The training yard wasn't made for comfort.
Stone floor. Open air. No heat spells or soft mats. Just the wind, the dirt, and the sharp sting of truth.
"You're hesitating again," Isolde snapped.
"I'm trying," I growled.
"Trying won't save your child when the Council comes. Shift your stance."
I shifted.
Too slowly.
She lunged, and I landed flat on my back with a thud that knocked the breath from my lungs.
"You've got instincts," she said, circling me like a hawk. "But instincts without control are as useful as a broken sword."
---
I stood, panting. My muscles already ached from two hours of sparring, balance training, and claw manipulation. She'd made me walk blindfolded around a circle of scent traps, fight with weighted bracers, and meditate for thirty minutes while my wolf growled beneath my skin.
I hated her a little. I also respected her more than anyone else.
"You're holding back," she said.
"I'm not—"
"You are," she cut in. "Because you still think you're prey. That someone's going to decide what you are. Stop looking for permission."
I clenched my jaw. "You think I want to be like this?"
She stopped walking.
"No," Isolde said. "But you need to be. Because what's coming will break the weak. And you're not weak. You're just afraid of what happens when you stop being small."
---
She tossed a wooden blade at me.
"Again."
I caught it — barely — and dropped into a low stance.
This time when she moved, I met her halfway. Our blades clashed, the sound sharp and clean. I shifted right, then ducked left, trying to remember everything she'd drilled into me.
She parried, twisted, and drove me back.
I snarled — and something inside me surged.
Not rage. Power.
My blade flashed with a faint red glow.
Isolde's eyes widened.
Then she knocked the weapon from my hand and stepped back.
"That," she said, breathing hard, "was your magic."
---
I blinked.
"My what?"
She crouched beside the wooden blade, now scorched at the hilt.
"Bloodline wolves are more than fur and claws," she said. "The prophecy didn't just choose your womb, Celia. It chose your soul. That magic — it's protective. It flared when you feared losing."
"I didn't do anything."
"Your wolf did. Next time, let her."
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Again.
Lucien hadn't come to check on me since the Council meeting. And yet… I felt him near.
I found him on the tower balcony, staring at the stars like he was trying to read them.
"You're brooding," I said softly.
He didn't turn.
"You disobeyed Isolde," he replied.
"I was thirsty."
He finally looked at me. "You're bleeding."
I glanced down.
My knuckles were raw. Cracked.
"I didn't notice."
He moved toward me slowly.
"You can't fight with broken hands," he said, voice low.
"I can if I have to."
Lucien's fingers brushed my wrist — warm, gentle.
"You don't have to. Not alone."
---
I didn't pull away.
But I didn't move closer either.
"What are we doing, Lucien?" I asked.
His eyes searched mine.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I know I would kill for you. Die for you. And that terrifies me."
My throat tightened.
"Because of her?" I asked. "Because of your mate?"
He looked away.
"She's gone. And I buried that pain. But you—"
"What?"
"You're not like her," he said. "You're… chaos. And I can't ignore it."
---
We didn't kiss.
But something passed between us — something thicker than air. A tether pulled taut between two wolves circling the same fire.
He stepped back.
And left.
Again.
---
The next morning, Isolde upped the training.
We sparred with magic.
She taught me how to channel focus through breath, then emotion. She called it pulse discipline — the art of forcing your power through instinct.
I hated it.
It worked.
By midday, I could deflect a stun spell with my palm.
By nightfall, I could throw one back — uncontrolled, but potent.
---
Elsewhere, miles away, beneath a mountain temple carved in bone, a Council Seer's eyes rolled back.
She gasped, blood trickling from her nose.
"She's awakening," she rasped. "The Luna… the fire… she breathes."
The Council Elders stirred.
"She must be stopped."
---
Meanwhile, inside Lucien's keep, shadows moved where none should exist.
A servant girl — plain, quiet, ignored — passed through the corridor carrying bread and herbs.
But her eyes gleamed with something unnatural.
She paused outside Celia's chamber.
And whispered, "Target confirmed."
---
Hours later, Damien received the report in his private study.
The fire crackled beside him, but it did nothing to warm the black frost in his veins.
He read the parchment. Read it again.
> Subject has begun manifesting sigils.
Wolf likely bonded. Magic awakened.
Twins suspected. Lycan interference confirmed.
He smiled.
"Alive," he said to the messenger. "I want her taken alive. The child… children… will be raised under my crest."
"What of Lucien?"
Damien's eyes darkened.
"Kill him."
---
Back in the training yard, my limbs shook as I completed my seventh rep of stance shifting.
Isolde finally called a halt.
"You're pushing too hard," she said.
"I have to," I snapped.
"No," said a voice behind us. "You need to rest."
Lucien stepped onto the stone with Cain beside him.
Isolde stepped aside without question.
"I'm fine," I said.
Lucien's eyes said otherwise.
"You've burned through too much energy too fast," he said. "You'll collapse."
"I don't care."
"I do," he said.
And for the first time, in front of everyone, he touched my face.
Not possessively. Not gently.
But like it meant everything.
---
"Come," he said. "You've earned more than bruises today."
I let him guide me inside.
And this time, I didn't fight the warmth.