The Blood Alpha’s Training Ground

Bronislava “Slava” Ignatova

Eight hundred miles away in the damp stone vaults of the North Ridge, Matrena’s dark secrets were finally being dragged into the light by Vaelin’s shadows. But inside the high-altitude training amphitheater of the Obsidian Citadel, I knew nothing of the old witch’s dying accomplices. I only knew the brutal, unrelenting weight of the iron broadsword in my palms.

“Again, Slava!” Commander Nikolai’s voice bellowed across the sand-dusted stone arena, sharp as an iron whip. “An Alpha does not block with her wrists! Drive through his chest! Lean into your center!”

A harsh, ragged gasp tore from my lungs as I planted my bare feet onto the cold flagstones, gripping the leather-wrapped hilt of the heavy practice blade. Sweat soaked every inch of my body, plastering my thin, linen training tunic to my chest and ribs until the fabric was practically sheer. Loose strands of silver-black hair clung to my slick neck and wet shoulders, dripping rhythmically onto the stones below.

My muscles burned. Every fiber in my arms and thighs screamed in agony after four continuous hours of relentless physical conditioning. Yet beneath the excruciating exhaustion, the newly unsealed Blood Alpha marrow in my bones hummed like a subterranean engine. The ancient power didn’t make the training easy; it made my body endure far past the point where a normal female would have collapsed into the dust.

Nikolai lunged forward, his heavy steel broadsword whistling through the chilly mountain air.

I didn’t flinch. I absorbed his strike, bringing my blade up in a sharp diagonal arc. Steel slammed into steel with a deafening ring that sent a shower of sparks flying into the air. The impact vibrated up my forearms straight into my shoulders, but I held my ground, my bare toes digging into the sand as I shoved the massive commander back two full steps.

Nikolai let out a low, approving grunt, resetting his stance. “Better. Much better. You’re stopping the momentum instead of letting it tear through you.”

I wiped a mix of sweat and dirt from my eyebrow with the back of my trembling forearm, my chest heaving in heavy, shallow hitches. I wanted to pause, to drag cold water into my parched throat, but my eyes were involuntarily drawn upward toward the high marble balcony overlooking the training floor.

Standing against the carved stone balustrade, framed by the pale winter sunlight, was Vaelin.

The moment my silver-grey eyes locked onto his, a sudden, electric wave of liquid heat surged straight through my veins, completely obliterating the cold mountain draft sweeping through the arena.

“Focus, Slava!” Nikolai barked, charging forward with a swift horizontal sweep aimed at my midsection.

I reacted on pure, intoxicating impulse. Instead of merely blocking, I pivoted on my heel, my wet tunic clinging tightly to my hips as I spun inside Nikolai’s guard. I brought the pommel of my heavy practice sword straight into the center of the commander’s iron breastplate, driving the breath from his lungs and sending him stumbling back five full feet before he caught his balance.

Nikolai lowered his blade, panting heavily, a rare, genuine smile breaking across his weathered face. “Goddess above… your recovery speed is terrifying. That’s enough for today, Blood Alpha.”

I didn’t drop my sword. I couldn’t move.

The heavy, rhythmic sound of slow, heavy footsteps echoed off the high archways of the arena.

Vaelin was coming down the grand stone steps. He didn’t rush. His movements were slow, deliberate, and oozing with dark, possessive intent. Nikolai bowed his head respectfully and quietly backed out of the arena, leaving the massive bronze doors to groan shut behind him.

The heavy silence of the cavernous training ground settled over us, broken only by the crackle of distant wall braziers and my own shallow, heavy breathing.

Vaelin stopped three inches from where I stood.

“You are relentless, little wolf,” Vaelin rasped, his deep voice dropping into a low, gravelly growl that vibrated straight through the floorboards into my bare feet.

“You told me to train,” I breathed, my small hands tightening around the hilt of my broadsword, though my knuckles shook from sheer physical exhaustion and the suffocating heat radiating between us. “You told me to become strong enough so no male could ever force me to my knees.”

“You are driving me out of my mind, Slava,” Vaelin whispered, his voice dangerously soft as his palm slid slowly down my chest, dragging the wet fabric with it, pressing firmly over my ribs to wrap around the slick curve of my waist.

He yanked me forward.

My broadsword clattered to the stone flagstones, ringing loudly through the quiet arena as my bare, sweat-soaked body was dragged flush against his hard, heavy frame.

“I stood on that balcony for four hours watching you bleed, watching you sweat, watching you push your body to the absolute brink,” Vaelin growled into my face, his breath hot, heavy, and smelling of iron as his mouth hovered a fraction of an inch from mine. “Do you have any idea how close I came to clearing that railing and pinning you to these flagstones in front of my commander?”

“Because I wanted you to finish your swing,” Vaelin growled into my skin, his teeth lightly grazing my pulse point, making a high, needy sound break from my chest. “And because when I take you, Slava… there will be no swords, no training clothes, and no stone floor between us.”

“I don’t want to wait, Vaelin,” I whispered, my voice trembling with raw, explicit need as I pressed my hips firmly against his rigid heat.

Vaelin let out a low, feral snarl deep in his chest, his eyes flashing pure golden fire as he prepared to crush his lips onto mine.

Suddenly, a loud, metallic grating sound echoed from the far corner of the training amphitheater.

The heavy iron portcullis blocking the internal armory door began to rise, its heavy chains rattling violently against the stone walls.

Vaelin froze, his mouth hovering an inch from mine, his grip on my hips turning to iron as his golden eyes snapped toward the rising iron gate.

From the dark shadow of the armory corridor, a massive, eight-foot tall silver wolf with glowing red eyes stepped slowly onto the sand floor of the arena, its jaw dripping with a thick, glowing blue venom that hissed as it touched the flagstones.