Chapter 13: Training with Caleb
963 Words
Caleb was a surprisingly brutal teacher.
"Again," he said for the fifteenth time, barely winded while I gasped for breath on the training mat.
I hauled myself up, wiping sweat from my eyes. "You're enjoying this too much."
"I really am." He grinned, circling me. "Marcus is usually too soft on you. Someone needs to push you properly."
"Marcus is not soft—"
Caleb swept my legs out from under me before I could finish. I hit the mat hard, the air leaving my lungs in a rush.
"Soft," he repeated, offering a hand to pull me up. "He can't stand seeing you hurt, even in training. I don't have that problem."
I took his hand, then used his momentum to flip him over my shoulder. He landed with a satisfying thud, shocked.
"Neither do I," I said sweetly.
He laughed, genuinely delighted. "There she is. The Silver Queen Marcus keeps talking about."
"He talks about me?"
"Constantly. It's actually annoying." Caleb stood, brushing himself off. "But also nice. I haven't seen him this... alive in years. You're good for him."
The praise made me uncomfortable in a warm way. "He's good for me too."
"I know. It's disgustingly perfect." He moved back into fighting stance. "Now, let's work on your weak left side. You telegraph that punch every time."
We trained for another two hours. Caleb was right—Marcus did go easier on me, probably unconsciously. Caleb had no such qualms. He pushed me hard, exposing every weakness, forcing me to adapt and improve.
By the time we finished, I was drenched in sweat and covered in bruises, but I'd landed more hits than I'd missed.
"Better," Caleb pronounced. "You're a fast learner. Another month and you'll be able to take on most Alphas."
"Most?"
"Marcus could still flatten you in thirty seconds. But then, he could flatten me in twenty, so." He tossed me a water bottle. "How are you adjusting? To all of this?"
I drank deeply before answering. "You mean to being a Royal Lycan? Or to dating your king?"
"Both. Either. Take your pick."
I sank onto a bench, considering. "The power part is... intense. It's like I spent twenty-two years wearing weights I didn't know were there, and now they're gone. I feel everything more—strength, speed, senses. My wolf is constant presence instead of distant whisper."
"And Marcus?"
"Terrifying," I admitted. "In the best way. I've never felt this way about anyone. Even with Damien, when I thought it was love, it wasn't... this. This consuming."
Caleb sat beside me, his expression serious. "Can I give you some unsolicited advice?"
"Do I have a choice?"
"Not really." He smiled, but it faded quickly. "Marcus hasn't let anyone close in a decade. He's been king, been leader, been symbol. But he hasn't been just... Marcus. You make him remember he's more than the crown."
"Where are you going with this?"
"I'm saying he'll try to protect you from everything, including himself. He'll push you away if he thinks being with him puts you in danger. Don't let him." Caleb met my eyes. "You're stronger than he gives you credit for. Make him see that."
Before I could respond, Marcus's voice came from the doorway. "Talking about me, Caleb?"
We both turned. Marcus leaned against the frame, arms crossed, expression unreadable. How long had he been there?
"Always," Caleb said easily. "Someone has to keep your ego in check."
"How was the council meeting?" I asked, standing.
Marcus's expression darkened. "Frustrating. Roth is being unreasonable, and the elders are divided." His eyes swept over me, taking in my disheveled, sweaty appearance. "Caleb worked you hard."
"She worked me harder," Caleb protested. "She's gotten scary good."
Pride flickered in Marcus's eyes. "Show me."
"Now?" I gestured at myself. "I'm exhausted."
"Exactly. You need to learn to fight when you're tired. Battles don't wait for you to be rested." He moved to the center of the mat. "Come on, little wolf. Show me what Caleb taught you."
The challenge in his voice sparked something competitive in me. I moved to face him, falling into the defensive stance Caleb had drilled into me.
Marcus didn't hold back.
He came at me fast, testing my reflexes. I blocked, ducked, countered. My exhausted muscles screamed, but I pushed through, using technique instead of strength. Caleb had taught me to anticipate, to read body language.
I saw Marcus's weight shift and knew he was going for a leg sweep. Instead of dodging, I jumped, using his motion to propel myself over him, landing behind him.
For just a second, I had the advantage.
Then he spun, catching my wrist and pulling me against him. We stood there, both breathing hard, his arm around my waist.
"Impressive," he murmured, eyes dark. "You've improved."
"I have a good teacher." I was hyperaware of how close we were, how Caleb was still watching from the sidelines.
"Teachers," Marcus corrected. "Both of us." He didn't let go. "You're stronger than you think, Emma. Don't forget that."
There was weight to his words, like he was talking about more than just fighting.
"I won't," I promised.
He kissed me then, quick and possessive, before stepping back. "Caleb, thank you for training her. Same time tomorrow?"
"If she can walk tomorrow," Caleb said cheerfully. "She's going to be sore."
"I'll survive," I muttered.
"Come on." Marcus offered his hand. "You need food and a hot bath. Not necessarily in that order."
As we left the training room, his hand warm in mine, I caught Caleb's knowing smile. He gave me a subtle nod—a reminder of his words.
Don't let Marcus push me away. Fight for this. For us.
I squeezed Marcus's hand tighter.
I would.
- Writer
