"Gideon's next move wasn't charm. It was a trap."
The smirk outside my window the night before hadn't been coincidence. By dawn's first light, when the Academy bells rang out across the stone courtyards and students began filing toward the dining hall for morning meal, he was already waiting for me.
I found him lounging against the weathered stone archway that led to the training grounds, positioned perfectly to intercept anyone heading to sword practice or archery lessons. His dark hair caught the early sunlight, and his expensive doublet of midnight blue velvet looked pristine despite the morning dew that dampened everything else.
"Just the two of us," Gideon said smoothly, his voice carrying that familiar note of silk over steel. "A private spar. Nothing more complicated than that." His golden eyes glittered with false innocence. "Unless, of course, you're afraid."
The challenge hung in the air between us like incense, heavy and impossible to ignore. His voice carried just loud enough for the passing students to hear-young wolves whose ears perked up at the first hint of conflict, whose whispers would spread through the Academy corridors like wildfire before the morning bells finished tolling.
He knew exactly what he was doing. Laying bait I couldn't refuse without losing face, positioning the challenge as a test of courage rather than the trap my instincts screamed it truly was.
My wolf bristled beneath my skin, eager for the confrontation, for the chance to prove once and for all that I wasn't some helpless doe waiting to be claimed. The predator in me wanted to accept immediately, to show him and everyone watching that Elara Bennett bowed to no one.
But beneath the wolf's eagerness, another voice whispered warnings-quieter but insistent. Trap. Trap. Trap.
I folded my arms across my chest, keeping my expression carefully neutral. "What's the real point of this duel, Gideon? We both know you don't challenge people without an agenda."
His head tilted slightly, that practiced smile widening to show perfect white teeth. "Strength deserves to be tested, don't you think? You've proven yourself capable against Darius Fenrir-quite impressively, I might add. Now let's see if you can handle a real challenge."
The casual mention of Darius's name made the mate bond flare to painful life in my chest. Heat raced along my ribs like molten metal, carrying with it the echo of golden eyes blazing with fury, of a voice rough with barely controlled violence whispering threats through our connection.
If he touches you, I'll burn his world down.
I swallowed hard, pushing down the memory. This wasn't about Darius or the complicated tangle of emotions that bound us together. This was about me-about proving that I could stand on my own without hiding behind anyone's protection.
"I'll think about it," I said finally, turning away from his expectant gaze.
"Oh, you'll come." His voice followed me across the cobblestones, smug with certainty. "I can see it in your eyes, Elara. You're already imagining it-the feel of victory, the taste of proving yourself. You won't be able to resist."
The confidence in his tone made my skin crawl, but I didn't look back. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing how accurately he'd read me.
Caleb was waiting when I reached the library, his normally relaxed posture rigid with tension. Leather-bound books lay scattered across our usual table, but he wasn't reading them. Instead, he stood at the tall windows that overlooked the Academy gardens, his hands clasped behind his back in the stance of a soldier expecting bad news.
He didn't even turn around when my footsteps echoed across the stone floor. "Tell me you didn't agree to whatever trap he's setting now."
My spine stiffened at the assumption in his voice. "It's just a sparring match, Caleb. Nothing more sinister than that."
"There's no such thing as 'just' anything with Gideon Wicke." He spun to face me, brown eyes blazing with unusual heat. A leather-bound tome slammed shut under his palm, the sound echoing through the hushed library like a thunderclap. "He's dangerous, Elara. More dangerous than you want to admit. You keep walking straight into his games, and one of these times, you won't walk back out."
His frustration cut deeper than I cared to acknowledge. Caleb rarely lost his temper-his steady reliability was one of the things I valued most about our friendship. Seeing him this agitated should have been a warning in itself.
But pride held my tongue captive, made my chin lift in defiance. "If I back down now, if I let him think I'm too frightened to face him, it proves everything the whispers say about me. That I'm weak. That I don't belong here. I won't be seen that way."
Caleb shook his head, running frustrated fingers through his sandy hair. "Strength isn't about walking into every fire you see, Elara. Sometimes the bravest thing is recognizing a trap and refusing to step into it."
His words made sense-they always did. But they couldn't overcome the burning need in my chest to prove myself, to show everyone that I was more than just a rejected mate or a charity case the Academy had taken pity on.
He didn't try to stop me when I left the library. But I could feel his disapproval following me like a shadow.
That night, under the pale wash of moonlight that turned the Academy grounds silver, I stood across from Gideon in the practice arena. The space was empty of spectators, quiet except for the distant sound of wind through the ancient oak trees that bordered the training grounds. Fresh sand had been raked smooth beneath our feet, unmarked by the day's lessons.
Torches burned in iron sconces around the arena's perimeter, casting dancing shadows that made everything seem fluid, uncertain. The flames hissed and crackled in the night breeze, sending sparks spiraling up toward the star-scattered sky.
Gideon had changed into practice leathers-supple black that fit him like a second skin, expensive enough to make most Academy students weep with envy. He rolled his shoulders lazily, stretching like a great cat preparing to hunt.
"No audience tonight," he observed, circling me with predatory grace. "No pressure from watching eyes. Just you and me, testing ourselves against each other."
My wolf pressed against my ribs, restless and uneasy. Something about the way his gaze lingered on my face, the way his steps dragged deliberately slow around the arena's edge-it set every instinct I possessed screaming warnings.
The torchlight caught the amber flecks in his brown eyes, made them gleam like polished coins. His smile was sharp enough to cut glass.
Still, I lifted my chin and fell into a fighting stance. "Then let's get on with it."
He moved first, lunging forward with fluid speed that caught me off guard. I dodged sideways, feeling the rush of displaced air from his strike graze past my cheek like a caress. My wolf surged toward the surface, claws scratching beneath my skin, begging to be released.
I met him move for move-strikes sharp and precise, dodges cleaner than my doubts. But as the fight progressed, I began to notice something disturbing about his technique. Gideon wasn't fighting to win fairly. Every blow was calculated to drive me backward, every feint designed to back me into positions where escape became increasingly difficult.
The realization came too late.
He swept my legs from beneath me with a move that was more wrestling than proper sparring. Before I could recover my balance, his weight crashed down, pinning me to the sand. His hands captured my wrists, pressing them above my head with enough force to make my bones ache.
His body hovered just close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from his skin, could smell the musk of his wolf mixed with expensive oils. The position was intimate, threatening, designed to make me feel helpless and small.
His smile curved sharp in the moonlight, predatory satisfaction gleaming in his eyes.
"Yield," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear. "And I'll make it worth your while."