Chapter 12

Zade

My wolf roared in disgust as I grabbed her wrist. Zoey gasped, clearly shocked by my reaction. She probably thought I'd give in to her, that she could manipulate me. "If you try this again, I’ll send you back to your father. Know your place," I growled, walking past her.

"You brought me here to marry me because I have the potential you’re looking for. So why reject me like this? You don’t have a mate—I’m your only choice!" she cried, tears streaming down her cheeks as she hurriedly wiped them away.

"Then why am I here? What are you keeping me for?" Her voice cracked with desperation, but her words didn’t move me. I knew exactly what she wanted—she thought I would pity her.

A smirk tugged at my lips as I took a step toward her. She noticed and instinctively stepped back, her heart racing as if she were being hunted.

"You’re not my only hope, Zoey," I said coldly. "I have a mate, and the sight of you disgusts me. You’re only here to serve me, nothing more. You’re strong in battle, but beyond that, you mean nothing to me. You don’t even have the right to question me. Say one more word, and I’ll rip your throat out."

Her eyes widened in fear and confusion as she shifted away from me. Bowing her head, she rushed out of the room.

I lay on the bed for a moment, my thoughts heavy, but there was no sense of peace. Only the emptiness that lingered when I thought of her—the one who was truly mine.

Ashley

I can feel the sweat running down my back, the heat of the sun on my skin, but none of that matters. My legs are shaking. My arms are trembling. I can barely grip the staff anymore, but I won’t stop. I can’t stop.

Conan’s standing there, watching me. His eyes, sharp like they’re seeing through me. He’s always so calm, so in control. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, if he’s disappointed, if he thinks I’m wasting his time.

The staff feels heavy in my hands, and I swing it again, awkward, too slow. I know it’s wrong, but I don’t have time to fix it before he’s already there, knocking it out of my grip like I’m a child playing a game I don’t understand.

"Again," he says. Just that one word, like it’s so easy, like I haven’t already been trying for hours. My chest is heaving, my lungs burning, but I nod, swallowing the frustration that rises in my throat.

I bend down, pick up the staff again, and plant my feet. I don’t want to look at him, but I do. His face is still unreadable. Why doesn’t he say anything? Maybe I was probably doing it wrong I thought.

“I don’t know if I can…” My voice breaks, and I hate that. I hate how weak I sound.

“Stop.” He said He steps closer, right in front of me now, towering over me. “Look at me.”

I lift my head, my eyes meeting his. I can feel the weight of his gaze, the way it presses down on me, but there’s something in his eyes. Which I couldn't pin point

“You can do this,” he says, his voice lower now, steadier. “But you’ve got to stop waiting for someone else to tell you that. You’ve got to know it for yourself.” he added

“Pick it up,” he says again, stepping back.

I grip the staff tighter, plant my feet, and swing again. And this time, I feel it. The power behind the movement. It’s still not perfect, but it’s better. I don’t know if it’s good enough, but I don’t care anymore. I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing this for me. I'll learn how to be stronger

“Good,” he says, his voice quieter, almost soft. But he’s not done. “Again.”

And so we keep going. Over and over, I swing. Over and over, he knocks the staff out of my hands, or tells me to adjust my stance, or says nothing at all, just watches me with that same unreadable look on his face.

Hours pass, but I’ve stopped counting the time. My body is screaming, every muscle on fire, but I won’t stop. Not yet. Not until I get it right.

At some point, I stumble. I don’t even feel it coming, just suddenly I’m on my knees, gasping for breath, the dirt cool against my skin. My vision blurs, and I blink away the tears that sting my eyes.

“I can’t…” I whisper, though I don’t mean to. It just slips out without me realizing it.

“I don’t know if I’m strong enough.” I mumble

“You are,” he says, his hand reaching out, gripping my arm, pulling me to my feet. His grip is firm and steady.

“One more time,” he says, stepping back, giving me space.

I swing again, and this time, it feels right. It feels like all the pieces have finally clicked into place. My body moves like it knows what to do, like it’s always known, and I can see the change in Conan’s face, just for a second.

“That’s it,” he says, and I can barely hear him over the pounding in my chest. My whole body is shaking, but it’s not from exhaustion anymore. It’s from the realization this Is my first day of training and I improved.

“tomorrow by 6:30Am meet me here and don't be late" he said then walked away.