mind focused entirely on him. There’s a strange pressure building inside me. I can’t be weak. I can’t be the Luna who falters. I won’t let them see that side of me.

  Apolloh suddenly steps toward me, his fist coming toward my face in a blur of motion. I duck, narrowly avoiding it, and as I do, I throw a punch toward his side. It’s sloppy, not enough force behind it, and he easily steps back, avoiding my strike.

  “Faster,” he urges. “Your body moves together. Your mind and instincts need to be one.”

  I nod again, taking a deep breath, and move back into the flow, dancing around the mat, keeping my stance low, trying to keep the rhythm Apolloh has taught me. I keep my head on a swivel, waiting for his next strike, anticipating it.

  This time, I’m quicker. When Apolloh comes at me again, I twist, throwing a punch at his shoulder. It’s better—more controlled—but still not fast enough. He steps back effortlessly, avoiding my strike, his eyes watching me with that same unwavering intensity.

  “You’re still thinking too much,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “React. Don’t plan.”

  I try again, moving in and out, keeping my feet light, my fists up. His next punch comes—quicker than the others—and I barely dodge it, the air whistling as it passes inches from my face. I snap a punch toward his torso, this time with more force, and it lands solidly. The impact surprises me, my knuckles stinging as they connect.

  Apolloh’s gaze sharpens. “Good. That’s it. Keep doing that. React, move, strike.”

  I move faster now, my body adapting to the rhythm. I start to feel the dance, the flow of it. The wolves watching are silent now, their attention fully on us as I dodge and punch, twist and turn, pushing myself harder. Each step, each punch feels more natural.

  I throw another punch—this time it’s clean, fluid—and it lands on his shoulder with a solid thud. Apolloh doesn’t flinch, but I can see the flicker of approval in his eyes.

  “That’s it,” he says, his voice quiet but filled with approval. “You’re starting to get it. But don’t let up. Keep moving. Keep fighting.”

  The wolves around us begin to murmur among themselves, their eyes flicking back and forth between me and Apolloh, clearly impressed. I can feel the weight of their attention on me, and a new fire sparks inside me. I’m not just Laika anymore. I’m more than that.

  I move faster, feeling the power in each step, in each punch. This is what I’m meant to do. This is who I am.

  The energy in the training grounds shifts as I continue to find my rhythm. I’m faster now, each movement more fluid than the last. My feet glide across the mat, my fists snapping out with force. Every punch feels like it has purpose, like I’m finally in control of my body, my strength. The wolves around us are starting to take notice. At first, it’s just a murmur—soft, almost uncertain. But then one wolf calls out, “Come on, Laika!”

  I catch the sound of the cheer, and it sends a jolt through me. My chest swells with something I can’t quite place—pride? Confidence? Maybe both. The next time I throw a punch, I do it with everything I have. My movements are faster now, almost instinctual. Each strike is more powerful, my body pushing past its limits, my stance steady and grounded.

  Another wolf calls out, louder this time, “You’ve got this, Luna!” The word hits me again, but this time, I don’t flinch. I use it. I make it part of me.

  Then, the shouts grow, each wolf urging me on, a chorus that fills the air, pushing me faster. “Yes, Laika! Keep going!” A low growl rises in the crowd as I dance around the mat, my punches coming faster, sharper. My heart pounds in my chest, my muscles burning, but I push through. There’s a fire inside me now—a fire I didn’t know existed until this moment.

  My focus narrows in on Apolloh, my every movement calculated. My punches hit with more precision, more speed. He doesn’t move as fast as he did before, but I can see the flicker of respect in his eyes. He steps back, watching me, his expression a mix of approval and something harder—something that makes my heart race even faster.

  I’m unstoppable. I feel unstoppable.

  And then—just for a split second—I lose it. My eyes flicker toward the crowd, caught by the cheering, and that moment of distraction is enough for Apolloh to capitalize. Without hesitation, his fist shoots forward, faster than I can react.

  The punch lands squarely against my ribs, the impact hitting with the force of a freight train. I gasp, the air knocked out of me, and stumble back, barely keeping my feet beneath me. The crowd goes silent in an instant, the cheering dying down as I catch my breath, trying to steady myself.

  Apolloh steps forward, his face still unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—maybe concern, maybe a hint of pride. “Focus, Laika,” he says, his voice low but firm. “That’s the difference between winning and losing. Don’t let anything pull you out of the moment.”

