Feral Alpha

The way every single person in the training center stops what they’re doing the second we enter is the real definition of awkward. Warriors. Betas. Omegas. Some pause mid-punch. Some drop their weights. Some scramble to straighten like they’ve been caught slacking but all of them stare.

I shift, uncomfortable, trying to put space between me and Killian. "Killian," I murmur under my breath. “Let go.”

He doesn’t. If anything, he pulls me closer. "Relax, Celestine." His voice is too low, too even. "You’re shaking."

I wasn’t. But now? Now, I am. Because **this—this moment, this attention, this unspoken question hanging in the air—**it’s too much. Before I can respond, Killian lifts his chin, his Alpha presence commanding the room without effort.

“Continue training,” he commands, his voice sharp, decisive. “I’m just showing my Luna how things work here.”

Luna.

The warriors exchange glances, but then—they nod. One by one, they return to their drills, but the air is still thick. I exhale slowly as we walk deeper into the center, my fingers unconsciously tightening around the fabric of my sleeves.

The last time I was here, this place was just an empty lot—a patch of dirt and a dream Killian once had.

But now—

Now, it’s real.

I take in the vast training grounds, the sanded sparring pits, the polished weapons racks. The air vibrates with the sound of warriors grunting, fists slamming against punching bags, the rhythmic clash of steel as they spar with sharpened blades.

This place is alive. It’s bigger. Stronger. A part of me—**the part that once dreamed of standing beside him, the part that used to belong to this pack—**wants to be impressed.

And against my will, I am.

I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until Killian clears his throat beside me.

"What do you think?" His voice is casual, but when I glance at him from the corner of my eye, he’s watching me closely.

I swallow. My lips part, hesitation crawling up my throat. “Y-You did all of this?”

Killian smirks. "Yup. Built it from the ground up. Although, I still need to provide some more equipment."

I don’t know what to say because no matter how much I hate him, no matter how much I want to resent everything he’s done—

This?

This is magnificent.

And I hate that I see it. I hate that, deep down, I know exactly why he did it. Killian has always been relentless. Ruthless. He doesn’t just want his pack to survive. He wants them to be feared. And looking around this place? I can tell he’s succeeded.

I can’t look at him for long. I look away, back to the arena, back to the warriors, to the place that’s become a testament to his control.

“It’s impressive,” I finally whisper, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

“Impressive,” Killian repeats with a low chuckle. “ You haven’t seen the fun part.”

Killian whistles and I barely have time to react before he reaches for his shirt. My eyes widen. Without taking his eyes off me, he undoes the first button. Then the second.

I know I should look away. I should turn, should walk away, should pretend I don’t care.

But my body—**traitorous, pathetic—**stays still.

The fabric slips from his shoulders, revealing bronzed skin stretched over sculpted muscle, a body carved from battle and blood and brutal discipline.

Then—he moves.

Without another word, he jumps down into the sanded pit.

The impact sends up a small cloud of dust, the scent of earth and sweat thick in the air. He lands easily, effortlessly, as the laws of gravity bend to him.

The moment he straightens, his dominance spreads through the arena like wildfire and the warriors gather around as if this is just sort of a drill.

What is happening?

Killian winked at me before he looked around and shouted, "Who wants to fight?"

A roar erupts through the crowd. The warriors move in closer, encircling the arena. They pound their fists against their chests. Stomp their feet against the ground. A sound that is raw, primal.

“Alpha! Alpha! Alpha!”

The ground trembles. Oh, goddess!  My jaw drops as he moves across the arena with an easy, predatory grace—like he was born for this, like the world bends to his will.

A slow ripple of excitement spreads through the gathered fighters. They want to see him fight. I don’t want to be impressed. I don’t want to stare. I don’t want to admire the way the light catches on his sweat-slicked skin, the sharp cut of his jaw, the sheer rawness of his presence.

But I do. Goddess, I do.

This is what makes Killian Storm dangerous.

A fighter steps forward—a towering wolf, broad and deadly, his stance measured but confident. Killian’s smirk widens.

"Good choice."

One second, he’s standing still, his expression carved from stone. The next—he’s everywhere at once. A blur of movement, a ruthless combination of strikes that land too quickly for me to track.

I suck in a sharp breath. Goddess. This isn’t fighting. This is annihilation.

The warrior barely manages to dodge a blow before Killian slams into him, sweeping his legs out from under him with terrifying ease. The crowd erupts, the thud of a body hitting the ground swallowed by their cheers.

Killian doesn’t give him time to recover. He’s already on him, knee pressing into his opponent’s chest, one forearm braced across his throat.

My lips part, my breathing shallow as I watch him force his opponent onto his knees. The warrior groans, his muscles trembling as he tries to push himself up.

But Killian just smiles. A slow, lazy smirk that says you were never going to win.

And then—his gaze flicks to me.

My stomach drops.

For a second—**a single, damning second—**I swear he does it on purpose. His gaze is still locked onto mine when the warrior lunges.

A fist. Aimed right for Killian’s face.

I don’t think. I don’t hesitate. The sound rips from my throat before I can stop it—

“Killian!”

It’s too late. The warrior’s fist connects. Killian’s head snaps to the side and the entire arena gasps.

For a moment, Killian doesn’t react. The impact rings through the arena, sharp and deafening. My breath catches, my heart pounding.

And then—Killian lifts his head. His storm-gray eyes are darker now. Darker than I’ve ever seen them.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Someone needs to stop him!”

However, his warriors step back as if indulging themselves to his anger will get them killed.

I’ve watched him fight before and I know where this is going. I move without thinking, stepping forward, ready to stop this before it’s too late—but a firm grip catches my wrist.

I gasp, twisting, only to find familiar golden eyes watching me with amusement.

Mason.

“Stay out of it, moonbeam,” he murmurs, his hold tightening just enough to keep me still. “He’s the Alpha for a reason.”

He smirks. “Nice to see you again, by the way.”