Raven POV:
Combat classes.
Just like the name promised, they were terror classes—at least for me. For everyone else? They treated it like some kind of thrilling game. Alpha kids and their egos, throw them in a field and tell them to beat each other up, and they act like it's Christmas morning. They loved it, throwing each other into the dirt with wide grins like it was playtime at the pack house. Me? I'd rather chew glass.
And as if the universe hated me just a little more today, combat class wasn't just with my group. No. It was a combined session, meaning the upper classes joined us too. And yes, fate decided to torture me personally because guess who was there?… her.
Yes. Megan. My bratty, perfect, step-sister who pranced around like she owned the air we breathed. Oh, and guess who else was in her class? The devil himself—Lucian. My personal tormentor, my nightmare with a smirk. And here's the part that really made my blood boil: Lucian doesn't treat them—the two bastards who share a roof with me—with the same contempt, hatred, and hostility that he throws at me every single day. No, apparently, his whole "I despise your existence" act is reserved only for me. Can you imagine? He saved that special contempt, that razor-edged disdain, for me alone. Lucky me. And don't get me started on his stupid pack of friends. Ugh.
Okay, I know, I'm rambling. Let me just tell you how it all went down.
There I was. Poor, unfortunate me, dragging myself to the field where combat was held.The open training ground stretched wide, dirt packed hard underfoot, ringed with wooden posts and sparring dummies. The air carried the tang of sweat and churned earth. Huge guys were already there—bigger than my usual classmates. Upper-class alphas, shoulders thick like they'd been carved from stone, smirking as they stretched or wrestled for fun. I felt like a twig in a forest of oak trees. And the moment I arrived to my class spot? Boom. My heart sank. Because towering out there weren't just my usual too-big classmates. Oh no. There were bigger guys. Monsters. Hulks. Upper-class alphas with bodies carved out of stone.
Times like this, I really hate being small. Short. Fragile-looking.
Naturally, my brilliant brain decided this was the wrong place.
I told myself: Hey, maybe you wandered into the wrong class. Definitely walked into the wrong class. So naturally, I decided to turn back and disappear before anyone noticed.
Ha. Yeah right.
"BLACKWOOD!"
The shout cracked across the field like thunder.
I froze. The instructor—this mountain of a man with muscles on top of muscles, chest puffed out, veins bulging from his neck—was glaring right at me. His voice boomed again, rattling my bones.
"So nice of you to finally grace us with your presence. You're late. Ten laps around the field!"
Excuse me? Ten laps? Did this man not get the memo? Did no one tell him I was at the nurse's office bleeding my nose off? I looked around desperately, hoping someone would speak up. My classmates were snickering behind their hands. Yeah. Of course they didn't say a word.
Now, let's be clear: running is not, and has never been, my thing. Blame my father for keeping me locked up like a porcelain doll. I've barely jogged a step in my life, let alone sprinted laps around a field.
I swear my knees wobbled. Me, run ten laps? My body wasn't built for this! I'd been locked up my entire life, no training, no stamina, no nothing. By the time I finished the first lap, I'd probably collapse face-first into the dirt, a sweaty panting disaster.
And then—bless his pure soul—the redhead from my class stood up. The same guy who'd been battling heads with my stupid wannabe brother Mark earlier in class. He raised his voice, steady and calm. "Sir, she was at the delta's office."
I almost cried. A real-life savior. A saint among wolves. For one brief moment, I almost believed the world wasn't completely cruel.
Of course, the universe didn't let that last.
But instead of thanking him, the instructor's eyes narrowed. "Scott! It seems you need to jog your brain as well. Fifteen laps for playing hero!"
I blinked. He got five more just for helping me? What kind of twisted justice was this?
Now I felt bad. Guilt punched me in the gut. He was being punished because of me.
And of course, the gorilla instructor wasn't done. "BLACKWOOD! Why are you still standing there? Do you want me to make it twenty?"
That jolted me. I squeaked and started running, my short legs carrying me in clumsy strides.
Scott—because apparently that's his name—came jogging alongside me, moving with such ease it was like my pathetic struggle was just a stroll in the park for him. Still, I managed to gasp out a, "Hey—thanks for trying to help me there. And I'm… really sorry you got in trouble."
He chuckled, running smooth as if he were taking a casual stroll. His red hair caught the sunlight as he grinned at me. "No problem. It was the truth. Say, if you're really sorry, why don't you take two of my laps? Then I only have thirteen instead of fifteen."
I missed a step, nearly face-planting into the dirt. My lungs screamed. Did he seriously just suggest that? Ten laps was already suicide for me. Another two? That was hell.
I guess my face betrayed every ounce of horror, because Scott burst out laughing. He actually had to bend over mid-run, clutching his stomach, nearly tripping from how hard he was laughing.
"Gods, I'm kidding," he wheezed. "But oh, Raven, your face—you looked like you were about to cry and pee at the same time."
That wasn't funny! Okay… maybe a little funny.
But still. Relief crashed over me that he wasn't serious. I was seconds away from telling him to bury me alive if he thought I'd survive twelve laps.
The instructor's roar cut through the moment. "Less talking! More running!"
Scott straightened, grinning. "Alright, Blackwood. Let me knock out five laps first. Then I'll come back and run with you."
And just like that, he surged forward, sprinting across the track like a bullet. His form was smooth, powerful, every stride eating the ground like it was nothing. Within seconds he left me behind.
"Lucky bastard," I muttered, dragging my feet forward. Sweat already clung to my forehead. My lungs burned. My legs screamed. I was barely into the second lap and it felt like the end of the world.
Okay. So maybe not all my classmates were assholes.
Meanwhile, alphas passed me like it was a casual jog in the park. Some sneered, a few laughed outright, and Megan's giggle rang clear like a bell of mockery. Of course she enjoyed this. Watching me suffer was her favorite pastime.
And Lucian? He didn't even laugh. He just watched. Cold. Amused. Like my struggling was entertainment.
I grit my teeth, eyes burning, and forced my legs to move.
One step. One breath. One more humiliating lap at a time.
Because that's what I did. Survive. Even if it killed me, I'd survive.