Chapter 5: The First Lesson
1483 Words
I didn’t make it far.
Maybe a mile at most, dragging myself through wet grass and uneven terrain, my ribs still aching from the fight I barely survived. Every step reminded me just how close I’d come to dying. Again.
The forest was quiet. Not peaceful—just holding its breath.
The air carried that damp, wild scent that stuck to your skin, the kind that reminded you just how far from comfort you were. No walls. No shelter. No backup. I’d never truly felt alone until I stepped beyond the reach of the pack.
Turns out, the silence had teeth.
My stomach cramped somewhere around the second clearing. I hadn’t eaten since… Moon knows when. Water I had. Food? Not unless I planned to start chewing bark.
I dropped to the ground and sat with my back against a tree, curling my arms around my knees.
I hated how useless I felt.
Everything they taught me—how to kneel for the Alpha, how to sense a mate, how to follow—none of it meant anything now.
I wasn’t a wolf. I was a problem. One no one wanted to solve.
Except maybe him.
Cassian.
His words resonated in my head like an insect I couldn’t shake.
"How much are you willing to bleed for the truth?"
A lie, probably. Or bait. Or both.
Still, I didn’t keep walking.
Because the truth was, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.
And it turns out, the forest has a cruel way of reminding you that survival isn’t just about running.
It’s about staying alive after you stop.
I heard him before I saw him.
Leaves shifting, deliberately heavy steps. He wanted me to know he was there.
Cassian strolled into the clearing like he hadn’t nearly scared me out of my skin just hours ago. Shirtless again—because apparently rogue wolves had no concept of modesty—and carrying something dead slung over one shoulder.
“Cute spot you picked,” he said, glancing around. “Very rustic.”
I didn’t answer.
He tossed the rabbit onto the ground between us. It landed with a dull thud. Fresh kill. Still bleeding.
My stomach turned.
“Eat,” he said casually kneeling already to build a small fire.
“I’m not eating that,” I muttered.
Cassian didn’t look up. “Then starve.”
“I’m not a savage.”
He barked a laugh. “You’re a starving girl in the woods. Stop pretending you’ve got options.”
I shoved myself upright, ignoring the fire under my ribs.
“I’m not you.”
“No, you’re not. I wouldn’t have needed saving twice in the same week.” He struck flint against steel and sparked a flame. “But here we are.”
The silence between us cracked like dry wood.
I looked at the rabbit. Blood stained its fur. The eyes were still open.
“Can’t you at least cook it?” I asked.
Cassian fixed his eyes on me like I’d asked for a five-course meal. “You’re lucky I even brought it back.”
“You act just as if you’re doing me favours.”
He leaned forward, voice low and sharp. “You think survival cares if you’re grossed out? You think the wolves chasing you will stop because your food isn’t seasoned?”
I didn’t answer.
He sat back and watched me.
After a long moment, I tore away my gaze. “I’ll wait for the fire.”
“You’ll wait and go hungry,” he said. “By the time that rabbit’s cooked, the meat’s dry and useless. You don’t want the waste, but hey—your pride, your stomach.”
I didn’t want to eat raw meat.
I didn’t want to sit here with this man who seemed to enjoy every second of watching me squirm.
But my stomach made the decision for me.
With shaking hands I picked up the rabbit and brought it to my mouth, biting into the flesh as if it were vengeance.
It was warm. Metallic. Wrong.
I gagged.
Cassian didn’t flinch. “Chew. Or choke. Either way, you learn.”
After I forced half of it down, I sat back and glared at the fire.
Cassian tossed in a handful of dry moss. “Lesson one: If you’re going to run, don’t do it blind.”
“I wasn’t exactly planning to get exiled.”
“No one plans for the world to fall apart,” he said. “But here you are.”
I rubbed at my wrist, the mark still dull but present. “You think you know everything.”
“No. But I know more than you.” He threw a twig into the fire. “That’s the only reason you’re still breathing.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You really think you’re better than me?” I said.
Cassian’s smile was slow and sharp. “Then stop looking at me like I’ve got all the answers.”
I looked away.
Because that’s exactly what I’d been doing.
The next few days were filled with dirt, blood, bruises, and too many lessons.
Cassian didn’t hold back. He made me fight him—shifted and unshifted. Made me set traps. Made me track prey and fail, then try again. Made me skin the rabbit he caught the second day, and if he noticed my shaking hands, he didn’t say a word.
On the third day, he took away my clothes.
Not because he wanted to be cruel—but because he wanted me to shift, hunt, and return to camp without relying on my human form.
“You think two legs make you smarter?” he said, arms crossed as I glared at him. “Try living as your wolf. You might actually learn something.”
So I did.
And I hated how good it felt.
One night, after a failed tracking run and another fight that left me with a bruised jaw, I finally snapped.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, voice raw.
Cassian didn’t answer right away.
He was sharpening a blade, seated across from me by the fire, and didn’t even glance up.
“I don’t believe in weak wolves,” he said finally.
I laughed. Bitter and tired. “You think I’m weak?”
“You are,” he said without a moment's doubt. “But you don’t have to stay that way.”
I fixed my eyes on him.
“I’ve watched wolves like you,” he said. “Born with privilege. Protected by rules you didn’t make, taught things that sound good but mean nothing when you’re bleeding on the ground. You don’t know how to fight. You only know how to exist.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I know you ran,” he said simply. “And I know you’re still alive because I found you first.”
I looked at the fire. The flames blurred, dancing in ways that reminded me too much of that night—the rejection, the gasps, the fear in their eyes.
And Ronan.
His silence. His absence.
“Everything I thought I knew... it’s just gone,” I said, my voice barely more than a breath.
Cassian looked at me then. And for a moment, something moved behind his eyes—something I couldn’t name.
“Good,” he said.
“Good?” I snapped.
“Because now you get to choose who you are,” he said. “Not your pack. Not your mate. Not the Elders. You.”
His words landed in a place I hadn’t known was hollow.
I turned away before he could see how much they hit.
The next morning, Cassian handed me a knife.
It was old, the hilt worn, the edge recently sharpened.
“No more free meals,” he said. “You want to eat today? Earn it.”
I took the blade.
My fingers didn’t shake this time.
I tracked a rabbit. Killed it. Brought it back.
And when I looked up, Cassian wasn’t smirking. He just nodded once.
Small, but real.
We sat by the fire that night, silence stretching between us.
Something about the quiet wasn’t heavy this time. It felt earned.
Cassian tossed a bone into the flames, then looked over at me.
“You think you’re learning fast,” he said.
I tilted my head, still cautious. “I’m surviving.”
He gave a short nod. “Good enough—for now.”
Then he leaned in a little while his elbows were resting on his knees.
“But the truth you’re chasing? The one about that mark?” His eyes met mine.
“You’re not ready to know it.”
My stomach dropped.
“What does that mean?” I whispered.
Cassian didn’t answer.
He just smirked.
And that was somehow worse.
- Writer
