Chapter Eight
1660 Words
I stood in front of the mirror, frowning at my reflection. The training outfit Tristan had insisted I pick yesterday was all black.
I poked the waistband of my black leggings. “Okay but… why does it feel like my pants are judging me?”
I stepped out of the room, tugging at the hem of my top. “These feel a little too... fitted.”
Tristan didn’t even blink. Already dressed in black, looking like a brooding action figure. “You look fine.”
I let out a little huff. “Fine. Lead the way.”
He opened the door and we stepped out into the cool morning air. The capital looked softer than it had the day before. Mist lingered over the pavement and the trees swayed gently like they were stretching with us.
We walked in silence for a few moments before I glanced at him. “So… where are we going exactly?”
“The training center,” he said calmly.
“Oh. Like… to watch?”
His lips tugged up, just barely. “No. To train.”
I blinked. “Right now?”
“Just for a bit,” he said, voice easy, like we were heading to grab coffee. “I thought you might want to get familiar with the space. Move a little. You said you wanted to feel stronger.”
“I did,” I murmured. “I just didn’t know it came with physical activity.”
He chuckled and the sound surprised me.
“I’ll keep it light,” he said. “Promise.”
“Besides, you are going to have to get used to it, train every morning.”
I stopped walking. “Every?”
He nodded like this was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes. Discipline is a lifestyle.”
I stared at him. “Why? Are you getting ready for war?”
He glanced at me, deadpan “Discipline builds strength.”
“So does eight hours of uninterrupted rest,” I muttered, falling into step beside him.
“You’ll survive.”
“Debatable.”
We reached a wide, low-built structure of glass and dark steel, sharp lines cutting clean against the landscape. Beyond it, the training grounds stretched out in open-air sections with smooth stone paths, sparring rings and equipment stations spaced with exact precision. Wolves moved across the area in silence, their movements sharp and practiced. Some trained in hand-to-hand drills, others shifted mid-run, sparring fluidly in both forms. No one stood idle. Everything had a purpose. Like the entire space was designed not just to test strength but to sharpen it.
And there was Christina.
She looked calm, dressed in black leggings, her hair in a braid. She gave me a gentle smile. “Morning.”
“Hi,” I said, already nervous.
“I’ll be with you today,” she said kindly. “Just a few basics.”
Tristan nodded to her, then turned to me. “I’ll check in later.”
“Wait, you’re leaving me already?”
“You’ll be fine.”
I sighed and turned to Christina. “Okay. Go easy on me. I’m fragile. Like… really,really fragile.”
She laughed softly and waved me over.
To my surprise, the first few minutes were... kind of okay. Christina was patient, guiding me through some stretches and showing me basic stances. Her voice was calm and her corrections were light and encouraging. When I got something wrong—which was often—she simply showed me again. No judgment.
The other wolves trained nearby, focused on their own routines. And no one laughed. No one stared.
It felt... different.
Back home, I always felt like the extra piece in a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. But here, I was being taught. Included.
After a while, I was sweating and breathing hard when Tristan reappeared at the edge of the mats.
“Breakfast?” he asked.
I nearly kissed the floor. “Oh, thank goodness.”
We left the center and walked toward the pack house. Inside, it was quiet, warm and smelled like fresh bread and cinnamon.
We sat at a smaller table near the window. A young omega brought over two trays. “For you, Alpha. Luna.”
I blinked.
Luna.
It landed like a pebble in my chest—small, but impossible to ignore.
I didn’t correct her. Didn’t flinch. Just gave her a small smile. “Thank you.”
She nodded shyly and walked off.
I looked at Tristan. “People here… they’re really polite.”
“You’re their Luna. They want to welcome you,” he said.
I blinked. “It’s weird. But nice.”
The rest of the day passed in a blur. I got a tour of the pack library, met a few council members who all addressed me politely and walked through more of the capital with Christina explaining where things were.
