Forbidden Thought.
1326 Words
Chapter Four:
Brielle POV
After that day, Harold was different with me. Still blunt and cold most of the time but he was no longer cruel.
He started teaching me properly. How to hold a sword without wasting strength. How to aim without shaking. How to keep breathing even when my arms felt heavy.
Every morning started the same… sunrise, drills, bruises. Then again in the evening, until I could barely lift my hands.
“If you can’t control your body,” he’d say, “you’ll never control your wolf.”
So we practiced shifting.
The first few times, I blacked out halfway through. The next few, I made it longer… long enough to feel the bones stretch but then every single time, I lost it.
Harold never yelled. He’d just knock me out cleanly, wait until I woke up, and start again like nothing happened.
I hated it. But I also knew he was right.
If I couldn’t even stay conscious through a shift, how was I supposed to face the wolf that killed Yvonne?
Some nights, I’d lie awake staring at the rafters, trying to remember her laugh… how it used to fill a room.
Then the memory of her scream would follow, and that sound… that was what kept me going.
I wasn’t here to train for fun. I was here to make sure that when I found that silver wolf, it wouldn’t get a second chance.
“You’re improving,” Harold said one afternoon, tossing me a flask.
I caught it clumsily and took a sip. “You say that like it’s bad news.”
“No,” he said. “Just means you’re running out of excuses.”
I smirked. “Guess I’ll have to start winning, then.”
“That’d be a first.”
He turned away before I could throw something at him, but I could’ve sworn I saw the hint of a smile.
I wanted revenge.
I was going to find the silver wolf. And when I did, I’d make sure Yvonne’s death wasn’t for nothing.
Harold hated the market.
Every time he went there, people stared like he was carrying the plague. No one said it out loud, but I could see it.
So when we ran out of supplies, I offered to go instead.
“Fine,” he’d said. “Don’t start a fight.”
“I’ll try my best,” I’d replied, and that earned me a small grunt that might’ve been approval.
The village wasn’t big, but it was loud with voices everywhere, the smell of bread, smoke, and wet soil mixed together.
I missed that noise more than I realized.
I stopped by a stall to buy salt and a few herbs Harold used for his weird tea. The woman behind the counter smiled at me, then leaned in a little.
“You’re that girl staying up by the old hunter’s place, right?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said, placing a few coins on the table.
Her smile widened. “So… are you his lover?”
I almost choked on air. “What? No! I’m his student.”
She laughed. “You sure? He doesn’t usually keep company.”
“Pretty sure,” I said quickly, shoving the salt into my bag.
“Well, tell him if he ever needs bread, he can send you again,” she added with a wink.
I muttered a thanks and walked off, face burning.
Lover. Really?
I shook my head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered. On the walk back, I caught myself wondering things I’d never bothered to before.
Had Harold ever been with anyone?
He never talked about it… he never talked about anything personal but there’s gotta be something about him.
I hated that I even cared.
By the time I got back to the compound, the sun was already dropping low. I headed for the storage hut to drop off the supplies then stopped.
Harold was in the yard, training.
Shirt off, sword in hand, movements sharp and exact. His back was to me, muscles flexing with every swing.
There wasn’t a wasted motion… just control and power in perfect balance.
I froze halfway across the yard.
For some reason, I couldn’t look away. I’d seen him fight before, but this was different… he wasn’t teaching or holding back. This was the real thing.
He turned suddenly, catching me staring.
“When’d you get back?” he asked, voice calm but eyes sharp.
My mouth opened, then closed. “Uh—just now. Got the salt. And the—uh—tea stuff.”
“Good,” he said simply, wiping sweat from his brow. “Put them inside.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, and practically ran toward the hut.
My heart wouldn’t slow down.
What the hell was that?
I dropped the bag on the table, pressing my hands to my face.
He’s your teacher, I told myself. He’s twice your age, he’s grumpy, and he barely talks. Stop thinking like that.
But even as I said it, I could still see him with his shirt off in my head.
“Great,” I muttered. “Now I’m officially losing it.”
The next few days were a mess.
I couldn’t focus, couldn’t train properly, couldn’t even look Harold in the eye without remembering the market lady’s stupid question.
Every time he spoke to me, my face got hot.
Every time he walked too close, my heartbeat jumped like an i***t.
I kept telling myself it was just respect or nerves or whatever excuse I could come up with, but it wasn’t. It was worse.
“You’re distracted again,” Harold said one morning, stepping behind me as I tried to draw the bow.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, pulling the string back.
The arrow flew wide, missing the target by a good few feet.
He walked past me, calm as ever, and retrieved it. “Fine, huh?”
I groaned. “You don’t have to rub it in.”
“I’m not,” he said, handing me the arrow. “Just making sure you’re not planning to kill anyone standing next to you.”
I tried to glare at him, but he looked amused, and that only made it worse.
“Something on your mind?” he asked.
“No,” I said too quickly.
“Hmm.” He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the warmth from his skin. “Because you’ve been dropping your guard a lot lately. That usually means distraction… or nerves.”
“I’m not nervous,” I said, even though my voice betrayed me.
“You sure?” he asked, leaning just slightly forward, testing me like he always did.
I turned to face him, meaning to argue, but he caught my wrist before I could speak.
“See?” he said quietly. “You flinch every time.”
“Because you keep sneaking up on me!”
“Or maybe,” he said, a hint of a smile forming, “you just don’t like how close I get.”
My mouth opened, then shut again. I could feel the heat crawl up my neck. “You… you’re impossible.”
“That’s one word for it.”
He still hadn’t let go of my wrist. For a moment, neither of us moved.
His gaze locked on mine.
The space between us felt too small. I could feel the warmth of his breath, the faint scent of metal and smoke. My stomach turned in that confusing, traitorous way again.
“Harold…” I started, not sure what I was even trying to say.
He didn’t answer. He just tilted his head slightly, his eyes flicking down, then back up.
For a second, it felt like the whole world went quiet.
He leaned in slowly, hesitant but close enough that I forgot how to breathe.
And then….
- Writer
