Stefania: The Bride Wore Blood

The reason why I keep my feelings to myself, is because I can't explain them. Get over it. Try to get over it. If you can't, try harder. These are the things Terina has said to herself for years. But what was the limit to how hard she was allowed to try? She was reckless and didn't know how to express her feelings or know when she'd reached her threshold. She never knows when to stop, not now and not even then. Because you can't really say you're living when you live in constant anxiety. Dasikós, her training inn, was too quiet—oppressive, even. The only sound was the whisper of wind slipping through the half-open window, brushing cool fingers against Terina’s flushed skin. It lifted strands of her damp hair, teased her sweat-soaked shirt, and carried the scent of old wood, steel, and something more primal—her anger. The evening sun slanted through the panes, gilding her skin in light and fire, making the fine sheen of sweat across her collarbone shimmer like molten gold. Her body vibrated with strain, legs braced, arms tense, fingers white around the polished wood of her training pole— too tight. She needed control. Not just of the weapon, but of herself. Across from her stood Waldrom. Silent. Steady. Annoyingly still. She hated how calm he looked. How controlled. Like he wasn’t even trying. Terina’s muscles burned with effort, her palms aching as she shoved the wooden training pole forward, aiming for Waldrom’s shoulder. Her grip tightened, knuckles whitening. Her muscles screamed, palms burning as she pushed every ounce of power into the strikes. But Waldrom, infuriatingly composed, caught her wrist with ease. Just a shift of his hand, fingers clamping around her forearm, halting the blow with maddening ease. His grip wasn’t tight, just firm enough to keep the pole from reaching its mark. "Focus on your strength, not just your aim," he said, his voice maddeningly calm. “Strength without precision is wasted,” His other hand moved deliberately, guiding her pole away as if correcting a child’s grip. Her glare was sharp enough to cut. She planted her free hand on the base of the pole, pouring her weight into the thrust, breaking free.“I’m aiming just fine, I was aiming to break your bones.” she spat, the tension in her arms quivering. Waldrom’s mouth curved, just a little. Not a smile—more like a taunt wearing a smirk skin. “You’ll need to try harder than that.” The pole whipped through the air again, this time toward his ribs. He sidestepped with smooth, predatory grace, the arc of her swing slicing the space where he’d just been. “You’re slow today,” he murmured, circling her now, his tone like silk dragged across a blade. She spun, eyes narrowed, frustration bleeding into irritation. “Maybe I’m distracted by the fact that you never shut up.” Waldrom raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk. “And I thought you were supposed to be stealthy. You’ve been telegraphing your moves since the session started.” Her eyes narrowed at the insult, and without warning, she lunged. He caught the next swing mid-strike. The pole cracked against his palm with a thud that vibrated up her arm. His hand closed around it, warm and solid. Unmoving. “Predictable,” he said, his voice low and amused. That did it. Grinding her teeth, Terina spun on her heel and swung the pole in a wide arc, aiming for his ribs. Waldrom ducked smoothly, the movement bringing him close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off his skin. “You’re slow today,” he whispered, his voice a taunt that sent a shiver down her spine. Terina let out a growl—feral, wordless—and launched forward. She struck hard, fast, her pole a blur of sharp angles and ruthless precision. She stopped thinking, let her instincts take over. Every hit aimed to bruise, to unbalance, to punish. Waldrom parried, dodged, and met her with equal force. But the smirk was gone. His face had shifted, something sharp lighting behind his eyes. Not mockery now, interest. Hunger. “You’re finally awake,” he breathed. She didn’t answer, too focused on regaining the upper hand. She feinted left, then darted right, angling the pole toward his shoulder. Her chest heaved. She felt the heat from him every time he moved close, every dodge, every counterstrike. His body was all lean muscle and sharp control. He didn’t even sweat the same way. He glistened. Then his hand shot out, gripping the pole just below her fingers. Their eyes met, her fierce glare clashing with his infuriating smirk. “Wrong target again,” he said, his voice mocking. “Then maybe I should aim for your head,” she shot back, jerking the pole downward and wrenching it free from his grasp. She pivoted, driving the pole toward his chest with all her strength. Waldrom caught it effortlessly, the force of her attack pushing him back a step. “Good,” he said, his voice softer now. “But still not enough.” “Maybe you just enjoy being hit by me,” she