CHAPTER FOUR: The Alpha’s Attention

Tanya’s POV

At some point, I became indifferent to the bruises.

By the end of my second week in Crimson territory, I’d learned this much: counting wounds only made them feel heavier. Better to bask in the victory of my survival instead. Waking up each dawn under the frayed blanket they grudgingly provided? Victory. Standing back up on my own two feet when Sera knocked me down? Victory. Catching Garrick’s punch on my forearm instead of my ribs? Small, but still victory.

The others noticed. Not kindly. Not yet.

But they noticed.

Their contempt and disdain shifted slowly but steadily, into something colder, more watchful. Wolves understood persistence. Even the cruelest among them respected something that refused to die.

Still, no one called me pack.

Not even Dante, though his gaze was less cutting than the others. His instructions came blunt and without emotion, his critiques sharper, but he never struck harder than necessary. He corrected my form when I faltered, threw salves at my feet when I bled too freely, and once — only once — broke Garrick’s nose when his blows switched  from sparring into slaughter.

“She’s ours to break and mock,” Dante said after. “But not yours to kill.”

I wondered what ‘ours’ meant to a pack like this.

“You’re improving.” Dante stood at my side now, watching me and correcting my form as I struggled through drills too advanced for my skill. “Not fast enough.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder. Here, you either break or you harden. Nothing else.” His gaze flicked toward the shadowed balcony where Tion sometimes watched us train. “He’s waiting to see which.”

I didn’t ask who. I already knew. There was only one person in Crimson Pack that loved to watch from the shadows.

Tion had barely spoken to me since that first exchange. But I felt his gaze like a steady pressure against my skin at every practice and sparring session. His gaze pinned me more thoroughly than Garrick’s fists ever could.

Watching, measuring, calculating and curious.

Why, I couldn’t fathom. I knew i was nowhere near special. Still latent and still weak judging by their standards. But I didn’t fall and I didn’t run. And maybe here, in this savage place, persistence was enough to draw an Alpha’s eye.

Training ended with dusk bleeding red across the sky. I limped toward the barracks, totally exhausted and my limbs protesting at every little movement. My hands shook as I unwrapped bandage from my bruised knuckles. My ribs ached beneath layers of bandages from all the punches I have taken to the chest. The other pack members passed me with sidelong glances, their respect sharpened by wariness.

Weak wolves died here. And since I wasn’t dead,it made me dangerous, however faintly.

I passed Dante leaning against the barracks doorframe, arms crossed.

“You’ve lasted longer than I could bet,” he said without malice.

“You had money on me failing?”

He shrugged. “Not money. Garrick owed me a debt.”

“For betting against me?”

“For betting you wouldn’t get back up the first time Sera laid you flat. He paid up fast.”

“Lucky me.” I tried to smile and failed.

“You’ll earn worse luck if you don’t learn faster.” His gaze softened. “And you’re still holding back.”

I flinched. “I’m not.”

“You are.” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer. Not threatening, just assessing. “You fight like someone waiting for permission. For someone to tell you it’s okay to hurt back.”

“I… I don’t want to become them.”

“That’s your mistake.” He tapped my temple with two fingers. “Here, survival isn’t cruelty. You’re either feared, or you’re forgotten. Which do you think lasts longer?”

I swallowed. “Feared.”

“Good girl.” He said it without heat. Like it was just fact. “Start fighting like it.”

I dreamt of the Moon Stone Pack that night.

Of Luke’s sneer as he rejected, and my father’s silence. Of soft gowns torn beneath claws, of laughter chasing me through halls made slick with blood. I woke up choking on my emotions of shame and fury, my fists clenched in the flimsy blanket.

Tion stood at the foot of my cot.

I didn’t scream, couldn't move.

He watched me, gold eyes bright in the dark. Neither hostile nor kind, but with something that resembled understanding.

“You hate them.” His voice rasped. “Moon Stone. Your father and the one who rejected you.”

I said nothing. The words that wanted to claw their way out felt like poison in my throat as I swallowed them down.

“You should.” He stepped closer, crouched so we were at eye level. “They taught you weakness. Here, we teach survival.”

“I don’t belong here.” My voice barely broke the quiet.

“You don’t belong there either.” His mouth curled, not quite a smile. “So where does that leave you, little wolf?”

My chest tightened. “Nowhere.”

“You’re wrong.” His fingers, rough and calloused, caught my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You belong where you choose to stand. Choose here. Choose to stop being prey.”

“My wolf…” I bit back the shame. “She won’t come.”

“She will. Or you’ll build something meaner in her place.” His grip loosened, but he didn’t let go. “You don’t need teeth to make others bleed. Only will.”

Tion rose, stepping back into shadow.

“Survive, Tanya. Or die. That’s the only mercy you’ll get from me.”

I trained harder.

Fought meaner.

When Garrick sneered, I aimed for his knee. When Sera mocked, I feinted high and struck low. Pain became familiar, but so did anger. I let it burn brighter than fear. I let it fuel fists and feet until even Dante nodded, approval sharp as his scars.

“You’re learning,” he said. “Finally.”

“I’m not dead yet.”

“Yet.”

Tion was always watching.

Sometimes from the balcony, other times from the shadows of training yards, silent as the seasons changing. Once, he caught my wrist mid-spar, twisting it until my blade dropped.

“You hesitate,” he said, voice low. “Hesitation kills.”

“I’m not like them.”

“No. Not yet.” His smile was teeth without warmth. “But you will be. Or you’ll die wishing you were.”

He let me go. I bled for hours after.

One night, Dante found me alone, patching wounds beneath the moonslight.

“You hate him,” he said, not a question.

“I fear him.”

“Good. Both keep you alive.” He knelt beside me, offering a flask of something bitter and burning. “Drink. It will help with the pain.”

I drank while coughing and grimacing at the taste of it.

“Why are you helping me?” I asked. “I’m not your pack.”

“Not yet.” His smile flickered, brief. “But you’re Tion’s… interest.”

I stiffened. “Interest?”

“Not like that.” He shook his head. “Not lust. Not pity. Curiosity. You’re the first stray he’s brought back in years. Usually, he kills them on sight without hesitation or even given them the chance to offer an explanation. That makes you… dangerous, in ways even you don’t see.”

I met his gaze. “Should I be afraid of him?”

“Always.” Dante rose, leaving me with the flask. “And of yourself. More than him.”

I didn’t sleep much after that.

Fear kept me awake. So did hunger, exhaustion, and the creeping suspicion that Dante was right.

I’d come here broken. Weak. Hunted by shame. But something inside me sharpened each day beneath this pack’s teeth.

Not my wolf. Not yet.

Something meaner.

Something that wanted to survive.

Even if it meant becoming something Moon Stone would no longer recognize.