Leader Aldrich goes on to introduce the rest of the instructors. “Alpha Stark Therion of Daemos was spared from the front to train you all to be the best fighters you can possibly be. Respect his wisdom and learn everything you can from him.”
He turns.
“Beta Egith Hartsfeld of Strategos is here to teach you battle strategy.” I can’t help but notice that her introduction was significantly shorter and without flair.
Guess Stark’s ass is the only one he’s interested in kissing.
He gestures to a pale man with a shock of blonde hair in his thirties. “Samson Whyte, Gamma of Kryptos, will teach you communication and concealment.” Finally, he nods to a middle-aged woman with olive skin and dark hair. “And Elinoor Gardner, Gamma of Phylax, will instruct you in history and pack dynamics.”
Aldrich continues his speech. “Now, as you all already know,” I’ve learned that this means I should expect him to say something absolutely insane, “this will be bloody.” Yep. “And though many of you will die in training exercises and in healthy competition, we do not condone violence in the pack quarters.”
So I won’t be murdered in my bunk at night. In theory.
“Believe it or not, you arevaluableto us and to the king. Our goal is for as many of you to survive this process as is possible. So behave yourselves outside of class. Violations will be harshly penalized.”
There’s a swell of murmurs in response to Aldrich’s admonishment.
Notkilling each other every chance we get? The horror!
It all quickly hushes, though, when Stark steps forward, powerful arms dropping to his sides. He doesn’t have to say a word for Aldrich to step aside and bow his head, a show of unusual deference. I thought Aldrich was in charge?
My skin prickles with terror and awareness as Stark’s night-black direwolf pads into the room from a wide door behind him. He doesn’t turn as the beast joins him on the stage, his wolf coming to stand behind him like his shadow.
The two of them swallow up the space. Stark’s presence is palpable, the entire auditorium growing heavier as his eyes move over the crowd and his wolf’s ears twitch forward.
“Your training has already started. It began the moment you touched that mountain. Your mistakes and your…weaknesses… have already been noted,” he says.
There he goes again, staring directly at me. He must have seen me struggle with Anassa. Or maybe he considers my messed-up hair a mark of failure. I checked again at breakfast—no one else has a full head of hair in their pack’s color. That dubious honor falls only to me.
I try to separate myself from his glare, but it’s like trying to read a book while sitting under a guillotine.
“Those of you not fit to run with a pack will die. Without question. Without mercy.”
I suppress my wince. Izabel’s hand smooths over my wrist in my lap. She’s not looking at me, but she’s clearly also noticed how obviously he’s glowering at me. Her touch does basically nothing to shield me from his hatred.
“But you know that. You’ve been practicing your entire lives for this… haven’t you?” he says, quirking a dark brow at me. I clench my jaw tightly. “You understand that these halls demand respect. Generations of your ancestors have walked the same path as Rawbonds, have fought the same battles, have practiced the same drills. They understood, every step they took to becomingtrueBonded, that this is survival of the fittest.”
He strides forward on the stage. “You’ve bonded with a direwolf now, and there is no going back. Hesitation and fear are out of the question. Cowardice will get you killed.”
Is there anything in this place thatwon’tget us killed?
“We dress you in thick leather, but make no mistake—if a wolf decides to tear you open, it’ll do nothing to stop their claws. If you want to keep your intestines where they belong, if you’re sentimentally attached to your limbs,step up. Fight to the top, because those struggling on the bottom end up in direwolf bellies.”
He makes a show of looking at the rest of the Rawbonds, but his eyes keep snapping back to me. His comments aboutsurvival of the fittest and generations of ancestors didn’t escape my notice.
He thinks I’m weak for my common blood, then.
It fills me with the sort of spitting, hissing fury that could get me killed if I don’t manage to wrangle it and direct it towards something useful rather than the classist, cruel man in front of me.
Still, something rises up in me at the sight of him and at those harsh words.
Rebellion. That’s what it is. A need to prove him wrong. A need to break his will before he can break mine. It’s that air of competition he projects. I breathe it in and my muscles buzz with the need to show the world that it can’t break me.
“You will have two months to prove pack loyalty, then two more months of combat training, and you will be watched every step of the way. Do everything in your power to prepare yourselves and your wolves for the Trials ahead.” He straightens. “Dismissed.”
The room erupts into motion. Rawbonds flood from their seats, fires lit under their asses by all the talk of disembowelment, no doubt. The instructors disband, too, heading out through different doors.
I grab Izabel’s arm. “I’ll catch up with you.”
