The Accident
1711 Words
The gym smelled like sweat, rubber, and testosterone.
It was a massive, cavernous arena filled with mats, punching bags, and weapon racks that looked medieval. It was a playground for monsters. And I was the chew toy.
"Line up!"
The voice boomed across the mats, sounding like gravel crunching in a mixer.
I scrambled into line with the other first-years, keeping my head down. My plan was to survive the hour without drawing attention to myself.
"You look like you're going to throw up," a voice whispered beside me.
I glanced to my left. A girl with bright purple hair and pointed ears was grinning at me. A fae? Or maybe a witch.
"I might," I whispered back, clutching my stomach. It wasn't entirely a lie. The nerves were real, but they weren't because of the class. They were because of them.
Across the gym, the four Alpha Heirs were stretching.
They didn't wear the standard-issue gray gym clothes. They wore black compression gear that clung to every muscle.
Rian was laughing as he threw a casual kick at Kael, who blocked it with a forearm the size of a tree trunk. Silas was sitting on a bench in the shadows, sharpening a wooden training knife.
And Draven…
Draven was watching me.
He was doing pull-ups on a high bar, his back muscles rippling through his shirt, but his eyes were locked on me across the room. Every time he lifted himself, his gaze burned a little hotter. He hadn't stopped staring since the incident in the hall yesterday.
"Eyes front!"
I snapped my attention back to the instructor.
Instructor Volkov.
He was an older wolf, a veteran with a scar that ran from his temple to his jaw, pulling his lip into a permanent sneer. He didn't walk; he stalked. He paced down the line of students, sniffing the air.
He stopped in front of me.
I held my breath. I made myself small. I rounded my shoulders, mimicking the posture of a scared prey animal.
Volkov leaned in. He smelled like old cigars and dried blood.
"Vance," he grunted, reading my name tag. "The charity case."
"Yes, sir," I squeaked.
His dark eyes narrowed. He looked me up and down, analyzing my stance.
"You stand still," he observed quietly. "Too still."
My heart skipped a beat. A normal human would be fidgeting. A normal human would be shaking. I forced my hands to tremble.
"I'm… I'm just trying not to faint, sir."
Volkov didn't look convinced. He hummed a low, suspicious sound in his throat.
"We'll see," he muttered. He turned back to the class. "Today, we spar. No shifting. Hand-to-hand only. I want to see aggression."
He started pointing out pairs.
"Sterling, you take the big guy. Thorne, you take the vampire. Vance…"
He paused. A cruel glint entered his eyes.
"Vance, you take Miller."
My stomach dropped.
Miller was a shifter from the mountain pack. He was twice my size, with buzzed hair and a smile that promised pain. He cracked his knuckles as he stepped onto the mat.
"Don't break her, Miller," Volkov called out, stepping back to watch. "Just… test her reflexes."
I stepped onto the mat. The rubber squeaked under my sneakers.
"Ready to bleed, human?" Miller sneered.
I swallowed hard. Don't fight back, I told myself. Don't use your training. Just survive.
Miller didn't wait for a signal. He lunged.
It was a sloppy punch. A haymaker aimed right at my head.
My body reacted before my brain could stop it. I saw the shift in his weight. I saw the opening. I could have stepped inside his guard and crushed his windpipe in two seconds.
No.
I forced myself to freeze. I jerked back clumsily, tripping over my own feet.
The punch missed my nose by an inch, the wind of it brushing my face. I landed hard on my butt.
"Pathetic," Miller laughed.
"Get up!" Volkov barked. "Again!"
I scrambled to my feet. Miller came at me again. A kick to the ribs. I dodged, barely. A backhand. I ducked.
I was dodging too well. I realized it too late. Even trying to be clumsy, my instincts were too sharp. I was moving like water.
Volkov stepped closer, his eyes narrowing further. He was seeing it. He was seeing the assassin beneath the skin.
I have to take a hit, I realized with a jolt of panic. If I don't get hurt, he’ll know.
Miller swung again. He had a training ring on his finger—a jagged piece of metal meant to leave a mark.
He aimed for my face.
I saw it coming. I could have blocked it.
Instead, I turned my head just enough.
Scrrrrt.
The metal ring raked across my cheekbone.
It wasn't deep, but it stung like fire. I gasped and stumbled back, clutching my face.
"Oops," Miller grinned.
I pulled my hand away.
My fingers were wet. Bright, crimson blood smeared across my skin.
The scent hit the air instantly.
Copper. Salt. Sweetness.
It was a tiny drop of blood. In a room full of shifters, it shouldn't have mattered.
