2
1078 Words
Sasha's POV
The morning hit like a war drum.
A sharp buzz sliced through the quiet, dragging me from the fragile edge of sleep. For a second, I forgot where I was. The mattress beneath me was thin and unforgiving. The air was cold enough to sting. I was curled up on my side, fully clothed, boots still on, like I hadn’t trusted myself to get too comfortable.
And then it all came crashing back.
The escape. The name. The lie.
Rowan Dean.
Dorm 17 B.
Alex Knight.
I blinked slowly, my eyes adjusting to the thin strip of gray light filtering through the narrow window. A faint metallic tang lingered in the air, sweat, iron, and something primal. I froze.
There was movement.
Low, rhythmic.
Breathless.
I turned my head.
And forgot how to breathe.
Alexa was on the floor between the two beds... shirtless, again... doing push-ups like the devil was counting his reps. His broad back flexed with every rise and fall, muscles coiling and releasing in fluid, effortless power. Scars slashed across his skin like old battle stories. Sweat glistened along his spine, trailing down to the waistband of his dark joggers, which hung sinfully low on his hips.
Each push-up was precise. Silent. Lethal.
He moved like a predator in prayer.
And the worst part?
I was staring.
Heart pounding. Throat dry. My wolf stirred beneath my skin like she was being summoned, restless and wide-eyed.
Get it together, Sasha.
I forced my gaze to the ceiling, to the cracks in the plaster, anywhere but him.
“You always watch people while they work out?” His voice struck like a hammer, low and smooth and maddeningly amused.
Shit.
He didn’t even glance at me, didn’t pause, just kept moving like I hadn’t nearly had a stroke. He knew I was awake. Probably had the whole time.
I sat up stiffly, trying to make it look casual. “Didn’t realize grunting like a dying bear was part of the morning routine.”
That earned me a small smirk... barely there... but it still felt like a win. And damn... He was so handsome.
“Better than snoring like one,” he said, rising fluidly to his feet.
I didn’t respond. Couldn’t. My brain was still buffering from the sheer assault on my senses. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and grabbed my bag, using it as a shield while pretending to search for socks.
He walked past me to the bathroom, towel in hand, unapologetically shirtless. The scent of pine, smoke, and raw male power followed in his wake like fog. I held my breath until the door clicked shut behind him.
Get. A. Grip.
I yelled in my head.
This wasn’t some fantasy dorm room setup. This was the Alpha Training Academy, and I was one breath away from total exposure.
The potion masking my scent had twenty-eight days left, give or take. The moment it wore off, they’d smell it, my secret. My lie. Before that, I had to arrange a potion for myself.
No one here could know I was a female.
Because then it'll be the end of me.
Especially not Knight. There were rumors that he hated omegas.
I threw on the Academy uniform, a cloth wrapped tightly around my chest to hide my bosoms, a black, double-layered combat shirt, and fitted tactical pants, then pulled my beanie down low. A glance in the cracked mirror confirmed the disguise still held.
No curves. No softness. No trace of Sasha.
Just Rowan.
By the time Alex emerged, steam trailing after him, I was lacing up my boots on the edge of the bed, eyes forward.
He paused near the door. “You’re quick. That’s good.”
I nodded once. “Military habits.”
“Hm.” He slung a towel around his neck and c****d his head, storm-gray eyes appraising. “You fight?”
“Better than I cook.”
He gave a short huff of amusement. “Good. You’ll need it. The first test is combat evaluations. Failure means they send your ass packing. No second chances.”
I stood, grabbing my duffel and slinging it over one shoulder. “I don’t fail.”
Our eyes met again.
That same flicker of something.
Recognition?
Doubt?
Interest?
I couldn’t tell, and I didn’t want to know.
“Try not to get killed, Dean,” he muttered, shoving the door open.
“You too,” I said.
The training yard was a waking nightmare.
Rows of recruits stood at attention in the pre-dawn chill, steam rising from their mouths like smoke. The instructor, a grizzled wolf with a voice made of gravel and venom, paced in front of us with a club in one hand and a look of utter disdain in his eyes.
“Welcome to hell, boys,” he growled.
"This ain’t a school. It’s a forge. And I’m here to break you until there’s nothing left but steel.”
Someone to my left swallowed audibly.
“Combat trials start in five minutes. Pair up. No rules, no mercy. You lose? You crawl to the infirmary or go home in a bag. You win? You fight again.”
I didn’t hesitate.
I found the biggest, cockiest bastard in the group, some broad-shouldered blond with a scar splitting his eyebrow, and stepped in front of him.
“Wanna dance?” I asked.
He sneered. “You look like you’d snap in half.”
“Try me.”
We circled. The whistle blew.
He lunged. I dodged. He came again, faster this time.
I dropped, swept his legs, and brought him down with a solid knee to the gut. His breath exploded from his lungs, and I drove my elbow into his throat just hard enough to stun, not kill. I wasn't as strong as him, but I was fast, and I was trained in secret by my father's best bodyguards, so I'm a little bit skilled at fighting.
Around us, bodies fell. Blood stained the dirt. Roars and grunts filled the air.
But I didn’t notice any of it.
Because when I stood and turned toward the next opponent, Alex was watching me from across the yard.
Still. Silent.
Like he’d seen a ghost.
Or something far more dangerous.
His eyes locked on mine, unreadable.
And for the first time that morning, my pulse spiked for a reason that had nothing to do with fear.
- Writer
