CH 9 - Kai
1479 Words
KAI POV
Breakfast was rushed, chaotic. Too many bodies, too much noise.
I kept my head down, inhaled black coffee, bacon, eggs, and a slice of toast so quickly I almost choked. I sat at the edge of the long table, pretending to text while I ate, giving off the universal signal of ‘leave me the f*ck alone.’
Well—okay, I was texting, to my mom.
Just not the entire time.
> *All fine. Nothing to worry about. Roommates are cool. I feel like it’s going to go smoothly.*
> – K
I hit send before I could reread it. Before I could second guess it.
Liar.
I was lying through my teeth. Everything wasn’t fine. Not even close.
But my mother didn’t need to know that. She had enough on her plate running our pack. And the last thing I needed was for her to rally the full cavalry—three overly-protective ex-warrior dads and four lunatic brothers who thought violence was a love language.
No.
This was my mission. My lie. My secret.
And I could handle it.
I dropped my empty mug into the bin and slipped out of the dining hall just as more students poured in, talking too loud, showing off too much. Testosterone and bravado clouded the air like smoke. I kept my head down and my hoodie up, moving like a shadow through the corridors toward the training center.
Today was assessment day.
Sparring.
My specialty. My curse.
I wasn’t afraid of fighting—gods, no. I *liked* fighting. I liked knowing where to place my weight, how to strike, when to feint. I liked the precision of it, the rhythm.
But I wasn’t allowed to win. Not too much. Not too well.
People noticed excellence. Especially when it came from someone they thought was a small, soft-spoken “alpha boy” from some obscure northern pack. And I couldn’t afford to stand out. Not here. Not yet.
Especially not in front of him.
Derrick.
Just thinking about the way he’d pinned my wrists above my head a couple of hours ago—how hot that had been—made my stomach twist.
I did not need to be attracted to that jackass.
And definitely not to Dalton, either.
Both of them were dangerous—for me, and for my stupid heart.
I reached the training center, my heartbeat thudding a little harder than it should’ve.
The walls were high and reinforced, with glass panels looking down from the observation deck where instructors would soon be watching. The scent of sweat, leather, and disinfectant hit me like a memory.
I found my cubby, stashed my hoodie, and changed quickly into regulation black workout gear—loose tank, compression pants, wraps for my wrists. The fabric clung in all the right places, unfortunately, but I layered the tank low and bound tightly beneath it. I double-checked my bandages.
Still flat.
Still invisible.
Good.
The locker room was already noisy. Jokes, insults, boys posturing in front of the mirrors, comparing scars like trophies. I kept my eyes low, tuning them out. But I could feel some of them noticing me. Just little flickers. A glance too long. A silence too pointed.
Whatever. Let them look.
I stepped into the main gym just as the instructor—a hulking, graying Beta named Norrix—blew his whistle.
“Line up!”
Dozens of bodies moved at once. I filed in silently, eyes forward.
“Today is your first field assessment,” Norrix barked. “Sparring will be two minutes, or until submission. No biting, no claws, and if you shift, you’re out for the week.”
Some groaned at that.
“Pairs will be random. Don’t ask for swaps. Don’t complain. And if I see any of you trying to hold back to ‘go easy’ on someone smaller, I’ll make you fight me instead.”
That shut them up.
He started reading off names. One by one, alphas were pulled forward to face each other on the mat in the center of the room. Grunts and cheers followed each match. Most were sloppy. Too much muscle, not enough control.
I waited.
Tried not to shift my weight. Tried not to pray to the moon goddess that my name wouldn’t come right after—
“Dalton and Kai!”
F*ck.
I exhaled slowly and stepped onto the mat.
Dalton was already there, cracking his knuckles like he thought he was starring in some action movie. His smirk widened when he saw me.
“You sure you wanna do this, pretty boy?” he said, just low enough that the instructors wouldn’t hear.
“Pretty sure,” I replied evenly.
His scent was sharp—cedar and spice—and his eyes gleamed with something too eager. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to hurt me, humiliate me, or flirt with me.
Didn’t matter.
I was going to knock that smug look off his face.
Norrix blew the whistle. “Fight!”
Dalton lunged.
Too fast. Too reckless.
He was strong—everyone knew that—but strength without control was just noise.
I sidestepped the swing and ducked under his arm. His shoulder brushed my back as I slid behind him, the scent of his skin—cedar, spice, heat—slammed into me like a wall. I ignored it, ignored the stupid flutter in my gut, and slammed an elbow into his ribs.
He grunted, staggered back a step, then grinned.
“Oh, you’ve got moves, huh?”
His voice was low, amused, and way too close.
He circled me, eyes flicking over my body like he was trying to read something. I kept my stance tight, shoulders loose, ready.
He attacked again, more careful this time. Jab. Fake. Hook.
I dodged, barely. His fingers brushed the hem of my tank and lingered a second too long.
That’s when it started.
The shift.
Less of a spar. More of a dance.
Close. Fast. Touch after touch. My breath came quicker, not just from exertion, but from him and the way my traitorious body was reacting to his. His thigh slid between mine as he went for a sweep—too close—and I twisted out of it, but my body betrayed me with a pulse of heat deep in my core.
No. Not now. Not him.
I caught his wrist mid-grab and used his momentum to flip him. He hit the mat with a dull thud, the air whooshing out of him, but even then he looked up at me, chest heaving, lips curled into a crooked half-smile.
“You hit like you’ve got something to prove.”
“Maybe I do.”
I didn’t mean to say it like that. Didn’t mean for it to come out low and sharp, like a challenge. His smile faltered.
There. A crack.
But then he pushed up, quick as a snake, and we collided.
Body to body.
His hand wrapped around my forearm, too close to the bandage. I froze—just for a heartbeat. He felt it. I saw it in his eyes.
Confusion. Curiosity.
That was all the window I needed.
I twisted, locked his arm, and slammed him down again, harder this time, straddling his hips to keep him pinned.
Sweat ran down my back. His breath fanned against my collarbone.
His gaze flicked up. Met mine.
Too long.
Too intense.
He didn’t move. Neither did I.
Gods, what the f*ck was this?
“Submission!” Norrix barked.
I scrambled off him like I’d been burned.
Dalton groaned on the floor, rolling to his side with a breathless laugh.
“Damn,” he muttered. “Didn’t think you had that in you.”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.
Not with the heat still crawling up my spine.
I backed away quickly, trying to look cold and unbothered.
Failing miserably.
Norrix clapped once. “Good instincts. Control next time.”
I nodded, getting ready to move the hell away.
A sharp whistle cut through the noise—followed by a cocky voice from the benches.
“Damn, good job, best friend!” Reyes called, grinning like an i***t, two fingers still in his mouth from the whistle. “Remind me not to piss you off, yeah?”
A few heads turned toward him, then toward me.
I gave him a look. One eyebrow, half a shrug. Keep it cool, dumbass.
I didn’t need him to bother me too.
But he was already leaning back, arms behind his head like he’d just won his match by proxy.
Idiot.
Kind of a sweet i***t—but still.
And just like that, it was over.
Until I turned and saw Derrick watching me from the bench, eyes sharp, jaw clenched.
F*ck.
He’d seen the whole thing.
And when our eyes locked, he was smirking.
- Writer