  I take a deep breath, my ribs aching from the hit, but the sting only fuels me. I can’t let it stop me. I can’t let that punch be the end of it.

  “Again,” Apolloh says, already shifting back into position, his stance strong. “You’re not done yet.”

  I nod, forcing myself to push through the pain. The wolves are still watching, their silence heavy now, waiting for me to rise again. I won’t let them down. I won’t let myself down.

  I steady myself, shaking off the impact of Apolloh’s punch, my chest tight with each breath. My ribs ache, but the pain only sharpens my focus. I refuse to let him see me falter again. I refuse to be weak.

  Apolloh gives me a quick nod, as if acknowledging the challenge in the air, before stepping forward with a sharper gleam in his eyes. “Now, we add kicks,” he says, his voice still steady but with a new edge. “You’ll need them in close-range combat. Don’t let your legs just hang there. Every movement—every strike—should flow.”

  I feel the weight of his words as I prepare myself. “Start by stepping back. Shift your weight onto your back leg,” he instructs. “When you kick, it’s not just about strength—it’s about speed and control.”

  I shift my weight onto my back leg, lifting my front foot. It feels awkward at first, like I’m not sure how to use the power in my legs. But Apolloh steps back, observing, his eyes never leaving me. “It’s not just about throwing your leg out,” he adds. “Your kick should flow from the movement of your body. The moment you think you’re about to strike, it’s already too late. React.”

  He demonstrates first, his foot snapping up in a quick arc. The kick is fluid, precise, like a snake striking out from its coil. It’s fast. So fast that I barely register the movement before he’s back in position, looking at me expectantly.

  I copy his movement, shifting my weight again, this time faster, focusing on the fluidity. My leg snaps up toward his midsection, but it’s stiff, lacking the speed and control of his strike. Apolloh steps back effortlessly, avoiding my kick with a casual shift of his own body.

  “Again,” he says simply, but there’s a note of intensity in his voice. “Move faster. You’ve got to be faster.”

  I take a deep breath, planting my feet firmly on the ground. I focus, feel the tension in my legs and my core, then lift my leg again—this time with more fluidity. The kick is still not as fast as I want, but it’s closer to what he’s asking. Apolloh sidesteps just in time, his eyes never wavering as he watches me.

  He steps forward, his gaze sharp, and then—without warning—his leg sweeps up, a kick aimed right at my midsection. I barely dodge it, feeling the wind rush by as his foot narrowly misses me. My heart pounds, and I’m already back in motion, feet shifting, the space between us growing smaller as I circle him.

  “Keep moving,” he commands, “and don’t lose focus. When you throw your kick, your body needs to be in sync. Keep your balance.”

  I nod, shifting my weight again, and this time, as I move, I focus on the flow—on the control. My foot rises once more, this time aimed for his chest. The kick is faster this time, more controlled, and it connects with his arm as he raises it to block. He grunts from the impact, but there’s a flicker of approval in his eyes as he steps back, holding his arm.

  “Better,” he says, his voice steady but laced with something like pride. “But don’t think. Just move. When you stop thinking, you’ll be at your best.”

  I don’t respond. I don’t need to. I know what he means.

  I’m faster now, more precise. My foot snaps up again, a quick kick aimed at his side. This time, I feel the connection, my foot landing against his ribs with more force than before. Apolloh winces slightly, but it’s the smallest of victories. The wolves watching are starting to murmur again, their voices rising with each successful strike I make. The crowd’s energy is electric now, like they’re feeding off me, urging me to keep going.

  I’m not just moving through the motions anymore. I’m flowing with purpose, like a river cutting through stone, every strike with more intent than the last.

  Apolloh doesn’t stop. His own feet move with the same fluid grace, his strikes coming at me faster now. I dodge, twist, and counter, my body shifting in time with his movements, my punches and kicks blending together in a fluid dance.

  The wolves around us grow louder. “That’s it, Laika! Keep it going!” one of them calls out. Another cheers, “Show him what you’ve got, Luna!”

  The encouragement surges through me. The energy of the Pack wraps around me like a shield. I’m not just training now. I’m part of something bigger. Something that matters.

