Defend Yourself, Little Wolf

Bronislava "Slava" Ignatova

The giant beast didn't hesitate.

It launched its massive silver bulk across the sand, its jaws snapping closed inches from my chest. The venom dripping from its fangs hissed as it splattered against the flagstones, burning through the granite like acid.

I didn't let Vaelin step in front of me. Driven by the wild, volatile surge in my veins, I lunged forward, throwing my unrefined weight into the beast’s flank.

The impact was catastrophic. My raw, unguided strength sent the silver monster crashing into the stone wall, but my own poor balance left me completely exposed. As the beast thrashed, its heavy, iron-like tail whipped across the arena, slamming brutally into my ribs. The blow sent me skidding across the grit-covered floor, my side crashing against the hard stone steps with a sickening crunch that drove every drop of air from my lungs.

Before the creature could turn on me, Vaelin was already there. His dark aura flared like a star, a single strike of his bare hand crushing the phantom wolf into a harmless cloud of dark mist.

The arena fell silent, save for my ragged, shallow gasps.

I lay on my side, clutching my ribs as deep, purple bruises bloomed across my skin. My awakened Blood Alpha marrow was already fighting to heal the damage, but the unrefined surge had left my muscles torn and trembling from the strain.

Vaelin didn't say a word. He didn't call for the physicians. He dropped to one knee, his golden eyes dark with a terrifying mixture of fury and raw concern, and scooped my broken body gently into his broad arms.

The quiet crackle of the hearth in Vaelin’s private quarters was the only sound in the vast, shadowed room.

He set me down on the edge of his grand obsidian bed, his hands steady as he stripped off my ruined, blood-stained training linen. I didn't pull away. I sat in my thin silk undergarments, shivering as the cool evening air hit my slick, bruised skin. Dark, painful purple marks spanned the entire length of my ribs and the outer curve of my thigh, a stark reminder of how far my body still had to go before I could control the nightmare in my blood.

Vaelin pulled a small crystal jar from the nightstand, filled with a thick, amber herbal oil that smelled of crushed cedar, wild honey, and warm iron.

He knelt between my parted knees.

My breath locked in my throat as his massive, calloused hands dipped into the jar. He warmed the fragrant oil between his broad palms before reaching out to touch me.

The moment his bare hands made contact with my skin, a violent, electrifying shockwave shot straight down my spine.

"This will sting, Slava," Vaelin growled softly, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated directly against my naked knees.

His hands pressed into the dark bruises on my ribs, smoothing the warm amber oil over the torn skin in slow, firm, circular strokes. A soft gasp tore from my lips, half from the sharp sting of my injured muscles, and half from the unbearable, liquid heat radiating off his broad palms.

He didn't rush. His hands moved with agonizing, deliberate care, mapping every curve of my waist, his long fingers pressing deeply into the bruised tissue to work out the stagnant blood. The friction of his calloused skin against my sensitive, oiled body sent a wave of static crackling beneath my skin.

My chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid hitches, my bare breasts swelling against the thin silk as my heart hammered out of control. Every touch was pure torment. My lower belly coiled into tight, aching knots of desire, my inner wolf purring low in my chest as Vaelin’s heat sank deep into my aching bones.

"You took a hit you didn't need to take," Vaelin whispered, his dark golden eyes tracking the movement of his hands as they slid from my ribs down to the painful bruise on my upper thigh.

"I had to know if I could hold my ground," I rasped, my hands gripping the edge of the mattress, my knuckles turning white as his large hands slid higher up my thigh.

"You hold your ground by controlling your center, not by letting a phantom break your bones," Vaelin growled, his voice dipping into a dark, possessive register that made my toes curl against the rug.

His palms, slick with warm oil, pressed firmly into the inner curve of my bruised thigh, smoothing the amber liquid over my smooth skin. His thumbs massaged the tight muscle with a firm, agonizing pressure that made a breathless moan slip from my parted lips. He moved closer, his towering frame crowding between my legs, his broad chest pressing so close I could feel the blistering heat radiating through his linen shirt.

The explicit, slow-burning tension in the room grew thick, suffocating, and intoxicating.

My thighs naturally framed his hard, muscular hips as he leaned down, his face inches from mine. His hands slid higher up my legs, his thumbs brushing the soft, sensitive skin just beneath the hem of my silk briefs, leaving a trail of searing fire in their wake.

I was hyper-aware of every point where our bodies aligned. I felt the dense, rock-hard muscle of his arms bracing against the bed, the heavy thud of his Lycan heart, and the rigid, undeniable weight of his desire pressing against my inner knee.

"Vaelin..." I choked out, my voice trembling with raw, explicit need as my hands reached up, my slick fingers tangling in his platinum hair.

"You are learning, little wolf," Vaelin growled into my neck, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below my ear as his oiled hands gripped my hips, pulling my pelvis flush against his hard frame. "You bleed today so that tomorrow, when you stand beside me as Tsarina, no Alpha on this continent can force you to kneel."

His mouth dragged slowly down the column of my throat, his hot tongue tasting the salt and sweet amber oil on my skin. I arched my back into his touch, my hands digging into his shoulders as a high, needy sound broke from my chest. The pain of my bruises dissolved into a blinding, liquid inferno that pooled low in my belly, drowning out every lingering doubt in my mind.

He pulled back slightly, his golden eyes slitted with a wild, feral hunger that tested the absolute limit of his restraint. His thumb traced a slow, agonizing path over my wet lower lip, parting it gently as his dark gaze pinned mine.

"You want to be a Tsarina, Slava?" Vaelin rasped, his voice dropping into a dark, tortured whisper as his broad hands slid down to wrap around the base of my spine, anchoring my hips deeper into his heat. "Then we don't wait for tomorrow. No more training phantoms. No more commanders."

He stood up smoothly, unbuckling his broad leather sword-belt and letting it crash heavy to the floorboards. Slowly, deliberately, he unbuttoned his linen shirt and stripped it off, exposing the massive, battle-scarred planes of his chest and the glowing gold runic tattoos pulsing along his ribs.

My breath locked in my lungs. The sight of his bare, towering form standing over me in the amber firelight sent a fresh wave of liquid heat shooting straight down to my core.

Vaelin reached down, his broad, calloused hand wrapping around my wrist to pull me up off the bed. He led me back out onto the dark, private balcony overlooking the vast, empty arena below.

"The only way you learn to master that nightmare in your blood," Vaelin growled into my ear, his broad chest pressing against my bare back as he reached down to hand me a heavy steel practice blade, "is if you survive me."

He stepped out into the center of the sand floor, drawing his own massive broadsword with a sharp, echoing clang. His slitted golden eyes flared with a lethal, unyielding intensity that made my heart leap into my throat.

"Defend yourself, little wolf," Vaelin rasped, setting his stance, his muscles coiling like a sprung trap. "Because tonight, I am not holding back."