The training grounds lay beyond the eastern wing of the fortress, carved into stone and shadow like a battlefield frozen in time. The air smelled of iron and earth, sweat and old blood soaked so deeply into the ground that no rain could wash it away. I stood at the edge of it, arms crossed tightly over my chest, staring at Ronan as if he were the enemy.
Which, in my mind, he still was.
"You're injured," I said flatly. "You expect me to fight in this condition?"
Ronan circled me slowly, assessing. His presence pressed against me like a storm waiting to break, but his voice remained calm. "You're healing faster than you realize."
"That doesn't mean I want to train," I snapped.
"You don't have to want it," he replied. "You have to survive."
The words struck deeper than I wanted them to. Survival had been my only constant since the betrayal. It was what had kept me moving when everything else fell apart. I tightened my fists, nails digging into my palms.
"Fine," I muttered. "But I won't take orders from you."
A corner of his mouth lifted faintly. "You already are."
Anger flared, sharp and familiar. Before I could stop myself, I lunged.
It was a mistake.
Ronan moved faster than I could track, sidestepping effortlessly and catching my wrist mid-swing. His grip was firm but not painful, his strength controlled with terrifying precision.
"Again," he said.
I snarled, wrenching my arm free and attacking once more, this time fueled by raw fury. Every strike carried the weight of betrayal, of grief, of rage I had never allowed myself to release. He blocked each one, countering without striking back, forcing me to adapt, to think.
"Stop holding back," he said quietly.
"I'm not—"
"You are," he cut in. "You've buried your strength because you're afraid of it."
That made me hesitate.
Afraid?
Before I could react, he swept my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, the impact rattling through my bones. Pain flared in my side, sharp and unforgiving.
Ronan was there instantly, crouching beside me. "Get up."
I glared at him. "I told you I'm injured."
"And I told you your body remembers how to fight," he replied. "So get up."
Something in his voice—firm, unyielding, but not cruel—made my wolf stir. I gritted my teeth and pushed myself to my feet, ignoring the ache burning through my muscles.
"Shift," he said.
I froze. "No."
"You're unbalanced," he continued. "Your wolf is restless. You're fighting her as much as you're fighting me."
"I won't lose control again."
"You won't," he said. "Not with me here."
The certainty in his words unsettled me more than any threat could have. My wolf pressed against my mind, eager, desperate to be free. I hesitated only a second longer before letting go.
The shift tore through me like fire.
Bones cracked, muscles reformed, senses sharpened violently. When it was over, I stood on four legs, silver-gray fur bristling, breath steaming in the cool air. The world was louder, clearer, sharper.
Ronan shifted a heartbeat later.
His Lycan form was massive, towering even over other alphas I had seen. Midnight-black fur streaked with silver, eyes blazing gold, power rolling off him in waves that made the ground beneath us tremble.
My wolf instinctively lowered her head—not in submission, but in awareness.
He is dangerous, she warned.
He is ours, another voice whispered.
I snarled, pushing that thought away.
"Attack," Ronan commanded.
I did.
This time, it was different. My movements were faster, more fluid, instinctual. Claws scraped against stone as I leapt, teeth snapping inches from his throat. He countered with ease, but not without effort. For the first time, I felt it—my own strength pushing back against his.
"Yes," he growled. "There it is."
The fight escalated quickly, a blur of fur and motion, power clashing against power. Every time he blocked or redirected me, he corrected my stance, my timing, my instincts. He wasn't trying to overpower me.
He was teaching me.
I lunged again, and this time, I landed a blow—my claws raking across his shoulder. The bond flared violently, heat surging through my chest, shock rippling through both of us.
We froze.
The air between us crackled, heavy and charged. I could feel his breath, his presence, the undeniable pull that tied us together. My wolf whined softly, confused and overwhelmed.
Ronan's gaze locked onto mine. "Do you feel that?"
"Yes," I snapped. "And I hate it."
His lips curved faintly. "Good."
Before I could respond, a sharp pain sliced through my abdomen. I staggered, dropping back into human form with a cry, clutching my stomach as dizziness washed over me.
Ronan was at my side instantly, catching me before I hit the ground. "What happened?"
"I don't know," I gasped. "It just… hurt."
His expression darkened, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. He lifted me effortlessly, carrying me toward the fortress.
"This is why you train," he said quietly. "Because whatever is tied to you… it's waking up."
I pressed my face into his chest, exhausted, terrified, and furious with myself for feeling safe there—even for a moment.
As consciousness faded, one thought echoed relentlessly in my mind:
Something inside me had shifted.
And whatever it was… it was no longer sleeping.