LOGINShare
A friend
publish date:
2026-07-02 17:28:14*Isla*
He used my name. A traitorous warmth spreads through my chest. And in its wake comes a wave of cold, crystal-clear fury. He's not embarrassed to be fighting me. He's afraid of being the one to break me. I'm a delicate thing to him. A fragile, broken doll he doesn't want to shatter. The pity is worse than the derision.
"I yield," I say, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. I pull out of his grip, my face burning with a shame so hot it feels like a physical blow.
The instructor's horn blares, signaling the end of the bout. The crowd, which had been hushed, murmurs to life. I don't look at Cedric. I can't. I turn and limp away from the ring, from the pity, from the man I thought I wanted. I just need to get away.
I push through the press of bodies, not seeing faces, just feeling their gazes like pinpricks on my skin. I find a dark corner near the weapon racks, sagging against the cool stone. My leg is on fire, and my shoulder throbs in a dull, agonizing rhythm. I close my eyes, just for a second, to block it all out.
Did I do enough to get accepted? If not I will just be the cribble who thought She could be a warrior… a laughing stock or someone to pity for her foolishness. I do not want to be either.
"That was some impressive work out there." A voice says in front of me.
My eyes snap open. A girl is standing in front of me. She's tall and muscular, with hair the color of midnight chopped short around a face full of sharp angles. Her eyes, a startling shade of blue, are appraising me. She's from my group og pledges. The one who watched me finish with grudging respect. She's holding a waterskin.
"I'm Liora Elva," she says, holding it out. "From the Shadowtail pack."
I just stare at it. Liora Elva. The pack name rings a bell, something about them being known for their scouts, their uncanny ability to vanish. I take the skin, my fingers brushing hers. "Isla," I manage, my throat tight. I take a long swallow, the water cool and welcome against my raw throat.
"I saw what your brother did… what a dick," she says, her voice low and steady. "And I saw what you did in the ring." She takes the waterskin back and takes a drink herself. "He wanted you to break. To prove you were weak. You almost let him."
I flinch. Her honesty is brutal.
"But you didn't," she continues, her gaze direct. "You got up and you finished. And you didn't throw a tantrum when the golden boy went easy on you, trying to make you look fragile. You yielded on your own terms." A small, almost feral smile touches her lips. "That's more than I can say for half the brutes in this trial. They were sniveling for their mothers."
I don't know what to say to that. Praise feels foreign, like a garment that doesn't fit. Praise is not something I am used to.
"Come on," she says, jerking her head toward the medic tents. "You need that shoulder looked at before they kick you out for being too damaged to use."
The medic tent is a chaos of blood and groans and the sharp, clean smell of antiseptic herbs. I have been lucky, there are a couple of gruesome injuries in here.
A healer with kind eyes and a no-nonsense demeanor resets my shoulder with a sickening pop that leaves me gasping, her grip firm and surprisingly gentle. "You'll be sore," she says, wrapping it tight with clean linen. "Stay off the leg as much as you can for a day or two."
Liora waits outside, leaning against a tent pole. As I emerge, she falls into step beside me without a word, her presence a quiet comfort I hadn't realized I needed. We walk back toward the main grounds, the noise of the trials fading behind us.
The grounds are nearly empty now, the last of the combat bouts finished. A few instructors are conferring by the main board, where they post the results. My stomach clenches. I have to see. I have to know if that was all for nothing.
Liora seems to read my mind. "Come, lets see if they posted the lists," she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.
We approach the board. A crowd has already gathered, a sea of faces searching the parchment, their expressions ranging from jubilation to despair. My heart sinks. I see the ginger guys name, scrawled in Goran's harsh script. Rejected. A wave of cold washes over me. He was so strong. If he didn't make it... my eyes scan frantically past the lists of names. Accepted. Accepted. Rejected. It's a brutal, final verdict.
