Chapter 11

Proving Ground

Grace's POV

I stood in the preparation area behind the combat ring, my hands steady as I adjusted the leather bracers on my forearms. Around me, other competitors stretched and mentally prepared for their matches, but I barely noticed them. My focus was entirely internal, running through the breathing exercises Grandfather had drilled into me over the past three years.

*I can't believe I didn't crumble under his gaze.*

The thought kept circling through my mind. When I'd looked into Jace's eyes for the first time in three years, I'd expected to feel something—pain, anger, maybe even that pathetic flutter of attraction that had once made me stammer in his presence. Instead, I'd felt... nothing. Just the cold satisfaction of watching him realize exactly what he'd thrown away.

Three years. Three years of hell that had forged me into something unrecognizable.

The first year had been the hardest. Learning to live with the constant ache of a severed mate bond while simultaneously pushing my body beyond every limit I'd ever known. Grandfather hadn't shown me any mercy—if anything, he'd been harder on me than his other students because he knew I had more to prove.

*"Weakness is a choice,"* he'd told me during one particularly brutal training session when I'd collapsed after hours of combat drills. *"Your father was strong. Your mother was strong. Their daughter will be stronger than both of them combined, or she's no granddaughter of mine."*

The words had stung at the time, but they'd also lit a fire in my chest that had never gone out. Every morning when I woke before dawn to run the mountain trails. Every evening when I practiced forms until my muscles screamed. Every night when I fell into bed too exhausted to dream about dark eyes and cruel words—I'd done it all to become someone who could never be broken again.

By the second year, my body had transformed. The soft curves of adolescence had been replaced by lean muscle and calloused hands. I'd grown taller, my posture straightened by confidence and combat training. But more importantly, my mind had sharpened. Grandfather had taught me strategy, politics, the art of reading people and situations with the same precision I read an opponent's fighting stance.

*"An Alpha doesn't just lead through strength,"* he'd explained during one of our evening strategy sessions. *"They lead through intelligence, through understanding their enemies and allies better than those people understand themselves. Power without wisdom is just brutality."*

The third year had been about refinement. Taking everything I'd learned and honing it to a razor's edge. By then, I could hold my own against Grandfather's best warriors. I could negotiate trade agreements with visiting pack representatives. I could command a room full of experienced fighters with nothing but the tone of my voice.

But today was different. Today was the moment I'd been building toward since the day I'd opened my eyes in the Silver Moon medical center. Today, I would show every Alpha in the mountain territories exactly what Grace Silver was capable of.

And I was going to rank Alpha.

The thought should have been impossible. Female Alphas were rare, and those who achieved the ranking usually came from powerful bloodlines with generations of Alpha genetics. I was the orphaned daughter of a pack keeper and a woman who'd been cast out from her family.

But Grandfather had seen something in me that even I hadn't recognized at first.

*"Alpha isn't about bloodline,"* he'd said after watching me take down three of his warriors in a single sparring session. *"It's about will. It's about the refusal to accept defeat even when defeat seems certain. You have that, Grace. You've had it since you crawled to my gates more dead than alive."*

A horn sounded outside, signaling the next round of matches. I closed my eyes and ran through my mental checklist one more time. My body was ready—three years of training had given me speed, strength, and endurance that most wolves twice my age would envy. My mind was sharp, focused on victory with the single-minded intensity that had gotten me through every challenge of the past three years.

Most importantly, I was no longer fighting for survival. I was fighting for dominance.

The thought brought a smile to my lips—not the shy, hesitant expression I'd once worn, but something sharp and predatory that would have made the old Grace flinch in fear.

"Grace Silver to ring three," the announcer called.

I stood and rolled my shoulders, feeling the familiar looseness that came before a fight. Around me, other competitors watched with expressions ranging from curiosity to concern. They'd heard rumors about Marcus Silver's mysterious granddaughter, but rumors were nothing compared to reality.

As I walked toward the ring, I caught sight of the crowd through the entrance tunnel. Hundreds of wolves from dozens of packs, all here to witness the rank games and assess the strength of potential allies or enemies. My eyes found the Storm pack section automatically, and I felt that cold satisfaction again when I saw Jace leaning forward in his seat, his attention completely focused on me.

Good. Let him watch. Let him see exactly what he'd rejected.

My first opponent was already in the ring—a young man from the Redwood pack who looked strong and confident. Beta bloodline, probably, with the kind of natural athleticism that had always made me feel inadequate in my previous life.

Now, as I stepped into the ring and felt the energy of the crowd wash over me, I just felt... ready.

"Fighters, assume your positions," the referee called.

I moved to my mark with fluid grace, my stance loose and balanced. Across from me, my opponent shifted nervously as he took in my appearance. I could smell his uncertainty, the way his confidence wavered as he tried to reconcile what he'd expected with what he was seeing.

"This is a rank match between Grace Silver of Silver Moon pack and Derek Martinez of Redwood pack," the announcer's voice boomed across the amphitheater. "Combat continues until submission or incapacitation. Fighters ready?"

I nodded once, never taking my eyes off Derek's face. In my peripheral vision, I could see Grandfather in his reserved seat, his expression calm and confident. He believed in me. More importantly, I believed in myself.

"Begin!"

Derek came at me fast, probably hoping to overwhelm me with brute strength before I could establish my rhythm. It was a good strategy against most opponents.

I wasn't most opponents.

I sidestepped his rush with fluid grace, my hand snaking out to strike a pressure point at the base of his neck as he passed. He stumbled, his momentum carrying him past me, and I could hear the sharp intake of breath from the crowd.

*Too easy,* I thought, settling back into my stance as Derek spun to face me again.

The uncertainty in his scent had sharpened to alarm. He'd expected to face the weak, timid girl from the stories. Instead, he was looking at someone who moved like violence made flesh.

He circled me more carefully now, looking for an opening. I let him, content to wait and observe. Three years of training had taught me patience—the ability to let an opponent exhaust themselves while I conserved my strength for the killing blow.

Derek feinted left, then struck right with a punch that would have dropped most wolves. I caught his wrist and twisted, using his own momentum to send him crashing to the ground. Before he could recover, I was on him, my knee pressed against his throat with just enough pressure to make breathing difficult.

"Yield," I said quietly, my voice carrying clearly in the sudden silence of the amphitheater.

Derek's eyes were wide with shock and something that might have been fear. He tapped the ground twice—the universal signal of submission.

"Match to Grace Silver," the referee announced, but his voice sounded stunned.

I stood and offered Derek my hand, pulling him to his feet with easy strength. He was staring at me like I was some kind of mythical creature.

"Good match," I said with genuine respect. He'd been skilled—just not skilled enough.

As I walked toward the exit tunnel, the crowd's reaction hit me like a physical force. Whispers, gasps, the low murmur of wolves discussing what they'd just witnessed. I'd won my first match in under thirty seconds against a respectable Beta-ranked opponent.

And this was just the beginning.

I had six more matches to win before I could claim the Alpha ranking I'd been working toward. Six more opponents who would underestimate me because of who I used to be, not understanding who I'd become.

In the Storm pack section, Jace was on his feet, his face pale with something that looked like recognition. Not of me, but of what I represented. The girl he'd rejected hadn't just survived—she'd become everything he'd claimed she could never be.

As I passed through the tunnel back to the preparation area, I allowed myself one moment of pure satisfaction. Three years ago, I'd left Storm pack territory as a broken, rejected omega with nothing but a backpack and shattered dreams.

Today, I was going to prove to everyone—including myself—that I was Alpha material.

And tomorrow? Tomorrow, I was going to use that ranking to reshape the balance of power in the mountain territories.

Let the games begin.