The Ultimate Illusion

Serena was abruptly pulled from sleep by the familiar metallic smell of antiseptic mingling with the dull ache of bruised ribs. Above her was a brightly lit white stone ceiling, washed in the multiple sunbeams that flooded the room and caused her to squint her eyes. For a brief moment, she thought she was back home at Mooncrest in her father’s manor and that everything about the Academy had been a dreadful dream.

Then, she attempted to sit up, and the pain shot through her lungs like fire. She could still hear the river's roar deep in her chest.

“Welcome back.”

The voice belonged to the shadowy corner of the room.

Her heart skipped one beat then a second slowly she turned her head, but she already knew who she would find.

Damien Blackthorne leaned against the wall with his arms folded, his shadow long in the light of the morning. His eyes still glowed, sharper and colder than the river water in which she almost drowned, but there was also something else in his gaze that made her anxious, one that had nothing to do with any judgement he had of her.

He pushed away from the wall and stepped toward her. “You almost drowned, Vale.”

Serena swallowed, really working to keep her voice even, masculine. “I didn’t cut the rope.”

“No," Damien whispered, stopping at the foot of her cot.

"You did not. You chose death instead of failure. Admirable- or stupid. I haven't decided yet."

Heat rose in her neck. She fought to offer a sideways smile. "Maybe I just dislike losing."

Damien kept his eyes on her longer than he needed to, looking at her as one looks at a catalog. She fought the desire to pull the blanket in closer around herself.

"You are reckless," he finally said, "that sort of recklessness gets wolves killed here."

"Then I'll just have to be careful about which wolves I sit beside," she said, trying to add a layer of bravado to mask the anxiety stirring in her chest.

For the first time, the corners of his lips twitched. Not a smile, but close. "Take care, bug slayer. Keep that up and I might start to like you."

Her heart raced, but she found the strength to scoff. "I will take my chances with the river, thanks."

The healer returned before Damien was able to respond, checking Serena's ribs while clucking her tongue. "You will live. Don't push yourself in the next trial."

Next trial.

Serena's stomach knotted. She had barely succeeded in the first. What would she need for the next trial?

By the time she arrived back at the dormitory, the sun had sunk quite low in the sky and cast the walls with golden light. Damien sat at the desk, methodically buffing a dagger. The blade caught the light, narrow enough to cut a hair into two pieces.

He did not glance up as the door opened, “You will be fighting tomorrow.”

Her throat constricted, “Fighting?”

“Going into the sparring matches. A one-on-one fight. In front of the council and all of the elder Alpha’s. It's to test dominance.” He turned his gaze to her, studying her face with squinting eyes. “You don’t look ready."

“I will be fine.”

“You almost drowned in the river,”

Serena bit down on her tongue. She wanted to snap back, tell him that she would be fine because she had been through worse than drowning in water, worse than people laughing at her, worse than him. But her chest tightened with fear of the other the spell.

The witch had warned her. It would eventually crumble during her moon cycle. Her scent, her shape, her voice would all be a fragile seam of the disguise.

And tonight, she had felt the first.

She had scrupulously hidden the bloodstains. She had wrapped the cloth tighter than expected, tighter than armor, but she felt the spell tug on her body, the seams creeping into her skin, what if Damien scented her even a fraction of her true self? If he did it was finished.

She steeled herself to return his gaze, firm. “I will manage,” she said again.

Damien looked at her for a long moment, his eyes inscrutable. Then he turned back to the knife. “I hope that is true for your own sake, Vale.”

The arena was alive with noise the next morning. Torches blazed against the stone walls, smoke curling into the rafters. The smell of sweat, blood, and anticipation hung thick in the air. The recruits were all lined up with stiff uniforms, tense faces.

Serena found her heart pounding at the sound of the headmaster’s voice carrying across the arena. “Today you will find out if you are wolves or pups. If you win, you will survive. If you lose, you will be shamed. Fight until your opponent yields or cannot rise.”

Packs of wolves were called to the centre one at a time, and pairs wrestled each other-- claws raked, teeth bared. The crowd roared with each new hit, each fall.

Finally, Serena heard her name-"Soren Vale!"-and it seemed to ring in her bones. She stepped forward, though it felt like she had a weight on her shoulders. Her jaw was set.

Her opponent was a boy of brute stature. He is a head taller than Serena and his muscles were bulging from underneath his uniform. He grinned and looked at her like a wolf eyeing its prey. “Mooncrest? I thought that pack was dead.”

Serena remained silent.

The whistle blew.

He rushed at her, delivering a fast punch toward her chin. She ducked just in time, feeling the air pass by her ear. Instinct took over, allowing her father’s training and all her nights spent practicing to flash in her mind, together with bruises she had hidden from the parents that thought little of it.

She moved like water, swift and sharp, to hit his rib cage, a strike to the throat, and a quick knee to the leg. The boy grunted and moved away from her, astonishment flicking across his face.

“Lucky shot,” he spat before charging in again.

Serena's heartbeat was pounding in her head. She evaded, struck back, and evaded again. But the spell was tugging against her body and her chest was awash with heat, her scent spilling from her as she lost focus. She fought harder, faster, wanting to end things before anyone realized what had happened.

Finally, she saw it. He was overly wide in stance and had his weight on the wrong foot. She sprung backward, turned into him, loaded her elbow, and slammed it right into his temple, where he dropped straight to the ground, unconscious.

The crowd erupted.

“Vale wins!” the headmaster roared.

Serena stood over her opponent, breathing heavily, with sweat running down her temple. For a moment, all was a triumph, sharp and intoxicating.

Then she felt it.

Damien was burning a hole through her from across the arena.

There was neither clapping nor cheering. His eyes were locked on her, narrowed, his nostrils flaring as if he had picked up a scent that no one else was aware of.

Her stomach sank like ice.

That night in their dorm, Serena was mindful to appear casual while changing and unfolded every last inch of fabric too methodically. She could sense Damien's weighty gaze at her back like a disruptively heavy blade.

At last, he spoke. “You fight like no wolf I've witnessed. Too fast. Too . . . cautious.”

Serena made herself laugh and kept her voice low. “Sorry for not fighting like an ox.”

Silence.

And then “Your scent changed today.”

Her blood turned cold.

She backed up slowly, the mask barely holding. “What are you talking about?”

He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes alive with some supernatural brilliance and danger. “You are various today. Not weaker. Not stronger. Just . . . different. It's almost as if you're concealing something.”

Serena's heart just might have pounded hard enough to hurt her chest. She forced a blankness to her face, and tried to make her voice even again. "Maybe the river water hasn't rinsed off yet."

Damien was quiet for what felt like forever, until finally that damn smirk appeared on his face again.

“Maybe.”

However, Serena could read in his eyes that he thought her proclivity to blush at any slight provocation was something he could exploit.

Worst of all, Damien wasn’t going to back off.

Damien had sensed the first slight rift in Serena’s facade. He has yet to uncover her secret, but he is moving in for the kill, and in the meantime, her hold over the spell is slipping at the most unfortunate time possible.