The first real snow of the season fell overnight.
By morning, the Northern Ridge training grounds had transformed into a white canvas marred only by the deep boot prints and claw tracks of those who had already begun their drills. Steam curled from bodies mid-shift. Blades flashed. Commands barked. The air thrummed with tension, movement, and purpose.
Lulu tightened the leather straps on her new uniform. Black, minimal, built for speed. She liked it more than she wanted to admit-it fit like it had been made for her, and the fabric was thick enough to shield her skin from the worst of the cold.
She stepped out into the ring with her head high and heart pounding.
No one said anything. No one moved.
Until Ryker did.
He strolled into the clearing from the lodge stairs, arms folded across his broad chest, eyes fixed on her with that infuriatingly unreadable expression. Behind him, Nyra gave a low whistle and adjusted her grip on her sparring staff.
"You're late," Ryker said flatly.
"I wasn't aware there was a schedule," Lulu replied, matching his tone.
"There is now," he smirked. "Form a line."
The wolves did. Twenty of them. Men and women of varying builds, all seasoned, all sharp. Lulu didn't know their names yet she knew how they moved. Like predators. Like soldiers. Like people who had survived more than they'd ever said aloud.
"Welcome to pack drills," Ryker said, voice cutting across the snow like a blade. "We train with and against each other. You fall behind, you fall out. You want a place here, you earn it with blood, sweat, and broken ribs. Understood?"
A resounding, "Yes, Alpha," filled the clearing.
Then his eyes flicked back to her. "New blood joins today."
Whispers rippled.
Lulu stepped forward.
"She doesn't have a partner," someone called from the left. "Who wants to break the Silver claw girl in?"
"I'll take her," Nyra said with a grin that could cut stone.
Lulu squared her shoulders. "Fine by me."
Ryker didn't interfere. He just stepped back and watched.
Nyra spun her staff once, then lunged.
Lulu ducked under the first blow, barely sidestepping the second. Snow sprayed as she pivoted, reaching for balance she hadn't fully regained.
Pain flared through her ribs as the third strike caught her side.
"Too slow," Nyra muttered.
Lulu snarled and countered, feinting low and spinning behind the taller woman. Her elbow grazed Nyra's back but she was already gone, turning sharply, bringing her staff down across Lulu's shoulder.
Lulu dropped to one knee.
"Get up," Nyra snapped.
She did.
Again and again.
Strike, fall, rise.
Until her vision blurred and the bruises stacked like layers under her skin.
Until her wolf, still half-silent within her, finally stirred.
Mine, it growled faintly. Ours. Not broken. Get up.
Lulu surged forward with a cry, tackling Nyra to the snow.
Gasps echoed around them.
She didn't land a clean hit, but it was enough to force Nyra back a step, enough for Ryker to finally raise a hand and say, "That's enough."
Breathing hard, Lulu wiped blood from her split lip and looked up.
Ryker was watching her like she was no longer just an outsider, no longer a mystery.
But a challenge.
Nyra clapped her on the back, hard enough to sting. "You fight like someone with nothing left to lose," she said, almost approvingly.
"I don't," Lulu replied, spitting red into the snow. "I've still got myself."
A few wolves murmured quietly. Others looked away with something close to respect.
"Cool down," Ryker barked. "Drills resume in twenty."
As the pack scattered, he approached her.
"You didn't have to bleed all over my training grounds to prove a point," he said casually, tossing her a canteen.
"I didn't do it for you."
"No," he agreed. "But you made them look twice. That's not nothing."
Lulu drank, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "So what am I now? Still new blood?"
Ryker smirked. "Now you're just blood."
Then he turned and walked away.
And for the first time since being rejected, discarded, and nearly frozen to death, Lulu felt something shift deep inside her.
She wasn't just surviving anymore.
She was starting to fight for something new.