But the reaction was instantaneous.
Across the gym, the rhythmic sound of sparring stopped.
A low, collective growl rumbled through the room. It wasn't just one wolf. It was four.
"Draven, wait!" Rian’s voice shouted.
But there was no waiting.
A blur of motion tore across the gym.
Miller didn't even see it coming. One second he was grinning at me; the next, he was flying through the air.
Draven slammed into him with the force of a freight train. Miller hit the wall twenty feet away and crumpled to the floor, unconscious.
Draven didn't chase him. He spun around, his eyes wild, glowing that terrifying molten amber.
"Lyra," he choked out.
He was in front of me in a heartbeat.
But he wasn't alone.
Kael was suddenly at my back, his massive body acting as a wall between me and the rest of the class. He turned outward, snarling at anyone who looked in our direction.
Rian was at my left side, and Silas appeared out of nowhere at my right.
They boxed me in. A cage of muscle and heat.
"She's bleeding," Kael growled, his voice vibrating through his chest against my back. "Who touched her?"
"It’s a scratch," I stammered, backing up, but I had nowhere to go. I bumped into Kael’s solid chest. His hands came up to grip my upper arms, steadying me. His touch burned through my shirt.
Draven ignored them. He ignored the stunned class. He ignored Volkov, who was watching with wide, shocked eyes.
He reached out, his hands trembling violently, and cupped my face.
"Let me see," he demanded. His voice was wrecked. Rough.
He tilted my head up. His thumbs brushed over my jaw, dangerously close to the cut.
He leaned down.
He inhaled.
His nostrils flared as the scent of my blood hit him. His pupils blew wide, swallowing the amber. A shudder ripped through his body.
"God," he groaned. "You smell… you smell like…"
"Like what?" Rian whispered, leaning in closer. He grabbed my hand, bringing it to his nose to sniff the blood on my fingers. His blue eyes darkened instantly. "Sweet. She smells sweet."
"Don't," Silas warned, his voice a quiet hiss. He placed a hand on my waist, his fingers digging in possessively. "You're scaring her."
"I'm not scaring her," Draven snarled at Silas, but he didn't look away from me. "Am I scaring you, Lyra?"
"Yes," I breathed. My heart was hammering so hard it hurt.
This wasn't normal. This was… overwhelming.
The air around us felt thick, charged with static electricity. I was surrounded by them. Their scents—rain, pine, smoke, leather—crashed over me, drowning out the gym.
My blood felt hot in my veins. The strange pull I had felt yesterday was back, but stronger. It wasn't just a tug now. It was a roar.
Mate, a voice in the back of my head whispered. Safe. Home.
No, I fought back. Dangerous. Enemy. Kill.
Draven lowered his head until his forehead rested against mine. He was panting, fighting for control.
"You're bleeding," he whispered again, as if it was the worst tragedy in the world. "I can't… I can't stand it."
He moved his thumb, wiping a smear of blood from my cheek.
He looked at the red stain on his skin. Then, slowly, eyes locked on mine, he brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it off.
My knees gave out.
Kael caught me, his arms wrapping around my waist, pulling me flush against his hard body.
"Easy," Kael rumbled. "I've got you."
"That is enough!"
Instructor Volkov’s voice cracked through the haze like a whip.
The spell broke—slightly.
Draven pulled back, blinking rapidly as if waking from a trance. But he didn't step away. He turned his head to glare at the instructor.
"She is injured," Draven said. His voice was cold. Imperial. It wasn't a student talking to a teacher. It was a King talking to a subject.
"It's a scratch, Blackwood," Volkov snapped, though he kept a respectful distance. He looked at the four of them, then at me. His eyes narrowed, calculating. "Take her to the infirmary if you must. But get off my mats."
Draven looked back at me. The wildness was fading, replaced by a dark, simmering protectiveness.
"We're leaving," Draven stated.
He didn't ask if I could walk. He simply scooped me up into his arms, bridal style, as if I weighed nothing.
"Put me down!" I hissed, my face burning. "I can walk!"
"Shut up, Lyra," Rian said softly, though he was smiling now. He walked close to Draven’s side, his hand resting on my ankle. "Let us take care of you."
"Yeah," Kael grunted, falling in behind us as we marched out of the gym. "Before I go back there and finish Miller."
As Draven carried me through the double doors, I looked back over his shoulder.
Instructor Volkov was standing in the center of the mat, watching us leave. He wasn't looking at the Alphas.
He was looking at me.
And he didn't look convinced by my clumsy act anymore.
- Writer
