Chapter 1
Kaliya
A single droplet of sweat trailed down the side of my face, working its way from my pale blonde hairline to my clenched jaw. Hands flexed on the hilts of my blunted practice swords, fingers stretching to relieve the pressure and adjust my sweaty grip. Heart pounding, breath slow and even. Across the fighting ring, four male opponents were just collecting themselves from the heap I’d left in my wake. Their combined scent drifted across the ring, sour with frustration. My eyes narrowed in the mid-morning sun, waiting for the last one to regain his feet. They all watched me with trepidation, perhaps hoping I was done with training for the day and they could go home to lick their wounds in peace.
No such luck.
“Again,” I growled.
Emory spoke up behind me, where he remained safely outside the training area. “Kaliya, don’t you think they’ve had enough?” His voice was gentle; suggesting, not commanding. He knew better than to challenge me.
I ignored him. Raising my swords over my head, I clanged them together and shouted, “AGAIN!”
A collective sigh rose from the males as they girded themselves for another attack. I brandished my swords at my sides, a feral grin curling my lips as I waited for them to approach. This time they rushed me as one, maybe hoping they would land a blow with so many swords flying at me simultaneously. I swirled through them like a hurricane, striking and dodging, stabbing and weaving. I struck several blows that would have killed the recipient if I wielded my lightning swords. According to the rules of engagement in the training ring, they should have stayed down, but I didn’t mind if they hopped back in the fray; I’d just knock them down again.
One of the males apparently had enough of this humiliation. With a savage growl he burst from his training clothes, unleashing his wolf in an embarrassing lack of control. At over twice his human size, the mass of mottled brown fur and pearly white teeth was impressive. His ears lay flat on his head and he snarled at me, slaver dribbling from his jaw as we circled each other, my other opponents ignored.
The rest of the males immediately retreated to safety outside the training ring. They probably assumed I’d shift in response; it wasn’t an unreasonable expectation, given that’s what most wolves would do when faced with such a direct challenge.
However, I wasn’t in the mood to kill anyone today. My wolf remained firmly in my control.
She growled in frustration, the sound vibrating in my chest. She rarely got to come out and play, and my refusal to respond to a direct challenge tortured her wild soul. Especially since she’d have this pup bent and submitted—if not broken—in seconds.
The wolf feinted left, tongue curling and jaws snapping as he tested my reactions. His dark eyes watched me; mine never strayed, steadily holding his gaze as we circled.
When he realized I would not shift, the wolf grew cocky, charging straight at me. I vaguely heard Emory’s sharp intake of breath as I crouched, leaping and twisting mid-air to land on the massive wolf’s back just behind his head. Flinging my useless weapons to the ground, I wrapped my right arm tightly around his furry throat, using my left to tighten the grip and hold myself in position while he writhed beneath me.
The wolf was stuck; my legs wrapped around the barrel of his body, and my arm was cutting off his air supply. He attempted to shake me off, bucking and snarling as he ran out of oxygen. A sudden whimper escaped his throat and he collapsed on the ground, struggling to breathe. He whined loudly in surrender, but I held on until I was certain he passed out. When I felt the fur recede signaling his return to human form, I released him and stepped off his naked body. He was small and pathetic once more.
But luckily for him, still alive.
I walked away without a backward glance as the rest of the team hopped the wooden fence to check on their fallen comrade. Once they confirmed he was still breathing, the biggest one shouted angrily, “You psycho bitch! You could have killed him!”
I stooped to grab one of my practice swords, calmly wiping the flat of the blade on my leather pant leg. “He should have thought of that before he shifted during a training session and challenged a stronger wolf. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him.”
“You’re full of shit,” he snorted. “I bet any of us could take you; you just don’t want anyone to see your freak of a wolf. No wonder you spent so much time learning sword fighting; your wolf just isn’t up for the challenge of a real male. Frigid bitch.”
I finished collecting and cleaning my second sword, ignoring the angry snarl of my wolf. It wouldn’t help anyone to give in to his goading, I reminded myself. Focusing on my control, I breathed in deeply and resolved to ignore the taunting.
However, I forgot that we had an audience.
A pale streak crossed my vision in the taunter's direction. Shit.
The sound of fist meeting face seemed to echo in the suddenly silent training arena. “You fucking apologize, pup!” Emory shouted.
Sighing, I turned just in time to see the much stronger man hit Emory with an uppercut so hard his head snapped backward, lean frame flying several feet until his unconscious body landed in the dirt.
My wolf strained at my control, and I narrowly kept her within the reins as I charged the taunter, spinning behind him and knocking the bully to his knees with a swift kick. Placing one knee on his back, I scissored his neck between my swords. “There is no honor in beating a weaker foe,” I hissed. “But for you, I may make an exception. It seems you have not yet learned your lesson.”
“He attacked me first!” He choked out. The training swords were blunted, so they didn’t slice his flesh to ribbons. But the pressure of the steel on his neck was still uncomfortable enough to make him rethink his position. He held perfectly still, his scent tainted with the bitter tang of fear.
“He’s not a challenge to you,” I growled, “As you are well aware. You beat him because you could. That is a sign of weakness and cowardice, not strength. You’re a pathetic excuse for a warrior.” I withdrew my swords and the knee from his back, then gave him a sharp kick that sent him sprawling in the dirt. “Don’t ask for my help again until you know your place.”
Emory was just stirring when I reached him, shaking dirt and bits of straw from his wavy brown hair. He grinned when I offered him a hand up, then winced. “Ow. He didn’t break my face, did he?” He rose and stretched, his lean frame half a foot taller than my five-foot-seven, before ducking his face closer to mine for inspection. The sweet, untainted scent of chocolate and cinnamon filled my senses, and I breathed him in with relief.
I lightly ran my fingers along his narrow jaw, pressing gently as I traced the sharp curve below his ear down to his adorably cleft chin and up the other side. “Nope, you’re not broken. It’ll swell up but you’ll be fine in a few hours, thank the Ancients.” I brushed my hands over his wide shoulders, helping to remove the dirt from his fall. “That was stupid, by the way,” I commented mildly. “You know he’s much more dominant than you, even as a pup.”
Emory shrugged, unapologetically re-rolling his sleeves. “He shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. You’re doing him and his pathetic friends a favor; they’re lucky you didn’t kill them all. If you would not defend yourself, someone had to.” His warm brown eyes met mine with a glint of mischief. “If your wolf wants to teach them a lesson, I could leave for a few minutes. By the time I get the healers and return, she should be about finished.”