Forged in the Beta's Claim

Chapter 5

Dawn comes too early and not early enough.

I barely slept, my mind replaying every second of yesterday's encounter. Every word Raul said. Every place he touched me. The way he moved, like violence and grace, had a baby. By the time the sky starts to lighten, I'm already dressed in training clothes—black leggings and a sports bra.

The training ground is empty when I arrive, mist still clinging to the grass. For a moment, I think I'm early. Then I catch movement in my peripheral vision.

Raul is already here, going through what looks like some type of training form. He moves like water, each strike and block flowing into the next with devastating precision. He's shirtless again—does he own shirts?—and in the early morning light, I can see more details I missed yesterday. More scars. More tattoos. The way his muscles shift under his skin with each movement.

I'm staring. I need to stop staring.

"You're late," he says without looking at me.

"The sun isn't even up yet!"

"I said dawn. Dawn is when the sun touches the horizon. You are thirty seconds late." Now he does look at me, and his expression is unimpressed. "Thirty seconds in a fight is a lifetime. Thirty seconds is the difference between living and dying."

"We're not in a fight."

"No?" He stalks toward me, and I have to force myself not to step back. "Every moment is a fight, Ivory. Every breath is a battle to prove you deserve to take the next one. The sooner you understand that, the sooner you stop being prey."

He circles me again, just like yesterday, and I grit my teeth against the urge to track his movement. "Today, we start with basics. Stance. Balance. Control." He stops in front of me. "Show me your fighting stance."

I spread my feet and raise my fists, trying to remember anything I've seen in movies.

His sigh is long-suffering. "Dios mío. This is worse than I thought." He moves behind me, and suddenly his hands are on my hips, adjusting my position. "Feet shoulder-width apart. Dominant foot back."

His touch burns through the thin fabric of my leggings. I try to focus on his instructions, but all I can think about is how close he is, how his fingers press into my hip bones with firm, confident pressure.

"Bend your knees. You're too stiff." His hand slides up my spine, pressing between my shoulder blades. "Shoulders back. Core tight. You want to be able to move in any direction without losing balance."

I do as he says, hyperaware of every adjustment he makes. His hand on my lower back, guiding my posture. His foot tapping the inside of mine, widening my stance. His fingers on my elbow, adjusting the angle of my arm.

"Better," he murmurs, and the praise sends an unwanted thrill through me. "Now, throw a punch."

I do. He catches my fist in his palm, stopping it cold.

"Again. Faster."

I punch again. He catches it again.

"Again. Put your body into it, not just your arm."

Again. And again. And again. Each time, he catches my fist, corrects my form, makes me do it over. My arm starts to burn, but I don't stop. Won't stop. Won't give him the satisfaction of seeing me quit.

"Good," he finally says, releasing my fist. "You are stubborn. That will help you."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's an observation." He moves to the side, gesturing for me to follow. "Now, we work on defense. I will attack, you will block."

"Wait, what—"

He doesn't wait. His fist comes at my face, and I barely get my arms up in time. The impact jars through my forearms, and I stumble back.

"Too slow. Again."

Another strike. I block, but my form is wrong, and the force nearly knocks me over.

"Your feet. Remember your stance. Again."

We go on like this for what feels like hours. He attacks, I defend. Sometimes I block successfully. More often, I don't. He never actually hits me—always pulls back at the last second—but the threat is real enough to keep my adrenaline pumping.

Other wolves start arriving, filling the training ground. I'm aware of them watching, judging, but Raul doesn't let up. Doesn't give me a break. Doesn't show any mercy.

"You're thinking too much," he says after I miss another block. "Your wolf has instincts. Trust them."

"My wolf is useless," I snap, frustrated and exhausted. "She's weak, just like me."

His eyes flash, and suddenly he's in my space, his hand gripping my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Do not say that again."

The command in his voice makes my wolf whimper and press forward at the same time. His thumb brushes my jawline, and the touch is almost gentle, at odds with the intensity in his eyes.

"You are not weak," he says, quieter now. "Untrained, yes. Inexperienced, yes. But not weak. Weakness is giving up. Weakness is accepting what others say you are. Is that what you want? To prove them right?"

"No," I whisper.

"Then stop fighting like you have already lost." He releases me, stepping back. "Again. And this time, let your wolf help you."

I take a breath, centering myself. Feel for my wolf, that part of me I've been trying to ignore because she's been so quiet, so subdued since the rejection. But she's there, waiting. Watching.

When Raul attacks again, I don't think. I let instinct take over.

I block his strike and counter with one of my own. He deflects it easily, but there's a flicker of approval in his eyes. We move together, a violent dance, and for the first time, I feel like I'm actually fighting instead of just flailing.

Then the pain hits.

It's like a knife to the chest, sudden and sharp. The barely there, almost non-existent mate bond, barely flaring to life. Gavin is with her. Touching her. Kissing her. The images flood my mind, and I gasp, doubling over.

"Ivory?" Raul's voice seems far away.

Another wave of pain, worse than the first. I can feel Gavin's pleasure, his desire for someone who isn't me, and it's like being rejected all over again. My knees hit the ground.

"¡Mierda!" Strong arms catch me before I collapse completely. Raul lifts me like I weigh nothing, carrying me off the platform. "What's wrong? Are you injured?"

"Mate bond," I manage through gritted teeth. "He's... with her."

Understanding flashes across his face, followed by something that looks like anger. He sets me down on a bench, kneeling in front of me. "Breathe. Focus on my voice. The pain will pass."

"It hurts." Tears stream down my face, and I hate it. Hate being weak in front of him. Hate that Gavin still has this power over me.

"I know." His hands frame my face, thumbs wiping away my tears. "Look at me, Ivory. Look at me, not at him."

I force my eyes open, meeting his dark gaze. He's so close, his face inches from mine, and the intensity in his expression grounds me. Anchors me.

"He does not deserve your pain," Raul says, his accent thicker with emotion. "He does not deserve your tears. You are here, getting stronger, while he is there, proving what a fool he is. Who do you think is winning?"

"Doesn't feel like I'm winning," I whisper.

"Not yet. But you will." His thumb traces my cheekbone, and the touch is so gentle it makes my chest ache for different reasons. "I will make sure of it."

The pain starts to fade, leaving me shaky and exhausted. Raul stays kneeling in front of me, his hands still on my face, until my breathing evens out.

"Better?" he asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

"Good." He stands, and the loss of his touch feels like cold water. "Take five minutes. Then we'll continue."

"Raul—"

"Five minutes, Ivory. Then you get back up and prove you are stronger than this pain." He looks down at me, and there's something fierce in his expression. "Because you are. Whether you believe it yet or not."

He walks away, barking orders at the other trainees, and I'm left sitting on the bench, trembling and confused. Because somewhere between the pain and his touch, something shifted. The way he looked at me wasn't like I was weak or broken.

It was like I was worth fighting for.

And that's more dangerous than any physical training he could put me through.

I take my five minutes. Then I stand up, walk back to the platform, and get into my fighting stance.

Raul's eyes meet mine across the training ground, and he nods once. Approval. Respect.

"Again," he calls out.

And I do it again.