Chapter 24: A Dangerous Spark
1586 Words
Dahlia's POV
*Training Ground*
The ground was cold beneath my bare feet.
Not painfully, though, but it was just enough to remind me that I was awake, that this wasn’t another fevered dream stitched together by fear and half-hope.
The dirt pressed into my skin, gritty and unforgiving, and I focused on that sensation because it was easier than focusing on the man standing across from me.
Dante didn’t waste time with explanations.
He never did.
“If you want to live,” he started, voice flat and merciless, “you will learn how to fight.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Not because they were cruel.
But because they sounded like a verdict already passed.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight. “I… I am not a warrior.”
His eyes swept over me; quick, assessing, and sharp enough to peel layers away. “No,” he agreed. “You are prey.”
The word lodged in my chest.
Prey.
Something hunted. Something expected to run, to fall, to die quietly so the stronger ones didn’t have to feel guilty.
My hands curled into fists at my sides.
“I don’t have a wolf,” I said, the truth scraping raw on my tongue. “I don’t heal fast. I don’t fight fast. I…”
“You breathe,” Dante cut in. “You move, you think. That is enough to start.”
Start.
Not win. Not survive.
Just start.
The training grounds were empty, and secluded, wrapped in tall stone and old trees that felt like silent witnesses.
No pack members.
No mocking eyes.
No whispers.
Just him.
And me.
“Come at me,” he said.
I stared at him with utmost disbelief. “You want me to… what?”
His jaw tightened faintly. “Attack.”
A hollow laugh slipped out of me before I could stop it. “You could break me in half without trying.”
“Yes,” he said. “Which means if you hesitate, you will die.”
The certainty in his voice was terrifying.
My chest fluttered with sharp and erratic panic. I shook my head. “I can’t.”
Dante’s gaze hardened. “You won’t.”
The distinction stung.
I hated that part of me that wanted to shrink, that wanted to curl inward and disappear the way I had learned to do growing up. The part that whispered stay quiet, stay small, maybe they won’t hurt you.
That part had kept me alive.
But it had never let me live.
I forced my feet to move.
The first step felt wrong. Heavy. Like my body was resisting the idea of defiance. The second step was worse, my legs trembled, and my balance was unsteady.
I raised my hands the way I had seen warriors do.
Wrong, awkward, and pathetic.
Dante didn’t correct me.
He just waited.
That somehow made it harder.
I lunged.
The movement was clumsy, all momentum and no control. Dante sidestepped effortlessly, one hand catching my wrist, twisting just enough that pain bloomed sharp and sudden.
I gasped and stumbled.
“Again,” he said.
I barely had time to breathe before I tried again.
This time, he knocked my legs out from under me.
The ground slammed into my knees, then my palms, the impact rattling my bones. Pain flared bright and immediately, stealing my breath.
I stayed there for a second too long.
“Get up,” Dante ordered.
My arms shook as I pushed myself upright. My lungs burned already, each breath scraping like fire.
“I said fight,” he continued, voice relentless. “Not fall.”
Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, unbidden and humiliating. I blinked them back fiercely.
I attacked again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, he stopped me.
Blocked me.
Redirected me.
Never cruel, and never excessive.
It was just enough to show me how completely outmatched I was.
My body began to fail me long before my mind did.
My legs wobbled, my arms felt like dead weight, and my vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in and out as my heart pounded too fast, way too hard.
“Enough,” I rasped finally, stumbling back.
Dante didn’t move. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Something inside me cracked.
“Why are you doing this?” I shouted, anger bursting free at last. “You already know I’m weak! You have seen it, haven't you? What more do you want? Proof that I will break?”
His eyes flashed.
“I want you to stop assuming that breaking is the end.”
The words hit like a blow.
I stared at him, chest heaving.
“Again,” he said.
My body screamed no.
But something deeper, something quieter pushed back.
I moved without thinking.
Not with strength this time but with instinct.
