The chains that bind
793 Words
Chapter 7: The Chains That Bind
Freya couldn't sleep. The pendant lay on the stone floor beside her, the silver glinting mockingly with unvoiced questions. She'd tried to brush it away, but the moment she closed her eyes, the nightmares returned—glimpses of fire, blood, and a figure dressed in darkness hollering her name.
A firm rap on metal shook her out of her trance. The dungeon door groaned open once more, but it wasn't Alaric.
Beta Zayden appeared, crossed arms over his chest, a curve of amusement at the edge of his mouth. Where Alaric's eyes were warm gold, Zayden's were sharp steel, evaluating and distant.
"On your feet," he commanded.
Freya dawdled.
He gave her a low, humorless laugh. "Or I can drag you."
With a defiant jerk of her chin, she struggled to her feet. The chill metal of the shackles rang out as she moved, a reminder that, strong as she was growing, she was still at their mercy.
Zayden motioned for her to proceed in front of him, his fingers trembling at his sides as if battling the urge to grab her.
"Where are you taking me?"
"To the training grounds."
She glared. "Why?"
Zayden's smile widened, but his tone was not amused.Because Alaric wants to know precisely what you are. And what better way than to put you through a little… test?"
Freya's stomach tightened.
—
The training grounds were not what she had imagined. Instead of an open square, she was led into a stone courtyard deep in the fortress, torches flickering against blackness. Humanoid wolves lined the perimeters, grumbling to each other as she was led in.
At the center of it all was Alaric.
His gaze crossed hers the moment she stepped into the courtyard, his expression stone-like. There was, however, something simmering below—a heat that left her shivering in her bones.
"Freya," he thundered, his voice low, resonating across the distance.
Zayden roughly prodded her toward the middle. She faltered but managed to catch herself, not wanting to be a weakling.
"Why am I here?" she insisted, standing in spite of the cutting wind tearing through her lightweight gown.
Alaric didn't answer immediately. He stared at Gamma Wilson, who appeared with a silver-tipped staff in his grasp.
Freya's heart began to race.
"You're going to fight," Alaric finally replied.
Freya's eyes blinked. "Fight?"
"With me."
She bristled.
Growls between the wolves increased in volume. All of them were aware of what Alaric could do.
"You can't be serious," she stated, her voice tight.
His face was still cold, but darker was in his eyes. "I have to know what you're hiding, Freya."
"I'm not hiding anything," she snapped.
"Then show me."
Wilson tossed her a wooden staff—lighter than Alaric's, barely a weapon at all.
Freya caught it automatically, her fingers closing around the smooth wood.
The moment she looked up, Alaric was already on the move.
—
He struck fast.
Faster than she'd ever dreamed.
Freya barely had time to raise her staff to deflect the first strike. The force shook through her arms, her knees on the point of buckling.
Alaric didn't stop. He fought like a storm—every blow planned, efficient.
Freya dodged, managing to avoid a second strike by mere inches. Her breathing was in ragged gasps, adrenaline coursing through her veins.
She was fast—but he was faster.
A swift s***h of his staff hit her ankle. She fell to the ground, gasping as agony shot through her.
A shadow loomed above her.
"Is that all?" Alaric's voice was low, edged with something deadly.
She gritted her teeth.
A fierce blaze raged in her chest.
The torches flickered. The wind shifted.
Alaric's eyes narrowed.
Freya didn't think. She reacted.
Her body twisted, her staff swinging upward, faster than she knew she could move. Alaric barely blocked it in time, the impact echoing through the courtyard.
The wolves fell silent.
Alaric’s gaze locked onto hers, a flicker of something unreadable in his golden eyes.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then, slowly, Alaric lowered his staff.
"You’re holding back," he murmured.
Freya’s breath was ragged.
"So are you," she shot back.
Something dark flashed across his face. "Then perhaps next time, I won't."
He spun on his heel and strode away, leaving her standing there, her heart pounding.
Zayden's laughter cut through the silence.
"Interesting," he growled.
Freya barely heard his words.
Her eyes remained fixed on Alaric's retreating back, doubt swirling in her mind.
Because at that instant—when their swords clashed, when his eyes locked onto hers—
She felt so
mething awakened deep inside her. She wasn't sure if it was power—
Or something much more treacherous.
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