Chapter 9

LYRA

Our female packmates rush in, surrounding her, and their voices overlap. Orders, concern, panic. Within seconds, Tabitha is lifted and carried toward the med wing, leaving a thick silence in their wake.

Nessa’s eyes meet mine across the mat. She doesn’t look surprised. Just… thoughtful. Like she expected this. Like she saw it coming. And I hate it. My beast is still close to the surface. I know my eyes are glowing, and her emotions are still all over the place. I do have some semblance of control… which just means I haven't removed anyone's head or heart.

I try to take deep breaths. Watching the vulnerable positions of the women walking behind Tabitha. All the backs turned to me… all the exposed necks. 

“He’s going to hear about this.” Someone mutters from the side, pulling my attention from the sea of prey leaving the hall. 

I turn to face the line of male warriors across the floor, and their expressions range from wide-eyed shock to subtle winces of secondhand pain to full-on judgmental horror.

Well… fuck.

I didn’t mean to hurt her. It was supposed to be just a pin. Now she’s screaming all the way to the med wing, and I want to throw up. But I plaster on a shrug.

“Shit happens.” My voice doesn't sound like my own… It's deep and rough, laced with that of a beast, and I try my best to ignore how disgusting I sound, “Who's next?”

The training hall is buzzing with low voices when I step onto a clean mat. 

A growl rumbles in my chest when I feel the gazes tracking me, some sceptical, some amused, some… calculating. Are they still fucking doubting me?

I just crushed someone's bones, and somehow I’m still being underestimated?

What kind of women-deprecating shit goes on in this pack?

I sigh and shake my head. Then, the first warrior steps forward. He’s a brunette, broad-shouldered, thick-necked, and built like a freight train. He eyes my bloody claws. His gaze lingers on my canines before moving to my eyes. But the bastard’s smile is cocky, the kind that says he’s already decided I’ll last five seconds… ten if he’s feeling generous. 

As we square up, the air between us sharpens, charged with tension and silent judgment.

He lunges first. He's fast, clearly strong, and definitely aiming to overwhelm me with raw power. Idiot. 

I try to gain control of the beast, fighting as a human even in my partially shifted form. The urge to rip out his throat is right there…  it would be so easy…

He's constantly on the offensive, protecting his face somewhat, but his torso? One hand and I can slash him open. Gut him like a fish. 

He's giving me easy access. 

This idiot doubted me; he deserves to have his head completely sliced…

No… No biting, no slicing. 

I don’t block. I don’t try matching strength with strength. I keep moving. 

I duck low, sliding past his arm, and my leg sweeps out, catching his shin, barely touching it. Just enough to make him stumble. But I hear a slight crack… 

He grunts loudly, frustrated, spinning to grab me, but I’m already behind him again.

I slam my elbow into the base of his spine, another crack. He mutters a curse when I make contact, and a warrior in the ‘audience’ actually gasps. 

Fuck, Lyra. Take it easy. Be gentle!

I drop to the mat as he whirls, throwing a punch, and it misses by inches. When I spring up, I put one hand on his shoulder, my foot behind his knee, and I flip him backwards. But I hear a loud pop coming from his knee. 

The crash of his body hitting the mat echoes through the hall.

Amazingly, he’s still not done. He snarls loudly and rolls to his feet slowly. The man actually charges at me again. He’s limping, but well done to him. 

I should just put him out of his misery. Tear him… 

No. No tearing.

Just keep him down, without breaking him… even more.

This time, I meet him head-on.

I jump, wrap my legs around his neck, and twist, bringing us both down as I slam him into the mat with a force that makes even me wince when my knees hit the mat harder than expected. His throat is right there…

No…  focus on something else.

Look at the fucking ceiling if that helps. 

I take some time to assess my injuries… There is something seriously wrong with my knees right now. They’re swollen and look completely deformed. 

Kneecaps are definitely dislocated… should I pop them back into place or let them heal on their own?

I opt for the latter, waiting until I feel my body work its magic. It takes much longer to heal than the injuries Tabitha gave me, but I’m still healing much faster than the idiot below me.

Guess I should stop calling him an idiot. 

I look down when the guy groans. His eyes are dazed, and the wind is clearly knocked clean out of him when he tries to choke something out.

I close my eyes and wait a while longer. The minutes pass, I’m not even sure how many. The only sound in the hall is the guy’s laboured breathing. Which I should stop focusing on, right now. 

I slowly try to stand, testing whether I can straighten my legs. They’re definitely not perfect yet, but the beast is working to heal me ASAP. My knees tingle, but the beast keeps me upright. The bitch still wants blood. 

When the warrior finally catches his breath, I hold out a clawed hand to help him up… he doesn’t take it, and who can blame him? I imagine I don’t exactly look like a helping hand right now. 

When I lift my gaze to the others, a ripple of murmurs flows through the room, and the watching males exchange strange glances.

Fuck.

Please don't be scared. 

This is a military pack… the warriors should be able to fight anything. Besides, I've kept my claws and my teeth to myself, haven't I? 

I’ve done well.

And I'm proud of that. Something about this place, and the energy here. It makes my beast more… agreeable. She’s not completely losing it. 

The next warrior steps forward. He is tall, sandy-blond, and smiling. But before he can move, another male steps in beside him.

It’s the one I noticed before.

He’s beautiful in that devastating, rugged way that could ruin a girl’s life if she let him.