  And then, Apolloh moves again, faster than I expect. His kick comes up from the side, just as I’m in mid-motion. The force of it hits me square in the chest, knocking the air out of me. I stumble back, my legs buckling for a split second before I catch myself. The crowd goes silent again.

  Apolloh watches me, his eyes steady. “That’s what you’ll face,” he says quietly, but there’s no sympathy in his tone. “Don’t get comfortable.”

  I don’t answer, but my heart pounds in my chest. I won’t let this be the end. I won’t let this be enough.

  My chest heaves with each breath, but I’m starting to feel it—the rhythm, the dance, the fluidity of it all. My feet move almost on their own now, my body instinctively reacting to Apolloh’s every move. His strikes come faster, and each time I dodge, I feel a surge of adrenaline. The pain from his earlier hits is still there, but it’s almost a distant hum in the back of my mind. I don’t need to focus on it.

  Instead, I focus on him—on his movements, his rhythm, the way his body flows as he shifts to strike. He’s fast, but now, I’m faster.

  I feint to the left, and Apolloh reacts, stepping to block me. But I can feel it—his weight’s off balance for just a fraction of a second. That’s all it takes.

  I pivot quickly, using his movement against him, shifting my body with a fluid motion. Before he can recover, I sweep my foot behind his, and the next thing I know, his leg buckles beneath him.

  The wolves watching gasp, and I hear the sharp sound of Apolloh’s body hitting the mat. For a moment, time freezes. I stand there, chest heaving, eyes wide. He’s on the ground, his face still composed, but there’s something new in his eyes—something like surprise.

  The entire training area falls silent, the pack holding its breath. Apolloh doesn’t immediately move to get up, but I can see the challenge in his gaze, the fierce determination. My heart pounds in my chest. This is it. I’ve done it.

  I don’t think. I don’t question. I move on pure instinct.

  I drop down quickly, pinning him to the mat, my knees pressing into his sides, my hands on his chest to hold him down. The movement is so natural, so primal, like I’ve done this a hundred times before.

  His eyes snap to mine—wide, intense—but there’s no hesitation now. The silence around us is deafening. I stare at him for a long moment, my pulse racing in my ears.

  “Do you yield?” I ask, my voice rough, a low growl slipping through. It’s not just a question—it’s a challenge, a declaration.

  Apolloh’s gaze doesn’t falter, but I see the flicker of respect in his eyes. He doesn’t fight me. Not yet. He stays still beneath me, his chest rising and falling with every breath. For a long moment, it’s as if the world has slowed down.

  He doesn’t answer immediately. He just watches me, like he’s sizing me up. Then, the corner of his lips twitch, just barely, and I can see it—the edge of a smile.

  “You’re getting better,” he says, his voice calm, but the respect in it is undeniable. “But you’re still learning.”

  I don’t let go of him right away. I don’t want to. There’s a sense of power here, a sense of control, something I’ve never felt before. It’s the Pack’s energy, their shouts and cheers flooding my senses. I’ve earned this moment.

  “Do you yield?” I repeat, my voice firmer this time, less of a question and more of a command.

  Apolloh’s smile grows, but there’s a challenge in his eyes. “Not yet,” he says, with a slight shake of his head.

  With a burst of strength, he shifts beneath me, his legs working to push against the mat. Before I can react, he’s already flipped us, and I’m the one on my back now, pinned by his weight.

  The wolves around us erupt into cheers, their voices rising, a roar of approval. But Apolloh doesn’t immediately go for the kill. Instead, he leans down, his face close to mine, his breath warm against my skin.

  “You’re getting closer,” he whispers. “But you’re not there yet.”

  I can feel the sting of his words, but I won’t back down. I’ll rise again. The fire inside me only burns brighter.

  I’m still pinned beneath him, my chest heaving, but there’s a strange stillness in the air. His weight is pressing down on me, but it’s not discomfort I feel—it’s something else, something primal. His breath is warm against my skin, his face so close that I can feel his every exhale.

  There’s a pulse of energy between us, an electric charge in the air. The wolves around us are still cheering, but the noise seems distant now. I don’t hear them. I only hear my heart pounding in my chest, and I feel something shift within me.

  I’ve been trained to fight. I’ve been trained to defend myself, to protect my pack. But in this moment, something inside me is pushing me further. Pushing me to take control of this space between us. He’s been my teacher, my Alpha, and now—just for this moment—there’s no barrier. There’s no separation.

