Training Ground
1429 Words
Chapter Three - Training ground
Sasha
I looked at him—breath ragged, body trembling, sweat clinging to my skin.
Fuck.
Alpha Jaxon Blade stood in front of me, bare-chested, glistening, every muscle flexing under the early light. My stepfather. My f*****g stepfather.
We’d been training for an hour straight, and he wasn’t even winded. I was drenched, drained, and ready to collapse, but he—he looked like he was just getting started.
A beast unchained.
Relentless. Unforgiving.
And worst of all—beautiful.
His tattoos cut across his arms and neck, black ink curling over tanned skin. The lines of his body drew the eye like gravity—the carved ridges of his abs, the deep V leading beneath his shorts, the trail of darkness disappearing where I wasn’t supposed to look.
Every instinct screamed: fight him.
Every nerve whispered: don’t stop looking.
This was wrong. So f*****g wrong.
He wasn’t just training me—he was testing me. Pushing every boundary, every limit. And my wolf—the traitorous b***h inside me—was baring her throat.
Then—strike.
Steel flashed.
“If you’re done staring,” he said, voice low and dangerous, “we can continue.”
I stumbled back, hissing as his blade grazed my arm. First blood—mine.
He didn’t even blink.
“Thinking about quitting, Little wolf?” His smirk curved like a scar—mocking, filthy.
“I wasn’t—”
“Too shy to say it?” he taunted, circling me.
That did it. My back straightened, rage burning through exhaustion. I met his gaze—and lunged.
He dodged. Effortless.
He always did.
He moved quickly, impossibly quick, fluid and efficient. Power radiated off him in waves, and my body responded before my mind could stop it. Pulse quickened. Breath hitched. Every cell trembled in recognition.
Defeating this man wasn’t going to be easy.
“Again,” he ordered. “And this time, don’t hold back.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
He stepped in close, voice dark and deep. “You’re afraid of hurting me.”
Damn—he caught it already.
I swallowed hard. “That’s not—”
“Prove it.”
His eyes locked on mine. Challenging. Daring.
“Prove it, Sasha.”
I lunged.
Steel clashed—ringing, violent. Sparks danced in the air as our blades met again and again. He parried easily, forcing me to spin, twist, and recover.
Every movement between us blurred,
Strike. Parry. Dodge.
Faster. Harder. Closer.
Sweat trickled down my spine. My lungs burned. But I refused to stop. I wouldn’t let him see me break.
Then it happened.
My bun came loose.
A tumble of dark hair spilled down my shoulders, wild, damp, clinging to my skin.
His eyes caught it—followed the fall, the strands brushing my throat, the curve of my collarbone.
He faltered. Just for a second.
His sword dropped half an inch.
It was enough.
I struck.
Fast. Ruthless.
Steel kissed skin.
A thin line of red bloomed across his chest—sharp and vivid against his body.
Blood.
His blood.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then he looked down at the cut. And laughed.
A low, dangerous sound that slid through the air and straight into me.
“Such a small cut?” he murmured, eyes glinting with something dark. “Where is the goddamned wolf with her teeth, Sasha?”
And before I could even breathe, he moved—
Striking again.
And again.
And again.
The onslaught was relentless. His blade came at me from every angle—high, low, sweeping arcs that sang through the air. I dodged, barely, dirt scattering under my boots as I tried to keep up.
The silver cut of steel was silent—beautiful and deadly—each swing precise, controlled, lethal.
“Try harder, Little Wolf,” he taunted, voice threaded with amusement. “Is that all you’ve got?”
Anger burned through the exhaustion. He was enjoying this.
I swung again, desperate to land a hit, to wipe that smirk from his face.
But control slipped. My strikes turned wild, unfocused.
“Try harder,” he repeated, laughter in his tone. “You’re not even close.”
“Shut up!” I lunged—too fast, too reckless.
He sidestepped, caught my wrist, twisted. My sword hit the ground with a clatter. Before I could move, he had me—hands trapping mine, driving me backward until my shoulders hit the dirt.
The breath left my lungs.
And suddenly he was there—everywhere.
His weight pinned me. One hand locked around my wrists above my head; the other braced beside my face. His knees held mine still. Trapping me beneath him like a prisoner.
The scent of metal, sweat, and cedar filled the narrow space between us.
“Gotcha,” he murmured, and his low laugh vibrated through his chest into me.
He didn’t move. His eyes stayed on mine, heat darkening the edges of his smile.
“You’re too easy to defeat, Little Wolf,” he said quietly, voice rough now, not playful anymore. “Out there on the battlefield, that could get you killed.”
Fury flared through the confusion. I twisted, trying to break free.
His grip only tightened.
“Bad move,” he warned.
I fought again, freeing one hand, striking out—but he caught my wrist mid-swing, pinning it back to the ground. This time he held me completely, breath brushing my cheek.
“Like I said….” He whispered, leaning closer to my ear, words grazing my skin, “Bad move, Little Wolf.”
The world shrank to sound and heat—the rasp of his breathing, the thud of both our hearts. His chain brushed my collarbone; a shiver chased down my spine. For one suspended moment neither of us moved.
Then his gaze dropped—to my mouth—then back up, something feral flashing there.
He stayed…whilst I swallowed.
Filthy forbidden desires made their way to the surface, I clenched my thighs together and I knew…even though he didn’t look he noticed.
And then? He drew in a sharp breath and abruptly, he pushed away, standing in one sharp motion as if distance was the only way to stay sane.
“That’s enough for today,” he said, voice rough. “Go recover. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
And he was gone.
No glance back.
I sat up, chest heaving, dust sticking to sweat, the echo of his voice still in my ears. What the hell just happened?
I forced my focus on the clatter of weapons being stored near the racks across the room—anything to drown out the echo of his voice in my head. That’s when I heard them.
Two warriors. Low voices. Unbothered. Talking like they didn’t know I was still there.
“Did you hear what Alpha Jaxon did?”
I froze mid-step.
“Beat the living hell out of Kessler,” the other replied, voice edged with awe. “Right in the yard. Didn’t even hesitate.”
The first one let out a low whistle. “You don’t reject an Alpha’s stepdaughter and walk away. Guess Jaxon made that real clear.”
My heart dropped.
“You’re serious?”
“Beta had to drag him off. Said if Kessler even looked her way again, he’d rip his throat out.”
Silence stretched, filled only by the soft clinking of blades being sheathed.
Then came the laugh—rough, uneasy. “Didn’t think the old man still had that kind of temper.”
“Old man?” the other scoffed. “He’s barely thrity-five. And you’ve seen him—Jaxon’s more dangerous now than he’s ever been.”
A pause. Then quieter, almost hesitant:
“You think there’s more to it?”
“More?”
“You know… the way he looks at her sometimes.”
My stomach twisted.
“Don’t start that,” came the warning hiss. “That line doesn’t get crossed.”
“I’m just saying—”
“Don’t.”
Their voices faded as they walked out, leaving only silence—and the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Jaxon had defended me.
Violently. Publicly.
And the warriors had noticed something.
Something I'd felt but refused to name.
Something dangerous. Something…forbidden.
And somewhere between the training floor and this moment, I was defeated, exhausted and left with a wet….pussy, the line between stepfather and something else had blurred beyond recognition.
I wasn't sure I wanted it to stop
- Writer
