Chapter 003

NOVA

My head is spinning now. What is he talking about? The last thing he talked about with Leo? How the heck am I supposed to know what it was about? Panic claws at my throat, but I shove it down. If I hesitate for even a second, he'll see right through me. So, I force my expression to harden, my gaze locking with his.

"Go and look for someone else to bully, Kane. You make me sick," I spit, and his eyes widen slightly. I can tell he's disoriented.

I don't wait. I shove at his chest, hard. He lets me. Maybe he's stunned. The air is still thick with tension when the shrill sound of the academy bell rings through the dorm halls.

My stomach tightens.

Rhydar doesn't move for a second. Then, wordlessly, he turns away from me. I watch as he strides to his side of the large room, grabbing a roll of bandages from his drawer.

He unwraps it slowly. And that's when I see them.

His hands.

His knuckles have been split open, fresh bruises blooming over older ones. Blood crusts into the creases of his skin. His hands are wrecked. But they weren't like that when I got here.

My heart sinks when I realize he's been fighting. I have a feeling that whoever or whatever had been on the receiving end of his fists must be broken beyond repair.

My mind flashes back to Leo's journal. 'Rhydar hates me. He nearly killed me today.'

My breath catches in my throat.

Without looking at me, he starts winding the bandages around his hands with ease. The tension in his shoulders coils tighter with every loop. Then he stops and tilts his head so that his eyes meet mine once more. They are cold and lifeless now.

"I can't wait for our match, Creed," he says, and a chill ripples through me. Then he turns and walks out, slamming the door hard enough to make the walls shake.

Our match?

I have to fight that monster?

I gulp as I reach for Leo's schedule, and then I see it, highlighted with red marker: 'COMBAT TRAINING.'

'Don't panic, Nova. You've got this.' I try to cheer myself up, but that doesn't stop my stomach from making an ugly flip.

...

The water is ice-cold, but I let it wash the scent and sweat off my skin. I scrub harder than necessary, intending to wash Rhydar's voice from my memory. His scent still lingers, and I hate that I remember exactly how sweet and creamy it is.

By the time I finish, I pull Leo's hoodie over my damp hair and shove his boots on. My body moves on autopilot, but my insides are bracing for war.

The moment I step outside, I hear it. Shouting, pounding footsteps, and high-beat music blaring from the upper decks of the training coliseum. The biting crackle of raw Alpha pheromones saturates the air, making me want to gag. So, this is it.

Combat training.

I slip into the crowd gathering around the open-air arena. The ring is massive, carved into stone, and lit by towering floodlights that make everyone look feral. I can literally smell the testosterone in the air. It's a wall that crashes into me the second I get too close.

The combat officer stands in the center of the ring, looking like he eats rookies for breakfast. His bulging muscles stretch his black shirt tight across the chest, and his arms are crossed as if he's sizing up the next meal.

As I scan the crowd, trying to stay small, his voice slams through the noise.

"Well, well. Look who crawled back from the grave."

The shouting dies instantly.

"Creed," he drawls. "Gone for months with no warning. He's just in time for tonight's combat training."

All eyes turn to me, and the air suddenly feels electric.

Someone whistles. Someone else mutters, "Is that really him?"

A few boys shift uncomfortably, and I can feel their gazes crawl over me, trying to reconcile my face with the legend of Leo Creed.

I swallow hard and keep my chin up.

The officer grins. "Tonight's warm-up match? Creed versus Kane."

My stomach drops through the floor.

And then he steps into the ring.

Rhydar Kane.

He's barefoot and shirtless, his black combat pants hanging low on his hips. His body is nothing but lean, carved muscle. But it's the scar on his back that roots me to the spot. A long, slashing scar, healed into a jagged crescent

And just above it...is a large tattoo. A phoenix mid-rise, with its wings splayed, flames licking its body.

I swallow hard, my fingers twitching. I remember Leo writing something once about a phoenix. I thought it was poetic. Maybe even dramatic. Now I wonder if it was a clue.

Rhydar's gaze finds me in the crowd, his face unreadable. I clench my fists as the officer looks toward me.

