Rejected by My Alpha, Claimed by His Enemy

The First Lesson

The training pit at dawn looked less like a place to learn and more like a place to rot. The frost had settled into the dirt overnight, turning the ground into a slab of frozen, uneven garbage that crunched under my boots like broken teeth. My ribs were still screaming from the fight with Silas the day before, and every time I inhaled, it felt like I was sucking in shards of ice. But I didn't say a word. I didn't want to give Cassian the satisfaction of hearing me complain. I stood there, wrapped in that stupid, heavy wool, waiting for him to show up.

He didn’t walk—he just appeared. He wasn't wearing a shirt, just heavy, scarred leather pants, and he looked like he’d been dragged through a briar patch and hadn't bothered to clean up. He didn't offer a "good morning" or a "how are you feeling." He just reached into his belt and tossed a rusted, chipped knife into the mud at my feet.

The blade was heavier than I thought it would be, the balance all off. It felt like a piece of junk, the metal pitted and dull, but as I picked it up, it felt mine. It was the first thing in my life that didn't belong to the manor, didn't belong to Rowan, and didn't belong to my mother.

"You want to survive?" Cassian asked, not even looking at me. He was sharpening his own blade against a jagged rock, the skritch-skritch sound of metal on stone setting my teeth on edge. "Then stop waiting for me to tell you what to do. The world you came from—that manor, that pack—they spent nineteen years training you to be a doll. They taught you to stand still, look pretty, and apologize for existing. That’s the first thing you have to unlearn if you want to keep breathing."

"I’m not a doll," I snapped. I hated that my voice sounded breathy, but I wasn't going to let him see me shake.

"Then prove it," he said, turning around so fast the air seemed to whip around him. He didn't pull his blade. He just stood there, looking at me with those cold, dead shark eyes. "I’m going to come at you. Don't try to win. Just try not to get put on your back."

He moved before I could even process the warning.

I thought he was going to hit me, but he just shoved. It wasn't a hard push—it was a lesson. He hit me in the shoulder, right where I was already bruised, and the force of it sent me stumbling. My feet caught on a frozen root, and I went down hard. My palms skidded across the icy dirt, and I tasted grit, old blood, and humiliation.

"Too slow," he muttered, standing over me. His boots were inches from my face. "You’re thinking like a girl who expects someone to pull her up. You’re waiting for an apology. In the real world, you hit the dirt and you stay there if you’re too weak to scramble."

I felt the anger boiling up in my throat—hot, black, and sharp. It wasn't the scared, crying kind of anger I used to feel in the manor. It was a cold, focused rage. I didn't reach for his hand. I didn't wait for him to help. I scrambled up, wiping the dirt off my face with my forearm, and lunged. I wasn't fighting like a wolf; I was fighting like a cornered animal that had nothing left to lose. I aimed the knife at his ribs, not because I wanted to kill him—I wasn't that stupid—but because I wanted him to feel the point of that blade.

He caught my wrist mid-air. His grip was like a steel trap. He didn't even look stressed; he looked bored. He just twisted, and the knife went flying out of my hand and into the mud.

"You're angry," he said, like he was surprised. "Good. Anger is better than fear. Fear makes you hesitate. Fear makes you apologize. Anger? Anger makes you move."

He pinned me against the wooden support beam of the pit, his face so close I could smell the cold air, the pine needles, and the faint, musky scent of his skin. It was terrifying, and for some reason, it was the most alive I’d ever felt in my entire nineteen years.

"Rowan and your pack?" he whispered, his voice like a razor blade against my ear. "They didn't reject you because you were a 'Null.' They rejected you because they were terrified of what you’d be if you ever woke up. They spent years trying to make you small because they knew, deep down, that you were bigger than all of them."

He let go of my wrist and stepped back. He pointed at the knife, half-buried in the mud. "Pick it up. We’re going to do it again. And this time, if you don't actually hit me, you’re not getting dinner. I don't feed people who can't hold their own."

My hands were shaking, but not from the cold. I walked over and picked up the blade, wiping the mud off the edge with my thumb. It was cold, filthy, and perfect.

I looked at him, and for the first time, I didn't see an Alpha or a mentor. I saw a target. I saw the only person who had ever told me the truth.

"Again," I said, dropping into a crouch.

He grinned. It was a nasty, jagged thing, but it was the first time I’d ever seen him smile. "Again."