The Alpha Who Marked the Wrong Sister

Chapter 8: First Lessons

The afternoon sun filtered through the trees in broken gold patches as Lyra followed Kael down to the smaller training clearing behind the Alpha house. It was quieter here, away from the main grounds where most of the pack practiced. Only the sound of leaves shifting in the light wind and the distant rush of the river filled the air.

Kael had changed into black training pants and a dark shirt that clung to the hard lines of his shoulders and chest. He moved with the easy, coiled readiness of someone who had spent his entire life fighting and winning. Lyra, wearing the simple leggings and fitted top Mira had left for her, felt painfully aware of how unprepared she looked in comparison.

He stopped in the center of the clearing and turned to face her. “Have you ever been taught to fight?”

“No,” she admitted. “My father said it wasn’t necessary for me. Selene received the lessons.”

A flicker of irritation crossed his face at the mention of her sister, but he pushed it aside. “Then we start from nothing. The goal today is not to make you a warrior. It is to make sure that if someone comes at you, you can create enough space to run or call for help. Understood?”

Lyra nodded.

“Good. Come here.”

She stepped closer until only a few feet separated them. Up close, the difference in their sizes was even more obvious. Kael was tall and broad, his presence filling the space around him. Lyra felt small, but she forced her shoulders to stay straight.

“First rule,” he said. “Never freeze. Freezing gets you hurt. If someone grabs you, you move. Immediately.”

He reached out without warning and closed his hand around her wrist. The grip was firm but not painful. Lyra’s first instinct was exactly what he had just warned against—she went still, breath catching.

Kael’s eyes held hers. “Break it.”

She tugged. His hand didn’t move.

“Harder. Use your whole body, not just your arm.”

Lyra shifted her weight and pulled again, twisting the way she had once seen young wolves do during play fights. This time his grip loosened enough for her to slip free. She stepped back quickly, heart beating faster than the small success deserved.

“Better,” Kael said. “Again.”

They repeated the motion until her wrist felt warm and her breathing had grown uneven. Each time he grabbed her—sometimes by the wrist, sometimes by the upper arm, once by the shoulder—she learned to react a little faster. The bond between them stayed strangely quiet during the exercise, as if both of their wolves were watching with interest instead of interfering.

After the fourth successful break, Kael nodded. “Enough for the grabs. Now stance.”

He showed her how to place her feet, knees slightly bent, weight balanced so she could move in any direction. When she tried to copy him, he stepped behind her and used his hands to adjust her shoulders and hips. The heat of his palms through the thin fabric of her top made it difficult to concentrate.

“You’re too stiff,” he murmured near her ear. “Breathe. If you’re rigid, you break. If you’re flexible, you can redirect.”

Lyra forced herself to exhale. His hands lingered a moment longer than necessary before he stepped away.

They moved on to basic blocks. Kael threw slow, controlled strikes toward her shoulders and sides, correcting her form each time her arms came up too high or too late. Sweat began to gather at the base of her spine. Her muscles, unused to this kind of work, started to burn.

“You’re thinking too much,” he said after she missed a block and his hand tapped her ribs. “Your body knows how to protect itself. Let it.”

“Easy for you to say,” she muttered before she could stop herself.

Kael’s eyebrow lifted. For a second she thought she had overstepped. Then the corner of his mouth curved, just barely. “Fair enough. Again.”

They continued until Lyra’s arms trembled and her lungs demanded more air than she could give them. When Kael finally called a stop, she bent forward with her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.

He walked to the edge of the clearing and returned with a water bottle, holding it out to her. Lyra took it gratefully and drank. The water was cool and perfect.

“You did well for a first session,” he said.

She lowered the bottle, surprised. “I spent most of it getting hit.”

“You spent most of it learning. There’s a difference.” He studied her face. “Most people in your position would have complained by now. Or asked to stop. You didn’t.”

Lyra wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Complaining wouldn’t change anything. I need to be able to protect myself. Especially now.”

Something shifted in his expression—approval mixed with that same complicated darkness she was beginning to recognize. He reached out and gently tilted her chin up so her eyes met his.

“You’re stronger than you look,” he said quietly. “That’s going to matter.”

The bond flared warm between them. For a moment neither of them moved. Lyra could feel the rough pad of his thumb against her skin, could see the way his pupils had expanded slightly. Her pulse fluttered in her throat, right beneath the mark he had given her.

Kael’s gaze dropped to that mark. His thumb brushed once over the edge of it, and a soft current of heat slid down her spine. She inhaled sharply.

He released her as if the contact had startled him too.

“We’re done for today,” he said, voice rougher than before. “Soak in a bath or your muscles will hate you tomorrow. I’ll have food sent up.”

Lyra nodded, not entirely trusting her voice. She turned and started toward the house, very aware of his eyes following her the entire way.

Inside, the cool air of the hallway felt like a relief against her heated skin. She climbed the stairs slowly, every muscle already beginning to announce its complaints. When she reached her room, she closed the door and leaned against it for a long moment, heart still beating too fast.

The training had been about defense. She knew that.

But the way Kael had looked at her when he touched the mark had felt like something else entirely.

She walked into the bathroom and turned on the water for a bath, letting the steam rise and fill the space. As she waited, she caught her reflection in the mirror. Cheeks flushed, hair escaping its tie, the mate mark standing out clearly against her skin. She looked different. Not stronger yet, maybe, but less like the girl who had stood in the shadows on ceremony night.

A soft knock sounded at the bedroom door.

Lyra wrapped a towel around herself and opened it a crack. One of the younger pack females stood there holding a tray with soup, bread, and a small dish of berries.

“The Alpha asked me to bring this,” the girl said, eyes politely lowered. “He also said you should rest after you eat.”

“Thank you.” Lyra took the tray.

When the girl left, she set the food on the small table near the window and returned to the bath. The hot water eased some of the ache in her muscles the moment she sank into it. She closed her eyes and let her head rest against the edge of the tub.

Through the bond she could still feel Kael—somewhere downstairs, focused, controlled, but with an undercurrent of restless energy that matched her own.

She wondered if he was thinking about the same moment she was: his hand on her chin, his eyes on her mark, the quiet tension that had stretched between them until it felt almost like a living thing.

Lyra opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling.

Training would continue. The pack would continue watching. Selene would continue planning. The Riverstone threat still waited beyond the borders.

But for the first time since the ceremony, a small, dangerous hope had taken root in her chest.

Maybe Kael’s wolf had not been the only one who chose her.

Maybe, slowly, the man was beginning to choose her too.