"Creed! Get in here!"

My feet move as if I'm in a trance. I duck under the ropes and step onto the floor of the ring. And just as I find my footing, I hear it.

A shriek.

"CREED!!"

Wait, what?

Girls?!

I turn just in time to see a group of girls pressed against the back barrier, waving and cheering like fangirls. One of them has Leo's name scrawled across her cheek in red paint.

Another group howls Rhydar's name from the opposite end of the ring.

"RHYDAR!! BREAK HIM!"

"I LOVE YOU, CREED!"

My mouth goes dry. This was supposed to be an all-boys academy.

The bell rings before I can actually process all of this.

The second the bell rings, he's on me.

Rhydar's movements are fluid and feral. It's like he's been waiting for this moment all day.

He doesn't ease into it. He lunges, forcing me to twist out of the way, my foot scraping against the gritty mat. The crowd roars, but it's already background noise.

It's just him and me. And the way his eyes track every breath I take.

I throw a punch. He ducks and grabs my wrist, yanking me forward. I slam into his chest with a choked gasp.

He doesn't let go.

His grip is bruising, his bare skin damp with heat. His heart isn't racing. Mine's trying to crack through my ribs.

"Is that all you've got, Creed?" He growls, his voice thick with venom and sickening amusement.

I don't answer.

I use the momentum to slam my knee into his thigh.

He grunts and lets go, but the look in his eyes changes. He's done playing. He swings, and I duck, his fist grazing the air close to my jaw at mind-blowing speed.

I spin with my elbow aimed at his side, landing a solid hit. He stumbles, just a step, but the crowd gasps as if I've landed a kill shot.

He straightens slowly, and that cruel little smirk spreads across his face. Then he laughs. I have a bad feeling about this.

He comes at me again, faster this time. I attempt to block it, and his fist slams into my forearm and sends shock up to my shoulder. Then he attacks again viciously.

"Interesting. You're really taking my hits,” he says.

I spit blood to the side. "Keep talking, Kane. I'll knock the teeth out of your pretty mouth."

His eyes flash with hunger, and chills rush down my spine.

He ducks and sweeps his leg. I jump, barely clearing it. But he's already behind me, one hand grabbing my hoodie and yanking me flush to his chest. His mouth hovers by my ear.

"You hit better than you used to, Leo," he whispers.

My body locks.

I throw a punch just to make him look away. He blocks it one-handed, steps inside my guard, and then, he slams me onto the mat.

His body hovers over mine, his sweat dropping onto my cheek. Okay, I should feel grossed out. But holy shit, his scent is killing me.

His smile suddenly turns wicked. He leans in, his nose brushing my temple. And for a second, I swear he inhales me.

"You smell different," he says softly. "Sweeter."

I bring my forehead down hard. It connects with his jaw.

He pulls back with a hiss and wipes a smear of blood from his lip. He looks at it, then looks at me.

"I'm going to enjoy breaking you," he says. I can tell it's a promise.

I shove him off, and he lets me, for now. We circle each other, our chests heaving. He watches me like a starving animal who's finally found prey that fights back. Then his gaze slowly drops to my lips and lingers.

The bell clangs again. The match is over.

The combat master barks something in the distance, but I barely hear it. Because Rhydar steps forward, closing the distance again, sweat gleaming on his skin, his expression unreadable.

He leans in, his breath ghosting over my temple.

"This was fun," he says. "We should do it again. Maybe next time, without the crowd."

Then he turns his back to me and walks away, his shoulders flexing. And I just stand there for a moment with my heart in my throat, my fists trembling.

I storm into the locker room, ignoring the voices outside. I need a goddamn minute. Just one. I step into the shower fully clothed, my boots off.

The tile beneath my bare feet is cold. The sting of the shower helps. I scrub my skin raw, trying to erase the feel of him. Then, I towel off, my teeth gritted. He makes me sick. I told him that. So why is my pulse pounding as if I want him to touch me again?

My thoughts end abruptly as someone wraps a towel around my head from behind.

I barely get a gasp out before I'm yanked back, and slammed onto the cold floor with a bone-rattling thud.