retorted, yanking the pole back and twirling it with a practiced ease. “Maybe I enjoy seeing you try.” His words were laced with an undercurrent of something darker, something that made her pulse quicken despite herself. Her grip tightened on the pole, her knuckles whitening. “You’re insufferable.” “And you’re distracted,” he said, his hand darting out like lightning. He grabbed the pole near its base and pulled, dragging her closer until she was chest-to-chest with him. She gasped softly, her balance faltering. His free hand came up to steady her, resting lightly on her waist. She hated that she noticed. Hated more how her body reacted. Not wanting to be caught in his web, she pulled back to strike again. When she swung low, he blocked high. When she twisted right, he was already there. It was like a dance—the violent kind. Something dark and burning pulsed between them. Before she could pivot, he hooked the pole with his foot and dragged her backward. Her spine collided with his chest, the length of the training staff pressing across her torso. “Your grip is strong,” he murmured into her ear. His breath ghosted along her neck, cool against her overheated skin. “But you’re aiming at the wrong target. Focus. Strength isn’t enough if your mind isn’t in the fight.” Her heart thudded in her chest, not from exertion, but from the heat of his proximity. She shoved against him, breaking free from his grip and stepping back. “I’ll show you focus,” she said, her voice low and dangerous. Before he could respond, she lunged again, her movements a blur of speed and precision. She didn’t give him a chance to counter, her strikes coming faster and harder. She drove him back toward the wall, the pole a relentless force between them. For a moment, Waldrom faltered, his smirk slipping as he realized she was no longer holding back. Her blows were precise, each one aimed to disarm, to disable. But then, just as she thought she had him cornered, he ducked under her swing and spun behind her. He twisted his wrist and yanked the pole forward. The sudden movement sent her stumbling, the length of the pole pressing into her chest as her back slammed into his. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, and she gasped involuntarily. "Your grip is strong," he whispered, his breath brushing against her neck, "but you're focused on the wrong target." She went still, trembling with fury. And something else. Her heartbeat thudded so loud it drowned the wind. His presence loomed behind her like a shadow—warm, solid, and inescapable. “I should snap your damn neck,” she spat, yanking the pole free with a savage twist. She spun, elbow raised, but he caught her again—hands fast, fingers digging into her hips to steady her. Their bodies collided, locked tight. Chest to chest. Mouth-to-mouth if she just tilted her head a little— “You fight angry,” he said, low and rough now. “You burn hot. Uncontrolled.” Her eyes flared. “That’s rich coming from you.” He leaned in, just enough for his lips to brush her ear. “It’s not anger, Red.” And goddess, the way he said it—like it was a sin he was dying to commit. She shoved him hard. He let her. Her pulse was chaos. Her skin burned. “You’re disgusting,” she hissed. “You’re hot when you hate me,” he said simply. No smirk. Just the truth. That made it worse. She turned away, stalking toward the bench. Her body still thrummed from the fight, her fingers shaking as she yanked the towel over her shoulders. Waldrom didn’t move. Just watched her. Like he was still fighting her, even now. Terina didn’t look at him as she grabbed her bag. “We’re done.” “Really?” he replied, voice like stone. “I say when we’re done.” She snorted. “Then find another toy to play king with. I’m leaving.” As she stormed toward the washroom, his voice followed her. “Running away?” She didn’t turn around. “I don’t run. I lost interest.” The door slammed. And still, Waldrom stood there. Alone now, chest rising and falling like he’d just come down from battle—or something worse. Every move she made in the training room was calculated and precise, designed to unnerve and dominate. If he was honest, she didn't need the training even the King knew that, but he could help grow her powers. Outside of battle, she carried herself with a casual disinterest that made him feel like a child chasing after someone who refused to acknowledge him. She hated him. He could still smell her on his skin. Still feel the ghost of her body pressed against his. He wanted her. Not just her body—though that too, gods yes—but her rage. Her fight. Her spark. All will be damned if Kazimir finds out. A thought that, unsurprisingly, didn't scare him but made him smirk instead. The inn shimmered with a faint golden light as Terina muttered the incantation, her fingers tracing intricate symbols in the air. The spell snapped into place like a lock clicking shut. She sighed, pressing her phone to her ear. The line buzzed once before