Chapter 3
936 Words
Kael’s POV
The training grounds behind the fortress were stained with blood, sweat, and the weight of discipline. The sun hung low, a molten disc casting fire over every blade, every bared chest, every bellowed command.
Kael stood at the center of the sand-pit, shirtless and barefoot, muscles flexed and coiled like a loaded weapon.
Twenty of his best warriors circled him. A blur of speed. Of sweat-slicked skin and snarling wolves just under the surface.
“Come,” he ordered, voice deep and sharp.
They charged.
Kael moved like a ghost. Fast, brutal, beautiful in the way storms are. One ducked. He elbowed the man in the temple. Another swung low—Kael grabbed his wrist mid-air and twisted, shattering bone with a sickening crack.
Another lunged with a blade. Kael spun, disarmed him, and drove his knee into the soldier’s chest, sending him flying back.
“You call that an attack?” he growled. “My enemies would eat you alive.”
They kept coming. He welcomed it.
Every strike was precise. Every movement fluid and deadly. He moved through bodies like a god of war, bruises blooming, growls echoing.
The men respected him.
Feared him.
Worshipped him.
And he gave them the same in return—discipline through dominance. Loyalty through fire.
Aria’s POV
She stood at the window, wrapped in a robe too big for her, hair damp from the bath the servants had all but forced her to take. The sun warmed her skin, but her eyes were locked on him.
Kael moved like something out of legend.
She’d never seen men train before. Never seen wolves fight. But this—this wasn’t training. It was unleashing.
And Kael—he wasn’t just better. He was different. The way his muscles rippled, the way his feet barely touched the ground, the way he didn’t hesitate before breaking bone...
It should have terrified her.
And yet—her thighs pressed together. Her breath quickened.
She hated herself for the flutter in her belly.
He grabbed one man by the throat and slammed him into the dirt. Sand sprayed. Blood followed. The rest of the circle stilled.
Kael stood tall, sweat glistening down his spine, chest heaving—but not from exhaustion. He was alive in this. Born for it.
She should’ve looked away.
But she couldn’t.
Then—he stilled.
He looked up.
Directly at her window.
Their eyes met across the yard. Her breath caught. She froze. Too late.
Aria’s POV
There was no knock.
The door opened with quiet purpose, like he owned it. Like he owned everything.
He stepped inside, shirt still off, his skin glistening with sweat and bruises already darkening along his ribs. There was a cut above his brow. A smudge of blood on his knuckles.
The same smirk still played on his lips.
“Enjoy the show?” he asked, voice low, gravel dragging over silk.
She didn’t answer.
She couldn’t.
Her heart thundered, traitorous and loud. Her throat was dry. She hated how good he looked ruined.
Kael closed the door behind him, slow and deliberate. “You forget I can feel you now, Aria.”
She looked up sharply.
“The bond,” he murmured, crossing the room with dangerous ease. “It pulses when you stare. When you feel something you’re too proud to name.”
She backed up a step. He followed.
“You were watching me,” he said, now close enough that she could see the shadows beneath his eyes. “You like watching, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t—” Her voice cracked.
He raised a brow. “You going to lie to an Alpha, little one?”
That name again.
“Stop calling me that,” she whispered.
He leaned in. “Why? Because it makes you feel things you don’t want to feel?”
His scent hit her. Earth. Smoke. Blood. And something darker—him.
“I'm nothing to you” she managed.
“No,” he said. “You’re mine.”
“I’m not—”
He lifted a finger and placed it gently under her chin. She flinched but didn’t pull away.
“You don’t have to be afraid of me.”
“You murdered people,” she said. “You broke their bones with your hands.”
“They deserved it.”
“What if I do too?”
His expression shifted—like someone had just whispered something blasphemous.
“You think I’d hurt you?” he asked, voice like a threat to the very idea.
“I think you could,” she said softly. “If you wanted to.”
He stared at her for a long moment. Then—
He reached up, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek, fingers calloused and shockingly tender.
“I would kill for less than a bruise on your skin,” he whispered. “But never you, Aria. Never you.”
Her knees weakened.
And when he leaned in—his lips near her ear, breath hot—she didn’t move.
“I want to kiss you,” he said, barely audible. “But if I do… I won’t stop.”
Her body burned. Her mind screamed.
“Then don’t,” she whispered.
He stilled. His jaw flexed. The air between them snapped like a wire stretched too tight.
But then, Kael pulled away. Just enough.
“Not tonight,” he said, forcing the restraint into his voice. “You’re not ready.”
She hated him for knowing it.
And hated herself more… for wanting to be. For wanting him.
- Writer