Then I see it. My own name. Next to it is the single, stark word…
Latest chapter
The crippled omega warrior girl Torchlight choice
*Isla* The storm reaches Needle Pass before we do. Snow crosses the trail sideways. Wind tears at cloaks, pack covers, and any exposed opinion. By dusk, even Maeven agrees the abandoned toll refuge looks welcoming. This proves weather can accomplish miracles. The refuge is cut into the mountain beneath a shelf of black rock. Two rooms remain dry. A third contains half a roof and a dead tree. Nightshade claims the central chamber. Fennec takes the outer hall near the entrance. Sava chooses a sleeping place beside the secondary exit without explaining why. Caelen and I receive a former tollkeeper's room because Tomas says my knee needs space and Liora says nobody wants to hear Caelen pace all night.Caelen does not deny pacing. Four copper-set torches burn along the walls. Their flames gutter whenever the storm drives air beneath the door. A narrow mattress lies on a stone platform. Someone has left a throwing target carved into the opposite wall. Caelen checks the window slit,
The crippled omega warrior girl Oath vigil
*Isla* Joren screams until Rovan cuts the binding from his wrists. The rope falls away. He keeps screaming. Maeven kneels in the snow beside him, speaking his name until the sound breaks into breath. Vika wakes on the other side of the fire and crawls toward him. She does not touch him. Her hands remain open on the ground where he can see them. Nobody tries to restrain him again. Caelen releases my hand. He rises too quickly for his injured shoulder. Pain crosses his face, then disappears beneath control. He walks beyond the rock shelf and stops near the edge of the firelight. I do not follow. Not yet. Tomas finishes checking Joren and orders warm water. Torven takes first watch. Sava sits with the cipher under one palm, staring toward the western route as if Needle Pass might move while she sleeps. Snow begins in small, hard grains. I retighten my boot. The strap presses against swelling. My knee has developed a deep pulse of its own. My bruised ribs object whenever I le
The crippled omega warrior girl Blackpine Crossing
*Isla* Caelen and I reach the front of the column at the same time. He takes the windward side. I take the inside line beneath the blackpine roots. "Predictable," I say. "You dislike wind." "I dislike you deciding that I dislike wind." "Do you want the windward flank?" "No." "Then my error has produced an excellent result." The trail narrows before I can answer. Blackpine roots push through the slope in thick coils, making steps where no sensible person would put them. Snow fills the gaps. My left boot lands carefully. My right tests. Caelen watches my feet. I watch his. Behind us, Nightshade escorts the first sledge through the trees. Torven and Sena hold guide ropes from opposite sides. Liora walks beside Bran. Tomas and Lark keep the medical and archive cases between them. Sava remains at the column's center with Miran's cipher strapped beneath her coat. Maeven and Rovan split their guides ahead and behind. Nobody walks alone. Nobody likes the arrangement enough to b
The crippled omega warrior girl Folded message
*Isla* The stone raven enters through the archive chimney. It falls rather than flies. Black wings strike the iron grate. Sparks scatter across the floor. The bird hits once, rolls, then stands on feet carved from a single piece of dark stone. Everyone reaches for a weapon. The raven ignores us. Its head turns toward Sava. Three short strokes mark its breast. The unfamiliar oathwright seal. Sava goes still. The raven opens its beak. A folded square of gray paper drops beside her boot. Then the bird cracks from throat to tail. Its pieces collapse into ash. "Do not touch the message," Tomas says. Sava is already crouching. She uses two metal pins to lift the folded paper onto Rovan's map. No smoke rises. No ward-light appears. Only a brown family mark shows briefly along one corner. Three short threads beside a stain. Miran's mark. Sava covers it with the route map before anyone else can see. Anyone except me. "What is written there?" Cedric asks. "Nothing yet." S
The crippled omega warrior girl Ash in bone
*Isla* The first Fennec oath-stone sits beneath a hearth. Of course it does. The archive chamber lies under the old meeting hall, reached by twelve narrow steps worn hollow in the middle. My left knee dislikes all twelve. The final step is high enough to be a personal attack. Caelen walks ahead of me so I can use his shoulder if I choose. I do not. He does not offer. We are becoming very skilled at irritating each other correctly. The chamber smells of cold soot and mineral damp. Shelves fill three walls, crowded with iron-bound record boxes. At the center, a round hearth has been dismantled stone by stone. The oath-stone lies beneath it. Unlike the buried boundary slab, this one is circular. Three carved rings surround a dark core. A crack runs from the outer edge toward the center, narrow at first, then wide enough near the second ring to hold a knife blade. Blue light breathes inside it. Bran kneels beside the stone with four copper clamps laid in a row. "I need the cr
The crippled omega warrior girl Hearth rules
*Isla* Caelen's key opens Maeven's kitchen. The house sits above the smoke-dark hall, built into the mountain with one wall of bare stone. A narrow side door leads to a room holding two benches, a scarred table, and a hearth broad enough to roast an entire deer. The fire is cold. The room is not abandoned. Bundles of winter herbs hang from the beams. Flour waits in sealed crocks. Six cloaks occupy the pegs near the main door. Someone has scrubbed the table recently enough that damp darkens the grain. Caelen stands on the threshold. His hand remains on the key. "Your house?" I ask. "My aunt's." "Maeven said yours remains." "The two upper rooms were mine. The side door was ours. Fennec houses grow together when families do." He says it in the past tense. I step inside. My left leg is stiff from the hall, and the raised threshold catches my boot. Caelen's hand lifts toward my elbow. "Help?" he asks. "Yes… please." He steadies me over the sill and releases. No mineral he
You May Also Like
Rejected By My Mate
LorreignneScarr1.4M viewsThe Lycan King
Blair Cahill608.6K viewsThe Lycan's Rejected Mate
Sunshine Princess812.6K viewsHis Little Wolf
becky j567.7K viewsSeducing My Mother's Fiancée
Isha211 viewsThe Alpha's Regretful Goodbye
Wealth💅170 viewsLuna With Something To Prove
Mrs. Smith2.6K viewsThe Alpha King’s Secret Heir
Katherine Jones260 views