By the time we got back to the suite, I kicked off my shoes and collapsed face-first into the bed.
---
“Lily.”
“No.”
“Up.”
“No.”
“I’ll carry you.”
“I dare you.”
Suddenly, strong arms lifted me clean off the bed.
I squealed, hitting his shoulder. “Tristan! Put me down!”
He didn’t stop walking.“We are going to be late.”
“For what?!”
“Night training.”
“I just started morning training!” I protested, while hitting his shoulder. “This is excessive!”
He didn’t respond. Just kept walking— steady and unfazed, like this was perfectly normal behavior. His grip was secure, but not rough. Confident. Annoyingly confident.
I crossed my arms against his chest with a dramatic sigh. “I hope you know this counts as kidnapping.”
“You dared me,” he said calmly.
“That was sarcasm.”
We moved through the halls in silence after that. Thankfully, the corridors were empty. I didn’t see a single patrol or curious pack member. Maybe it was the late hour.
Whatever it was, I was glad no one saw me being hauled across the pack house like a rebellious toddler.
It should’ve been mortifying. And yet… it wasn’t.
It felt weirdly safe. Embarrassing, yes. But safe.
His chest was warm under my arms and I could hear the steady rhythm of his heart. It didn’t race like mine did. It stayed calm. Centered. Like how I always imagine it to be. I didn’t know what to do with that.
So instead of focusing on the way my skin was heating or how his scent was suddenly everywhere, I counted the tiles on the ceiling until we reached the training center.
Without warning,he sat me down on the mat in the training center like I was luggage. I glared at him through my sleepy haze.
“You said you wanted to fight better,” he said calmly.
“I also said I hated you.”
He smirked. “Good. Channel that.”
He didn’t hold back.
We sparred.
Well, he sparred. I flailed.
Tristan moved with infuriating ease. Blocking. Dodging. Correcting my stance mid-swing. I couldn’t land a hit to save my life but he didn’t mock me. Not once.
Every time I missed, he reset. Showed me again. Repeated the motion. Guiding my hand.
And I hated how warm that made me feel.
“How do you never lose your patience?” I gasped after my fiftieth failed jab.
He looked at me for a long moment, then said, “Because I see what you’re capable of. You just don’t yet.”
I stared at him, chest rising and falling. “That’s dangerously close to a compliment.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
He stepped back. “Again.”
I braced my feet.
And this time, I didn’t miss.
The wooden staff cracked against his side with a satisfying thump. Not hard. Not enough to hurt. But enough to make both of us pause.
Tristan blinked once, then looked down at the spot I’d hit.
I froze, half-expecting him to pull rank, scold me, tell me it was a fluke.
But instead...
He smiled.
Just a little. The real kind. The one that didn’t touch his mouth as much as it touched his eyes.
“Finally,” he murmured, voice low and a little proud.
I was still catching my breath. “Did I just… win?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
“But I hit you.”
“You did.”
I pointed at him with the staff like it was my trophy. “You’re going to regret encouraging me.”
“Doubtful,” he said, stepping closer, taking the staff from my hands with practiced ease. “You needed that.”
“And you needed humbling.”
He quirked a brow. “Is that what that was?”
I shrugged, trying to hide how fast my heart was beating. “Mild humiliation. Very healing.”
He didn’t answer. Just stood there for a moment, looking at me.
I looked away, suddenly aware of how quiet the training room was. Just the hum of the overhead lights. Our breathing. The faint echo of footsteps from earlier now long gone.
Tristan reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
I froze.
It was such a small thing.
Barely a touch.
I looked up at him, eyes meeting his.
Not guarded. Not smug. Just… him. And me.
Just two people standing too close and not moving away.
“You really think I can be good at this?” I asked quietly.
“I know you can.”
And he said it with such steady belief that I felt a little tug in my chest.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
His eyes flicked to my mouth, just for a second. Before he walked off.
I even thought I imagined it.
- Writer