  I don’t think. I don’t question.

  I reach up, my hands sliding into his hair, and I pull his face down toward mine. The world narrows. The training ground fades into the background. I kiss him.

  It’s not soft. It’s not gentle. It’s urgent, intense, and everything I’ve been feeling in this moment—every ounce of power I’ve just discovered—pours into the kiss. My lips press firmly against his, a declaration of something deeper, something unexpected.

  His body goes still at first, his muscles tensing beneath me, and for a heartbeat, I think I’ve made a mistake. But then, I feel it—the shift. His body relaxes, his lips part slightly in response, and for the first time, he doesn’t resist. He doesn’t pull away.

  When I pull back, my breath is shallow, and his eyes are locked onto mine, wide with surprise. There’s no judgment there, no anger. Just a raw, unfiltered look of something I can’t quite name.

  “I wasn’t expecting that,” Apolloh says, his voice thick, his chest rising and falling with the same erratic breaths I’m struggling to control.

  I don’t answer right away. I don’t need to. My body is still alive with the energy of what just happened—of this unexpected shift in our dynamic.

  Instead, I simply raise an eyebrow, a challenge still lingering in the air between us. “Do you yield now?” I ask, my voice quieter but laced with something undeniably bold.

  He doesn’t hesitate. His lips curl into a sly, teasing smile. “Yes. You win,” he chuckles. There’s a shift in the way he looks at me—something more playful, maybe even a little impressed. He gets up and offers me a hand. I take it readily.

  And just like that, the moment shifts. The weight of our fight isn’t gone, but it’s changed. We’re no longer just teacher and student, Alpha and Luna. There’s something else now—a shared understanding, a connection that no punch or kick could have created.

  When I get up, cheers erupt from the wolves. Signs of approval and respect amongst the congratulations. Their voices blend into a roar of excitement, and I can feel the weight of their gazes on me, but it doesn’t feel heavy anymore. It feels empowering.

  I glance at Apolloh, who’s standing beside me now, his posture still confident, but there’s something different in his eyes. It’s like he’s watching me with a newfound respect, like he’s seeing me in a way he hadn’t before. His smirk is gone, replaced by something more… earnest.

  “You’re not just the Luna by title,” he says, his voice low enough for only me to hear, “You’re proving yourself in ways no one expected.”

  The wolves around us continue to cheer, some offering words of encouragement, others slapping me on the back, but I can’t shake the feeling that the moment has changed, like the ground beneath my feet is shifting, and I’m standing on something solid. Something that’s mine.

  I turn back to the mat, my muscles still humming from the fight, but I’m more aware now. More alert. I can feel the eyes of the pack on me, the weight of their expectations, but I’m not afraid. Not anymore.

  ~~~

  As the cheers die down and the wolves begin to disperse, Apolloh’s gaze never leaves me. His expression has softened, but there’s still an intensity in his eyes—a hunger for something deeper, something unsaid. The last of the pack members trickle away, returning to their own training, and the sound of their movements fades into the background.

  I take a step back, my muscles still tense from the fight, but there’s a pull in the air between us now, a weight to the silence that wasn’t there before. He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me with that steady, intense gaze.

  When I finally meet his eyes, his voice comes, low and steady. “You’ve come far today, Laika.”

  I shrug slightly, unsure of how to respond. I don’t need praise—not from him. But there’s something else in the way he speaks, something that makes me hesitate, like he’s about to say more.

  “You’ve found something today,” he continues, stepping closer. “Your hidden strength—the strength that your previous Alpha took away from you. You’ve become something else today.”

  I shift on my feet, unsure how to handle the weight of his words. His tone is still that of the teacher, but there’s an underlying admiration in it now, something I’m not used to.

  “I was just doing what I had to do,” I reply, keeping my voice neutral. “Training isn’t over, right?”

  Apolloh nods slowly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “No. But you’ve come a long way today. I think you’re ready for something more.”

  My heart skips a beat, the heat of the fight still coursing through my veins. “What do you mean?”

  He steps closer, his hand brushing against mine as he places it on my shoulder—an almost intimate gesture. His gaze holds mine, and there’s something in it that makes my pulse quicken, something I can’t ignore.

  “We need to talk about the Pack,” he says quietly. “And about us. What comes next.”