3
1332 Words
Sasha’s POV
The second fight broke out before dawn.
I was jerked from sleep by the sound of bone slamming against bone, a crunch, a grunt, the sharp echo of flesh meeting fury. My eyes snapped open to darkness pierced by flickering hallway lights outside the door. Shouts thundered down the corridor. Heavy boots pounded the floors.
The Academy didn’t believe in gentle mornings.
I bolted upright, heart racing, breath shallow.
Across the room, my roommate, Alex Knight, as he introduced himself, didn’t stir. He lay sprawled on his bed, shirtless, arms behind his head like a god lounging on a throne of shadows, completely unfazed by the chaos erupting just outside.
Like he knew there was no threat. Like he was the threat.
I forced my gaze away from the carved ridges of his abdomen and swung my legs off the cot, grounding myself in cold reality. This wasn’t the manor. No silk sheets. No coddling maids. This was blood and sweat and wolves with something to prove.
And I had something to prove, too, that I belonged here.
No matter what it costs.
I dressed quickly, pulling on the academy-issued gear: black compression shirt, dark training pants, combat boots. Nothing feminine. Nothing that hinted at the truth stitched into my DNA. I tightened the leather strap of my breast binder until my ribs protested, until I looked in the mirror and saw only Rowan Dean staring back.
The mask had to hold.
The potion still worked but I could feel the strain. The scent-masking brew that dulled my feminie nature was like ice under fire. It battled the truth every second. And today would test it harder than ever.
“Combat trials begin in thirty,” a voice crackled through the intercom, thick with authority. “All recruits report to the Yard.”
A low groan came from the other bed.
I glanced over, only to find Alex sitting upright now, his storm-gray eyes gleaming in the dark like molten steel. His presence consumed the room without moving. He stretched, catlike, lazy yet lethal, and then pinned me with a gaze that made the air turn heavy in my lungs.
“You gonna pass out out there, pretty boy?” he said, voice soaked in amusement.
I stiffened. “Try me.”
He chuckled, deep and smooth, like thunder under silk. “Might be fun.”
He pulled on his shirt in one fluid motion, hiding the lines of his torso, but not the menace stitched into his aura. Every movement radiated power, controlled, leashed, barely. He didn’t walk like a trainee. He didn’t act like someone learning anything at all.
He moved like a predator bored of waiting.
And no one here knew who he really was. Not even me, not really. But the name Alex Knight was as much of a lie as Rowan Dean.
We were both ghosts hiding behind borrowed faces.
The training Yard was already crowded when we stepped into the dawn light. Pale sun filtered through broken clouds, casting silver halos over sweat-slicked bodies and broken egos. Wolves circled like sharks, snarling, posturing. Half were shirtless, showing off scars like medals. The other half looked like they were trying not to piss themselves.
The moment when the Alpha Academy separated the sheep from the predators.
I kept my head down and my posture loose, not too tense, not too confident. I needed to blend in. Hide. Survive.
But my wolf was restless beneath my skin, pacing like a caged storm.
She hated being here.
Too much testosterone. Too much dominance. Too many eyes.
I glanced at Alex beside me. He stood still as stone, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. But everyone felt him.
Even the instructor paused when he passed.
“Line up!” barked a burly man with scars like claw marks carved across his face. “Trial matches begin now. One-on-one combat. This is not like yesterday's play. You don’t need to win, but you do need to show fight. Anyone who rolls over gets shipped home with their tail tucked.”
A long pause. Then he added with a cruel smile, “Assuming you leave in one piece.”
Names began appearing on a glowing board. Pairings shuffled with every beat of my heart.
Then I saw it.
Rowan Dean vs. Cael Thorn.
Shit.
I scanned the crowd and saw him immediately, a mountain of a male with veins like ropes and a broken nose that never healed right. His eyes locked on mine and a grin curved his mouth, slow and mean.
He wanted blood.
He wanted mine.
We stepped into the sandpit.
The crowd circled like vultures.
Cael cracked his knuckles. “You look soft, Dean. That binder hiding something under there?”
I didn’t flinch. I smirked instead. “You’ll find out when you wake up.”
A howl of laughter followed, sharp and cruel.
The bell rang.
He lunged.
I moved faster.
Ducked. Rolled. Let instinct guide my limbs.
Cael was brute strength, all fists and fury. I was speed and strategy, all fire and control. I kept dodging, letting him burn himself out, letting him underestimate me.
Until he grabbed my throat.
My feet left the ground. Stars danced in my vision. My scent flared, unguarded for one heartbeat too long.
Shewolf.
My wolf shrieked in panic.
I twisted in the air, hooked my leg behind his, and used his weight to bring him crashing down... hard.
The crowd roared.
But I didn’t hear them.
Because he moved.
Alex.
He’d stepped forward without realizing it. Just one step. But his aura blasted through the sandpit like a detonation, ancient, raw, possessive. His eyes burned into mine with something fierce and lethal.
I scrambled off Cael before anyone noticed my panic or the tremble in my limbs.
The instructor called the match.
I’d won.
Barely.
Later that night, I sat in the dorm, shirt off, nursing the bruises blooming across my ribs. My binder was soaked in sweat, my potion still had 27 days to expire, and my wolf wouldn’t stop whining under my skin.
Then the door was knocked roughly, making me jump in fright as I quickly wrapped a gauze around my breasts and wore a shirt before opening the door.
And Alex stepped in.
I froze.
He shut the door behind him, slow, deliberate.
He didn’t say a word.
Just stared.
I'm glad I chopped off my hair in the early morning, so it looked like men's hair. I couldn't hide it under a beanie for long.
His eyes raked over my neck, the bruises, the skin, the way I clenched the cotton in my fist like it was a weapon.
“Do you have something to say?” I rasped, voice hoarse.
His voice came low, like a blade wrapped in silk.
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
I swallowed. My throat was dry.
Then he crossed the room and stopped right in front of me. Too close. Every nerve in my body screamed. My wolf coiled like a spring.
He reached down… and picked up my discarded combat vest from the floor. Tossed it onto the chair.
“You fight dirty,” he said.
I lifted my chin. “You watch me like prey.”
A beat of silence.
Then his lips curled, not quite a smile.
“Maybe,” he said. “But I don’t kill pretty things unless I have to.”
"I'm not pretty," I grumbled. Because that's what most men would say if they were called pretty.
I didn’t breathe until he walked away.
But even as I lay down to sleep that night, my heart still thundered, not from fear.
From him.
And for the first time, I realized…
Alex Knight wasn’t just dangerous.
He was hiding something darker than I could imagine.
And if I wasn’t careful…
He’d tear right through me.
- Writer