connecting. “Manya, are you done for the day?” Terina asked, her voice casual, though her gaze flicked around her surroundings as if expecting a shadow to emerge. “Yes,” Manya replied flatly, barely glancing up from the logbook in front of her. Terina rolled her eyes. The girl was always like this—dry, detached, as if the world didn’t deserve her enthusiasm. “Are you still at the jewelry store?” Terina pressed, her tone turning sharper. “Yes. Do you need something?” There was a pause, a hint of suspicion creeping into Manya’s voice. She wasn’t one for unnecessary calls. “No. Wait for me. I’m coming to you,” Terina hung up before Manya could say anything else. She sighed and slipped her phone into her pocket, her expression unreadable as always. The jewelry store was quiet, draped in soft gold light meant to flatter everything it touched. Outside, the sky had turned amber, and the street beyond the glass gleamed with city glow and movement. But Manya couldn’t have looked more unimpressed if she tried. She didn’t bother looking at the door, didn’t bother wondering when Terina would show. She kept punching numbers into the calculator with cold precision, the tapping of keys steady and unhurried. Her mind was elsewhere, a swirl of annoyance and unease she refused to show. “Are you done yet?” Thea’s voice broke through the silence, bright and curious. She leaned against the display counter, chin resting on her palm, grinning. “You’ve been punching those buttons like they owe you money.” Manya didn’t look up. “Numbers don’t calculate themselves.” she muttered, jotting down the final total in the ledger. “You’ve been at it so long I was starting to think you were carving the digits into stone,” Thea teased, undeterred. “Do you ever, like… chill?” “I’m working.” “Okay, but do you ever chill while working?” Manya closed the ledger, gathered the calculator, and headed to the back office without acknowledging the question. Thea followed like a shadow made of sunshine. “I mean, not that I don’t admire your whole ice-princess vibe. It’s very ‘don’t talk to me unless you have a purpose,’ and I respect that. But also, I am going to keep talking to you.” “That doesn’t make me responsible for listening.” Thea gasped playfully. “So cold. I’m obsessed.” Manya said nothing, slipping into the office, depositing the day’s accounts onto Mr. Anton’s desk, then returning with her bag slung over one shoulder. “Going somewhere?” Thea asked, eyes gleaming. “Tell me it’s something fun. You never do anything fun.” “I have someone picking me up.” Thea perked up instantly. “Ooooh, is it someone new? Or is it that guy who’s been standing outside like a walking romance novel cover?” Manya paused just long enough to glance through the glass. He was still there—leaning against the hood of the car, arms crossed, posture relaxed but undeniably alert. He hadn’t moved in one hour. He didn’t need to. It set her on edge. She should have known that Kazimir agreeing to her working would come with a condition. She was puzzled when she saw this man waiting for her outside Kazimir's residence with an instruction of taking her to and fro from work. She sighed. “He’s not mine,” she said simply. “He’s an inconvenience.” “Well, I’d gladly be inconvenienced by that,” Thea said, swooning dramatically. “He’s got that whole ‘brooding protector’ thing down. I mean—look at the shoulders. And the jawline. And the simmering emotional damage. All that dormant male energy wrapped in a package that says, ‘I’ll protect you but also ruin you.’ Who is he waiting for? His mate? Lucky mate…” “You’ve lived around lycans your whole life and still act like a lovestruck pup. You spend too much time fantasizing about strangers.” “Some of us need hobbies, Manya.” Manya’s phone buzzed in her hand. She answered without greeting. “You should be here already.” “Stop nagging. My car is literally right in front of you,” Terina snapped. Manya turned her head and spotted the sleek car pulling up to the store. Of course. “Daft,” she muttered, hanging up. She moved toward the exit, and—predictably—Thea scrambled to keep up. “Wait, is that Terina?” she asked, hurrying beside her. “Yes. Now stop gawking and go home.” “You’re not going to tell me what this is about, are you?” “No.” “Rude.” The door swung open with a soft chime, and the city sounds spilled in. Manya slid into the passenger seat without a word. Terina barely glanced at her as Thea hopped into the back, entirely uninvited. “What’s with the sudden chauffeur routine?” Manya asked, crossing her arms. Terina’s lips twitched. “Someone’s expecting us,” she said vaguely. Manya didn’t respond. She leaned her head against the window, shutting her eyes. Whatever Terina was dragging her into, it wasn’t going to be simple. And it definitely wasn’t going to be quiet—not with Thea in the backseat humming a pop song off-key like she was riding with best friends. Manya exhaled slowly. She already hated this.