I ducked instead of lunging, sliding low, my shoulder slamming into his midsection. It didn’t hurt him, not really, but it surprised him enough that his balance shifted.
Just for a second.
My heart leapt.
I twisted, swinging my elbow the way my body told me to, not the way my mind planned. Dante caught it, but slower this time.
His eyes narrowed.
We separated.
The air between us felt different.
Like it was… charged.
I attacked again, my breath ragged, movements still messy but faster. Less hesitant. My feet found the ground instead of tripping over it.
Pain flared as Dante struck back, with a sharp blow to my side that sent me staggering. I cried out, nearly collapsing…
But I didn’t.
I stayed on my feet.
Shock rippled through me.
I shouldn’t have been able to.
My ribs screamed, my muscles burned, but I was still standing. Still aware.
Still moving.
“Don’t think,” Dante said quietly. “React.”
Another attack.
This time, when he went for my arm, I twisted away, my body responding before fear could catch up. My hand slapped against his wrist, redirecting the strike just enough that it missed my face.
My eyes widened.
So did his.
I didn’t give myself time to question it.
I moved again.
And again.
Something inside me woke up.
Not fully.
Not clearly.
But unmistakably.
My senses sharpened. Sounds grew louder, clearer, the crunch of dirt, the rush of blood in my ears, the cadence of Dante’s breathing. My tunnelled, focusing on him alone, on every shift of muscle, and every subtle change in balance.
I knew where he would move before he did. That realisation terrified me.
My body finally gave out a heartbeat later.
My legs buckled, strength draining all at once like a snapped cord. I collapsed hard, the impact knocking the air from my lungs in a harsh, broken gasp.
Pain roared through me.
I lay there, shaking, humiliation washing over me in heavy waves. Of course, it had been too much to hope for. Of course, it hadn’t lasted.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words torn out of me. “I tried.”
Footsteps approached.
I flinched instinctively, curling inward, bracing for another command, another demand I couldn’t meet.
But none came.
Instead, Dante crouched beside me.
He didn’t touch me.
Yet.
“Look at me,” he said softly.
I didn’t want to, but I did anyway.
The world felt strange, too sharp, and too bright. My heartbeat thundered in my ears as I met his gaze.
And then…
It happened.
Heat surged behind my eyes, sudden and intense. My vision flashed, colours deepening and sharpening, as if the world had been pulled into focus for the first time.
Dante froze.
His breath caught audibly.
I gasped as something shifted inside me, a pressure I had never known how to name swelling up, demanding space.
For a heartbeat, a single, impossible heartbeat, I wasn’t just me.
I felt her.
Not a voice.
Not words.
A presence.
Strong, furious, and alive.
My eyes burned.
Dante stared at me like he was seeing something he had been searching for his entire life.
My reflection flickered in his pupils.
Gold.
Just a flash.
Just a whisper of it.
But it was there.
“There you are,” he breathed.
The words wrapped around me, gentle and reverent in a way that made my throat tighten painfully.
The sensation faded almost as quickly as it came. The fire dimmed, the world softening back into its familiar blur.
I sagged, trembling violently.
“I…” My voice cracked. “I don’t know what that was.”
Dante didn’t answer immediately.
His gaze never left my face.
“That,” he said slowly, as if nothing.”
My chest ached, full and hollow all at once.
Spilt over before I could stop them, not from pain this time, but from the overwhelming weight of it all.
The fighting.
The memories.
The constant fear of being less.
“I’m scared,” I admitted, the truth raw and exposed between us. “What if it goes away again?”
Dante stood, then held out his hand.
Not commanding.
Not demanding.
Offering.
“Then we train,” he said. “Until it doesn’t.”
I stared at his hand, my heart pounding.
For the first time in my life, the idea of fighting back didn’t feel impossible.
It felt necessary.
And somewhere deep inside my chest, something stirred. It was quiet, and stubborn, but it was alive.
Not broken.
Not gone.
Just waiting.
- Writer
