Chapter 03

FRANKIE POV (Age 16/ 4 years ago)

“ugh, fu.ck!” Troy grunted after landing hard from my perfectly timed roundhouse kick.

The crowd watching the challenge gasped while a large number laughed.

It was placement day in the pack, and everyone entered into warrior training where they were assigned a match within their training class.

Troy was insulted that he was matched against a girl who was two years younger than he was, but Oliver argued that I wouldn’t be at a disadvantage, as my parents were Gamma-ranked, which put us on equal levels in the match.

I relished the idea of showing off my skills. As my father was the pack's Gamma and my mother was its top attorney, I was often left to my own devices. This was my chance to prove to them that I was capable. I didn’t want my brother, Ryner, to have the spot as the future Gamma. That’s not what this was about for me; it was about being seen for my abilities.

“Point scored for Francis Scott.” The announcer says over the speakers, and I cringe. Not because of the point scored, but because of my name. I hated being called Francis. It always felt like an old British woman's name. I much preferred being called Frankie; it suited my personality.

I pushed the frustration aside and looked up at the stands as the announcer continued to speak. My eyes dart to where my family is sitting, only to find them not even paying attention to the match.

My brother was eavesdropping on the conversation my father was having with Alpha Tom and Oliver, who was always by Alpha Tom's side. Aiden didn’t even attend the games, but that wasn’t a surprise. He rarely cared for anything that didn’t center around him.

My mother was submerged in whatever work emergency she was responding to on her cellphone. She rarely put her phone down. She was always working. Don’t get me wrong. I respect and admire my mother for her determination and fortitude in pushing the limits and emerging victorious. She was an incredible attorney; she never lost a court case, but she was a subpar mother. She failed every time, simply due to a lack of presence and awareness. Beside her sat Luna Margie.

Luna Margie was all smiles. She was watching, which didn’t surprise me in the least. She was always present, but that was primarily due to me being best friends with her daughter, Aria. Aria was next to Luna Margie, frantically waving her ‘Go Frankie, Beat them boys up!’ sign in the crowd, grinning like we pulled off the biggest bank heist. Aria wasn’t a warrior; she liked the craftsmanship of politics. She always had a way with words and could talk you into or out of anything. It was inspiring to watch, but not my style. Regardless of not being a fan of physical violence, Aria has always been my biggest supporter in my matches. Cheering loudly alongside her mother, Luna Margie.

I appreciated it, but it made me ache more for my family.

I knew my family loved me. I do. They do, but my family can still love me, yet I also feel entirely invisible to them at the same time. They weren’t bad people; they were just preoccupied parents. They were both incredibly ambitious and dedicated to their fields. It was admirable, but since I wasn't the heir to a title or interested in being the next cutthroat attorney at law, they tunnelled elsewhere, and I fell through the cracks for attention.

But I can’t focus on that right now. A warrior must always push personal feelings aside and focus on the opponent in front of them.

The final round between Trot and me has begun now. I heard the ding and forced myself to push aside my heartache and unspoken longing, focusing solely on Troy.

I narrowed my eyes at him. He would become my outlet for my frustrations, for the silent rejection I felt.

Troy lunged at me.

I knew he was still reeling from the embarrassment that he had already lost the last match. If I won this one, then he would be announced as disqualified and remain in his training class for another year until the next placement day commenced.

The thing with his lunge was that he hesitated out of unfocused frustrations. That type of thing can get you killed in battle. My father was a relentless trainer; Ryner and I were expected to be warrior examples, so it was easy for me to spot when Troy slipped up.

His lunge missed me by a foot, and I quickly swept the leg, sending him crashing to the ground with me straddling him to seize control over the match.

The crunch of his bones with each fierce punch to his face was audible, and by the sound of the crowd, I figured they had heard it as well.

Troy lost control.

I saw his wolf pushing through his eyes, and Troy was allowing it.

His claws appeared despite it being a human-only match, and he impaled them into the side of my ribs.

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