His expression is unreadable. Calm. Focused.

Alpha blood, I realise.

Delicious.

The two of them step into the ring like wolves called to the hunt.

Behind them, I catch a flicker of movement in the shadows. Rion, Zane’s Beta, is watching silently from a dark corner of the hall.

Perfect.

Let him see what I’m capable of. Let him report every detail to his brooding boss.

I roll my neck, stretch my arms overhead, and flash both men a smile that says I dare you. My canines are still on full display. I know my voice is still not back to normal, but right now… I don't care. 

Just don't kill anyone, Ly.

I feel my eyes flash even brighter at the challenge in front of me.

There are two male warriors moving across from me now. The one I already handled is still limping off the mat, supported by another, who winces in secondhand pain.

The sandy-blonde one, apparently named Noah from the cheers behind him, faces me with a scowl that says he thinks he’s got this.

And the sexy one is clearly named Xander. He’s got another warrior punching his shoulder and telling him to go easy on me.

What the hell?

Xander looks at me and his lips pull into a maddening, hot half-smile. His shoulder-length hair is pulled back, with loose strands framing cheekbones carved by the gods. Dark hair. Great jawline. Probably a walking red flag. Just my type.

And I’d be lying if I said the way he’s looking at me, like he wants to spar with me and bend me over something solid, doesn’t send a very sexy thrill through my stomach.

Focus, Ly.

Rolling my shoulders, I start circling the men slowly. I dig my claws into my palms, trying my best to focus on anything other than the way they look like prey, and my beast is one hell of a predator.

These two better bring their A-game.

“Don’t go easy on me,” I purr in my rough beast-voice. “I’m not fucking fragile.”

Another sexy smirk pulls at Xander's lips as watches me, and Noah moves first, charging straight for me like a battering ram.

Classic male move, right? Thinking that strength alone can win a sparring match against a woman. I stop myself from rolling my eyes.

I sidestep his attack. Just as he passes, I jump and spin, driving my elbow into the side of his neck.

There is a loud crack.

Damn. It wasn’t supposed to be that hard.

Why is he leaving his neck open anyway?

By now, I'm digging my claws so deep into my palms, I'm beginning to think they might impale my hands. But that’s alright.

My hit causes Noah to fall forward, and I grab his wrist before he hits the ground. I promise, I’m trying to hurt him more. I just want to stop him from breaking a leg, but of course I dislocate his shoulder in my heroic effort.

Just lovely.

I twist his other arm behind his back and push forward, just a little. Barely a shove.

And he face plants into the mat.

Gasps ripple through the training hall, and Noah coughs loudly. Sitting on his back, I pin his good wrist behind his back, while his other arm is lying useless on the floor beside him.

Taking my time, I scan his injuries… Fucked shoulder? Yes. Broken nose? Yeah…

And his good wrist is covered in blood.

I hold my breath, but as I study it closer, I realise it's just my blood. I take a sigh of relief, but as I look him over, Noah is still trying to break free. I don’t let him go. Instead, I move my eyes to Xander, who is still watching me from across the mat. His stance is relaxed, his arms crossed like he has all the time in the world to wait for me.

He’s not even seizing the opportunity where I’m just sitting on the mat. He’s actually waiting for his turn.

And with this one, I’m not sure if I find it hot or insulting.

Nope it should definitely be insulting.

Finally, Noah stops struggling, and mumbles that he yields.

From across the hall, I catch Beta Rion’s eyes again.

He’s already moving for the door, and his gaze flicks between my eyes, my canines, and my claws.

Honestly, I don’t even know what he’s going to tell Zane, but whatever it is, I hope it keeps that asshole up at night.

I stand up and move my eyes back to Xander.

He’s still smiling. Amused. Impressed.

And then he’s moving.

He’s damn fast. And not a brute force like Noah, but fluid, controlled, and almost… playful. He doesn’t try to overwhelm me with his strength. He doesn’t go straight for the attack. We circle each other for a bit, throwing a few jabs here and there. I see him testing my reactions, studying my reach, assessing my moves. So I do the same.

He swings low, aiming for my legs, but I jump. I twist mid-air and narrowly avoid the sweep.

My braid flies. He grabs for it.

Fuck that's dirty play… and so sexy…

But my braid drops just in time, and our bodies pass within inches. I have to admit, he smells divine. Like citrus and something darker. My beast definitely likes the smell, she has no intention of hurting this one. She likes him.

Apparently he gets a good whiff of my scent too, and he murmurs, “You smell good when you fight.”

“Keep flirting, I might start liking you,” I shoot back, and my voice is my own again. My claws have started to retract and my canines are back to normal. And my strength.

Dammit, if he attacks head on now, I'm fucked.

I curse my beast for what is probably the thousandth time, and pray to whatever goddess will listen, that I can take him.

He lunges again, and I twist, wrapping my legs around his waist for leverage. We slam into the mat together—me on top, straddling his hips, and his hands drop to my thighs.

I freeze for a second. So does he. And when our eyes meet, my heart races.

Then he grins.

“I yield.”

I blink. “What?”

He raises his hands beside his head. “I yield. You win.”

Laughter erupts around us.

I shove off him with a grunt, my face feels too hot, but I smirk anyway, and brush imaginary dust off my leggings.

“Next time,” I say, “at least try to win.”

He gets up and holds out his hand for me to shake.

When I do, he gives me a sexy wink.

“Next time then.”