Chapter 7: The First Lesson
1623 Words
She showed up at six o'clock exactly.
The address Kane had written on the paper wasn't the apartment or the office. It was a warehouse on the south side of the city, down near the river, where the buildings were old, and the streets were empty after dark.
Eliana stood outside the door and listened.
Nothing. No sounds from inside. Just the wind off the water and the distant hum of traffic on the bridge.
She pushed the door open.
The space was huge. Concrete floor. High ceilings. Flickering fluorescent lights that buzzed like angry insects. In the middle of the room, a mat had been laid down. Blue. Worn at the edges.
Kane stood on it. Barefoot. Wearing sweatpants and a gray T-shirt that stretched across his shoulders.
No suit. No tie. No armor.
He looked different. Younger. Less like a CEO and more like what he actually was.
A wolf.
"You're late," he said.
"I'm exactly on time."
"On time is late." He rolled his shoulders. "Get on the mat."
She walked across the concrete. Her shoes squeaked on the floor. She stopped at the edge of the blue mat and looked at him.
"I don't know how to fight," she said.
"I know."
"So what are you going to teach me?"
He tilted his head. Studying her. The way he always studied her—like she was a book in a language he was still learning.
"First," he said, "take off your shoes."
She bent down. Untied her sneakers. Pushed them to the edge of the mat.
"Now what?"
"Now try to hit me."
"You want me to punch you?"
"I want you to try."
She looked at his face. His stupid, calm, unreadable face.
"You're not going to hit back?"
"I'm not going to hit back."
She balled her right hand into a fist. Pulled her arm back. And swung.
He didn't move.
Her fist stopped an inch from his chest. His hand—fast, faster than she could follow—wrapped around her wrist. Not tight. Just—there. A cage made of fingers.
"You hesitated," he said.
"I didn't want to hurt you."
"You can't hurt me."
"That's rude."
"It's true." He let go of her wrist. "Try again. Don't think. Just swing."
She reset her stance. Breathed in. Breathed out.
This time, she didn't hesitate.
Her fist connected with his shoulder.
It was like punching a wall.
Pain shot up her arm. She yelped. Shook out her hand. "What are you made of?"
"Muscle. Bone. Centuries of evolution." The corner of his mouth twitched. "You hit like a human."
"I am a human. Mostly."
"Mostly isn't enough." He stepped back. "The people coming after you won't hesitate. They won't pull their punches. They won't care that you're small or untrained or scared."
"I'm not scared."
"Good." He nodded at the mat. "Then show me."
For the next hour, he taught her to fall.
Not how to punch. Not how to kick. How to fall.
"Most fights end up on the ground," he said, standing over her while she lay on the mat for the twelfth time. "If you don't know how to land, you'll break something. Then you're dead."
She pushed herself up. Her palms were raw. Her knees ached. Sweat dripped down her back.
"How do you know so much about fighting?"
"I was young once."
"Were you?" She got to her feet. "I pictured you coming out of the womb in a suit."
He almost smiled. Almost.
"Again," he said.
She fell again.
And again.
And again.
By the time he called it, she couldn't feel her arms. The mat looked like the most comfortable bed she'd ever seen. She wanted to lie down and never get up.
"Water," Kane said, tossing her a bottle.
She caught it—barely—and drank.
He stood across the mat, watching her. His T-shirt was dry. His breathing was normal. He hadn't broken a sweat.
It was infuriating.
"The flame," he said. "Did you feel it at all?"
She stopped drinking.
"What do you mean?"
"When you were falling. When you were tired. Did your arm get hot? Did you feel anything?"
She looked down at her right arm. The scar was quiet. No heat. No light. Just raised skin and bad memories.
"No," she said.
Kane's jaw tightened.
"Is that bad?" she asked.
"It's not good." He walked to the edge of the mat. Picked up a towel. Wiped his hands. "The flame is part of you. It should respond to your emotions. Fear. Anger. Pain. You felt all of those tonight. The flame should have felt them too."
"Maybe it's not working."
"Maybe you're blocking it."
She frowned. "Why would I block it?"
