Five Pulls, One Wolf

Willow's pov

“You’ll kneel when you’re told.”

The instructor’s voice cut through the hall like a blade. “That is the point of this drill. Anyone who cannot submit will be removed.”

Power pressed down from every direction...Alpha supremacy layered thick enough to make breathing feel like work. 

Wolves filled the arena in ranked rows, their scents clashing, their gazes sharp with anticipation.

This wasn’t training. This was a reminder.

I scanned the ranking board and felt my stomach drop.

Rank E. 

That was the lowest tier.

A few wolves glanced back at me and smirked. Others looked away quickly, like weakness was contagious.

My wolf stirred uneasily. Angry.

“Low ranks forward,” the instructor ordered.

Before my pride could catch up, my legs moved. 

I stepped onto the marked circle at the center of the hall, awareness crawling up my spine as hundreds of eyes followed me. 

The runes carved into the floor pulsed faintly beneath my bare feet, humming low...designed to amplify influence and suppress resistance.

I hated it already.

“You will submit,” the instructor said calmly. “To any wolf of higher rank who approaches you.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

I swallowed. 

“And if I don’t?” the words rushed out of me before I could stop it. 

He looked at me like I was something foolish that needed correcting. “Then you’ll be forced.”

I bit hard on my lowest lip. My eyes caught the five powerful Blackfang Alphas. Zandro’s eyes met mine with a devilish smile. 

I swallowed. I won't kneel for him. Never. 

The first wolf stepped forward. Mid-rank. Broad shoulders. Smug smile.

“Kneel,” he said.

I did, with my head lowered. 

My wolf snarled in protest, claws scraping the inside of my ribs like it wanted out. 

My face burned as satisfaction rolled off him in waves.

“Good girl,” he said.

I stood too fast. 

Another wolf. Then another. Each command tasted worse than the last.

By the fourth submission, my hands were trembling from restraint.The more they pressed, the more it resisted.

Then Zandro stepped into the circle. He didn’t rush me. That was worse.

He stepped close enough that I could feel the need for him through the thin academy uniform, close enough that my lungs forgot how to work properly. 

His scent wrapped around me.  My wolf pressed forward.

“Kneel,” he said.

My body obeyed.

My wolf did not.

My thighs tightened. Something low and traitorous curled in my stomach, heat blooming where fear should have lived.

I hated it.

I tried to bend.

My wolf slammed its weight into my spine, holding me upright.

A gasp tore through the hall.

Zandro’s dominance surged...then fractured.

I felt it snap against me, folding inward violently, like he was strangling his own wolf to keep it from reacting.

His jaw clenched. His fists shook.

“What the hell...” someone whispered.

Zandro inhaled sharply, eyes darkening. 

“Again,” he growled.

I tried.

I really did.

My wolf bared its teeth.

No.

The word wasn’t mine, but it filled me completely.

Zandro staggered back a half step like he’d been struck.

The instructor moved forward. “Alpha Zandro...”

“Shut up,” Zandro snapped, voice rough with fury. “Something’s wrong.”

Zandro inhaled sharply, like he’d tasted something dangerous. 

Then he walked away from me.

Ronan was next. He didn’t bother to mask his reaction.

The second he stepped into my space, my breath hitched so hard it hurt.

His gaze dropped. Just briefly. To my mouth. 

To my throat.

My wolf surged, answering him without permission, and Ronan swore under his breath, hands clenching like he was fighting the urge to grab me and do something irreversible.

“Kneel,” he said, voice rough.

When I did, his reaction wasn’t satisfaction. It was hunger.

He turned away like the sight of me on my knees was too much.

Lucien didn’t loom. He crouched. The move brought his face level with mine, close enough that I could see the flecks of silver in his ice-blue eyes, close enough that his voice brushed my skin instead of striking it.

“Fascinating,” he murmured.

My skin prickled.

“You feel everything,” he continued softly. “But you don’t give anything away.”

His gaze lingered like he was undressing truths instead of clothes.

“Careful,” he added. “Men like us notice restraint.”

“That’s enough,” Alaric’s voice echoed. “She’s at her limit.”

The instructor bristled. “This is a drill...”

“And I outrank you,” Alaric cut in. “Back off.”

I had the sudden, terrifying thought that if I leaned into him, he’d let me.

That he’d hold me. That he’d fight anyone who tried to take me from him.

Nyx never touched me. He didn’t need to.

His gaze found mine from across the room, violet eyes burning with something dark and unreadable. 

The moment we locked eyes, the noise faded. My breathing slowed.

When my legs trembled, it was his presence that kept me upright.

Later, when he passed me, his voice brushed my ear like a secret. And the image of him kissing me flooded my mind. 

“You won’t survive this place by kneeling.”

Then he was gone.

Leaving my skin buzzing where he hadn’t touched me at all.

By the time the drill ended, my body felt like it no longer belonged to me.

Five different pulls. Five different hungers.

Zandro’s restraint.

Ronan’s fury.

Lucien’s curiosity.

Alaric’s protection.

Nyx’s quiet claim.

That night, I could feel them watching, lingering in my thoughts.

The most terrifying part wasn’t that they wanted me.

It was that my wolf didn’t want to choose.