And then the faint scent of old blood fills my nose.
Beneath my hands, there’s hard-packed dirt.
Not again,is all I can think.No, no, no.
My heart thuds loudly in my ears as I sit up, opening my eyes.
I’m no longer dreaming, and I’m no longer in my room. This is real.
I’m exactly where I was last time, in the very center of the arena floor. But something is slightly different. The usual disorientation that takes me during these episodes is absent, replaced by unsettling clarity.
The moon casts perfect patches of light through the glass ceiling above my head, but around those patches of clarity, strange shadows creep across the earth. At their very edges, they look like they’re… shivering. Trembling like a spider’s legs.
I push myself to my hands and knees, focusing on my breaths. But my own shadow doesn’t seem to follow my movements precisely. Or so I thought, but when I blink, it’s right where it belongs.
Through our bond, Anassa’s alertness spikes. She can sense this, too, then.
“Be careful,”she warns, voice quieter than usual.
I squint into the surrounding darkness. Below me, I can see the center of the draining system again. But as I slide my foot forward to try to find my feet, the angle of the moonlight shifts just enough that something glints in the dark. I lean forward again, peering below.
There’s something metallic. Definitely gold. I press myself to the ground, straining. Beside that glint of metal, there’s a shimmering stone. Opalescent.
And is that… the curve of a wolf’s head?
I shift my weight and push my fingers carefully through the hole, grunting as I reach for the vague shapes lurking down there. I can’t say why.
Generally, I’d avoid sticking my entire arm into strange places. But there’s an almost instinctual need thrumming in my mind. A pull, like a hand around my wrist dragging me in.
A sound echoes through the arena. Footsteps, I realize.
I jerk upright instantly, scrambling away from the drain. The rapid approach of someone else so late at night makes me suddenly certain that I’m not supposed to be here. Not supposed to see this. I can’t be caught.
Hastily, I head for the other side of the arena and slip into the shadows, which have mercifully fallen still. My mind races with questions.
Whatwas buried beneath the arena floor? Why does it feel like it’s drawing me in?
And why, as I flee through the halls, does it seem like death is on my heels?
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Training during the Proving period is both the same as the Forging—repetitive, arduous, dangerous—and very, very different. Most notably, we share training with other packs.
Every fuckingday.
It makes sense, we need to learn to work together efficiently. But it’s truly a curse to interact this much with Daemos, considering how many of them I’ve managed to piss off. Their Alpha, included.
Stark has been training me privately for two weeks now, and he seems to take profound pleasure in constantly pushing me to the breaking point. I end every day with sore ribs and aching muscles, having gotten my ass handed to me over and over.
As brutal as he’s been, though, I can tell I’m improving. I’m learning something.
Which is a lot more than I can say for any interactions I have with Daegan Prak, the Strategos Gamma who was recalled from the front to take over Egith’s instructor position. He has straw-colored hair and a worried-looking countenance.
Useless is too kind a descriptor for the man. He reminds me of Roddert, one of the other Strategos Rawbonds—rocks for brains. Maybe they’re related.
Today, Strategos and Daemos are together in the Daemos training yard for joint exercise where we’re meant to be tuning into our pack powers. We’ve been at it for thirty minutes.
“Strategos Rawbonds, move to the side,” Gamma Daegan commands, “and?—”