"Because you've spent your whole life hiding." He turned to face her. "Hiding what you are. Hiding how you feel. Hiding the part of you that's wolf. And now that part is waking up. But you're still trying to keep it asleep."
"I'm not—"
"You are." He walked toward her. Slow. "You're terrified of what's inside you. Not because it's dangerous. Because it's yours. And you've never had anything that was just yours."
He stopped in front of her.
Close. Too close.
"The bond isn't just about me, Eliana. It's about you. The flame. The power. The blood in your veins. It's all yours. You just have to stop being afraid of it."
She looked up at him.
Her heart was pounding. Not from the exercise.
"What if I can't?" she whispered.
"Then you'll die."
He said it like a fact. Not cruel. Just true.
Then he turned and walked toward the door.
"Same time tomorrow," he said. "Don't be late."
The door closed behind him.
Eliana stood alone in the warehouse, her right hand pressed against her left arm, waiting for a warmth that didn't come.
She walked home.
Not because she had to. Because she needed to feel the cold air on her face. Needed to remember that the world outside Kane's apartment still existed.
The streets of the lower city were quiet at this hour. Streetlights flickered. A cat darted across an alley. Somewhere, a dog was barking.
She thought about what Kane had said.
You've never had anything that was just yours.
He wasn't wrong.
Her whole life had been about survival. About fitting in. About being small and quiet and forgettable so no one would notice the half-blood girl with no pack and no future.
She'd never had a room of her own until three days ago. Never had a bed that wasn't borrowed. Never had a job that didn't feel like it could disappear at any moment.
And now she had a bond. A mate. A power she didn't understand.
It's all yours.
It didn't feel like hers.
It felt like a leash.
She turned the corner onto Kane's street and stopped.
A car was parked outside the building. Black. Tinted windows.
She'd never seen it before.
Her hand went to her arm. Still cold. Still quiet.
She walked past the car. Didn't look at the windows. Didn't slow down. Just walked to the front door, swiped her key card, and stepped inside.
The lobby was empty.
She took the elevator to the top floor.
When the doors opened, Raven was standing there.
"Where have you been?" His voice was sharp.
"Training."
"With Kane?"
"Yes."
His eyes moved down her body. Took in the sweat, the raw palms, the tired slump of her shoulders.
"He's teaching you to fight," Raven said.
"He's teaching me to fall."
A pause.
"That's something," Raven said. Not warm. But not cold either. "Most Alphas wouldn't bother."
"He's not most Alphas."
"No." Raven's jaw tightened. "He's not."
He stepped aside. Let her pass.
She walked down the hallway to her room. Her legs were shaking. Her arms were sore. Everything hurt.
She opened the door.
Her phone was on the bed.
One new message.
From the unknown number.
"Tick tock."
She deleted it.
Then she sat on the edge of the bed, pressed her palms against her eyes, and tried to remember how to breathe.
In his room, Kane stood at the window.
His phone buzzed.
Raven: "Car outside. Black. No plates. Gone now."
Kane: "Whose?"
Raven: "Don't know. But they were watching the building."
Kane: "Find them."
Raven: "Already on it."
Kane set the phone down.
He looked at the wall that separated his room from hers.
Through the concrete and the drywall, he could feel her. Tired. Scared. Trying so hard to be strong that she was falling apart.
He wanted to go to her.
Wanted to knock on her door. Wanted to sit on the floor next to her the way he had last night. Wanted to tell her that everything was going to be okay.
But he couldn't.
Because he didn't know if it was true.
The flame woke her at 3 AM.
Not a spark. Not a flicker. A burn.
Eliana sat up in bed, gasping, her right arm on fire. The silver light spilled from under her sleeve, flooding the dark room, casting strange shadows on the walls.
She pushed up her sleeve.
The scar was moving.
Twisting. Shifting. Changing shape.
She watched, frozen, as the lines of the scar rearranged themselves into something new. Something that looked almost like—
A name.
Not in English. In symbols she couldn't read. But she knew what it said.
Nash.
Her father's name.
The flame died.
The room went dark.
Eliana sat in the silence, her arm still tingling, her heart still racing, and understood three things at once.
Her father was alive.
The flame was connected to him.
He knew where she was.
- Writer
