009: Tensions At The Table

Killian’s POV

The hall smelled like roasted meat and sweat. Long wooden tables stretched from one end to the other, packed with boys who were loud and half-starved after training. Plates clanged, mugs slammed against wood, and laughter bounced off the stone walls. It was chaotic, but this was normal. This was Alpha Academy.

I walked in, boots heavy on the ground. My eyes scanned the room.

The Alpha Heirs sat in clumps. South Ridge boys clustered together, noisy as ever. The Moonrock twins were arm-wrestling. Everyone looked like they belonged. Strong shoulders, big mouths, louder egos. It didn’t matter where they came from. They carried pride like it was armor.

Then there was him.

Rowan Thorne.

He sat at the edge of the last table. Small. Quiet. Shoulders hunched. Head down like he was praying to disappear. His tray was barely touched. A slice of meat and some beans. Like he was afraid to eat too much.

My jaw clenched. My wolf stirred.

‘He’s here,’ my wolf growled. ‘Mate.’

I didn’t respond. I didn’t want to hear it.

A mate was supposed to be everything. Power. Fire. Balance. But this?

This was a joke.

He looked up. Just a second. His eyes found mine. And I felt it again. That pull. That heat in my chest that made no sense.

It pissed me off.

I walked toward him, slow. Purposeful. The way I always did when something needed fixing.

The table fell quiet.

I didn’t stop until I stood right in front of him. Right in front of the one person who was making me question everything.

“Stand up,” I said.

He froze.

A few heads turned. Plates paused. Forks hung midair.

He didn’t move fast enough.

“I said stand up!”

He shot up, too quickly, almost knocking over his tray. His eyes were still on the floor. He wouldn’t look at me.

That made it worse.

“What pack are you from?” I snapped.

His lips moved. “B-Blueclaw,” he said, voice awkwardly low. He was faking the tone. Anyone could tell.

I stepped closer. “What’s your rank?”

He hesitated. “Alpha heir.”

A few boys scoffed. One of the Grayfang boys let out a short laugh. “Could’ve fooled me.”

I ignored them. My eyes stayed locked on his face.

“And what are the first three laws of pack leadership?” I asked.

His mouth opened. Closed.

Nothing.

“You don’t know?” I said, louder.

More laughter now. The tables behind him were shaking from it.

He looked like he wanted to disappear.

“Rule number one,” I barked, “is that an Alpha knows his damn laws. Rule number two, he doesn’t cower like a kicked pup. And rule number three…” I leaned in, “he earns his place.”

I grabbed his tray. His eyes widened.

“Wait,” he whispered.

I didn’t. I walked to the nearest bin and dumped the food in. Every single bit.

The hall erupted.

Laughter. Slapping of tables. Some of the boys cheered like I’d won a damn wrestling match.

I turned back to him.

He was still standing. Still looking at the empty tray.

His jaw clenched. Just slightly. His fists too.

He looked up at me then. Just a second. There was something in his eyes.

Hurt.

Real hurt.

But he swallowed it. Just like that.

“Why?” he asked. Quiet, but there. “Why did you do that?”

I didn’t blink.

“It’s part of training,” I said coldly. “Get stronger. Or go home.”

Then I turned.

I didn’t wait for an answer. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t.

Because if I did, I might see more than weakness in that boy.

I might see myself.

And I couldn’t let that happen.

I walked away from the table after dumping his food, rage boiling under my skin. I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I could feel him...Rowan Thorne...burning behind me. My wolf was pacing, growling low, restless in a way I hated.

“What the hell was that?” Blaine muttered under his breath, watching me with a half-smirk. “Kid’s face looked like he wanted to disappear.”

“Let him,” I muttered. “He doesn’t belong here.”

But my eyes still dragged back to him.

He hadn’t moved. Still frozen in front of the table. Shoulders hunched, hands clenched, like if he moved the wrong way, he’d crack in half. My jaw clenched.

He was too quiet. Too stiff. The others weren’t wrong...he didn’t move like an Alpha heir. Didn’t fight like one. Didn’t talk. Didn’t smell like one.

So what the hell was he doing here?

The hall buzzed again. Laughter, chatter, cutlery scraping against plates. Some boys shot glances his way. A few chuckled. One even mimicked his stiff posture. I didn’t stop them.

“Hey!” one of the boys from Redfang barked out, “Blueclaw heir...did your tongue fall out, or did the rogues take that too?”

Snickers broke out.

I turned back around, watching from the edge of the table. Rowan didn’t look up. He slowly slid back into his seat, head still low. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t touch his second tray of food.

It pissed me off more than it should’ve.

I slammed my hand on the table.

“Outside!” I barked.

Every heir froze. Heads snapped up.

“In the yard. Now. Ten laps. Then sparring.”

No one argued. They all got up fast.

Even Rowan.

…

The sun was hot...too hot. Dust flew with every stomp of boots as they ran. My voice echoed across the field as I paced the edge of the track.

“Faster!”

Some boys groaned.

“Do you want to lead packs, or sit in rocking chairs like your grandmothers? MOVE!”

They picked up the pace. Rowan was in the back. He ran like his lungs were on fire.

My chest tightened. My wolf growled.

“Pick it up, Blueclaw!”

He stumbled. Caught himself. Kept going.

Some of the heirs exchanged looks.

“Ten push-ups. Now!” I shouted.

They dropped. Dirt smeared into their palms, sweat running down their faces. Rowan’s arms shook. He was struggling.

“Your father should’ve trained you better,” I muttered to myself.

But something in me snapped when he finally collapsed on the last push-up, chest hitting the dirt.

I walked over.

“Get up.”

He tried. Failed.

I reached down and yanked him up by the collar. His eyes widened. My nose nearly touched his. His pulse was a hammer in his throat.

“Why are you even here?” I hissed.

He didn’t answer. Just stared at me. Breathing heavy. Face flushed.

My grip tightened. “Say something.”

He swallowed. Looked like he wanted to speak...but nothing came out.

“Can’t talk? Or just don’t want to?”

Still no answer.

I shoved him back. He fell into the dirt again.

Blaine and a few others laughed.

I turned around and stormed back to the line.

“Back in pairs! We spar again. First blood wins.”

They obeyed. Rowan stood last, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His eyes burned...but not with tears.

With something else.

Anger.

He got paired with a new heir this time...Laz from the Duskclaw pack. Arrogant bastard. Always trying to show off.

“Don’t worry,” Laz said, spinning his staff. “I’ll go easy. Wouldn’t want Blueclaw’s last heir dying on us.”

More laughter.

Rowan didn’t flinch.

The match began.

It was ugly.

Laz swung hard. Rowan dodged barely. Got clipped. Stumbled. Fumbled the staff in his hand. Tripped. Got hit again. Fell.

Laz raised his arms like he’d already won.

But then...

Rowan moved fast. Grabbed the staff from the dirt. Swung low.

Hit Laz’s legs. Clean.

The boy dropped.

Everyone stared.

Rowan stood, panting, chest heaving. His eyes locked on mine for just a second. Just one.

I looked away first.

“Enough,” I snapped. “Back to your dorms.”

They groaned but scattered.

Rowan didn’t move.

I walked over, slow.

He tensed.

I looked down at him.

“Next time,” I said low, “fight like you did just now from the start.”

He didn’t answer. But he didn’t look away either.

And something in my chest twisted.

I turned and left.

But I could still feel his stare burning into my back.

My wolf whispered, Mate.

And for the first time, I didn’t shut him out.