Chapter 6: "The Fortress"
I woke to grey light through a small window. Stone walls. Metal bars on the glass. Not decorative—functional. This was a fortress, not a home.
I sat up. The bed was narrow, military. The sheets were clean, rough, smelled like lye soap. Nothing like the silk I had shared with Kael. I touched the mark on my neck. Tender. Real. Two days old and already healing into a scar.
My pheromones felt different. Quiet. Not the desperate hum of rejection sickness, but something steadier. Deeper. I didn't know if that was the mark working, or if I was finally breathing without waiting for someone who wouldn't come.
I dressed in the clothes I'd packed. Black jeans. Grey sweater. Boots. No mirror in the room. I didn't need one. I knew what I looked like. Thin. Tired. Determined.
The hallway was stone. Cold under my boots. I followed the smell of coffee.
The kitchen was large. Industrial. A woman stood at a stove that could feed fifty. She was in her fifties, grey hair pulled back, arms thick from work. She didn't turn when I entered.
"You're the bride," she said.
"Elara."
"I know your name." She stirred something. "Everyone knows your name. Alpha daughter. Rejected ninety-nine times. Married a stranger to survive." She looked at me. Sharp eyes. No pity. "I'm Vera. I run the kitchen. You want to eat, you help. You want to starve, that's your business."
"I'll help."
She studied me. Looking for the lie. "There's a bowl. Peel potatoes."
I found the bowl. Found the peeler. Sat at a metal table and worked. The potatoes were cold. My fingers went numb. I didn't stop.
A man entered. Younger than Cassian, maybe twenty-eight. Lean, dark hair, scar above his eyebrow. He moved like a fighter. Every step placed, ready.
"Jax," Vera said. "Lieutenant. Don't smile at him. He doesn't like it."
Jax didn't smile. He looked at me. At my hands on the potato peeler. At my neck—his eyes caught the mark, the fresh scar.
"Cassian wants her at training," he said to Vera. "One hour."
"She's eating first."
"She can eat after."
"She can eat now." Vera didn't look up. "You want to tell Cassian I sent his new wife to training hungry?"
Jax was quiet. Then: "One hour." He left.
Vera handed me a plate. Eggs. Bread. Coffee in a metal cup. "Eat. Don't thank me. I'm not doing it for you. I'm doing it because hungry wolves make mistakes, and his lordship doesn't need you dead on day one."
I ate. The eggs were good. Real. Not the delicate portions Kael's pack had served at formal dinners.
"You're not what I expected," Vera said.
"What did you expect?"
"Crying. Begging. Asking when he's coming back."
"Who?"
"Your pretty Alpha." She finally looked at me. "The one who left you standing in white."
I touched the mark on my neck. "He's not coming back. I didn't wait."
Vara's mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. "Finish eating. Then go with Jax. Try not to die."
---
The training grounds were outside. Dirt and grass, worn down by years of combat. A dozen wolves moved through exercises. Pairs sparring. Some running obstacle courses. All stopped when I appeared.
I felt their eyes. Assessment. Judgment.
"Alpha daughter," someone muttered. Not loud enough to claim. Loud enough to hear.
"Soft," another voice. Female. Young. "She'll break in a week."
I kept walking. Jax led me to the center of the grounds. Cassian was there.
He wore black. Simple. No armor for training. His white hair caught the morning light. He turned when we approached. Those mismatched eyes—blue and grey—moved over me. Head to feet. Looking for something.
"Stance," he said. No greeting. No good morning.
"What?"
"Show me your stance."
I didn't have one. I stood like I'd always stood. Shoulders slightly forward, weight on my toes, ready to apologize for taking up space.
Cassian moved. Fast. His foot hooked my ankle. I hit the ground hard. Dirt in my mouth. Pain in my hip.
"Wrong," he said. "Again."
I stood. Tried to copy what I'd seen. Feet apart. Knees bent. Hands up. He struck again. Different angle. Same result. Ground. Pain.
"You're braced for a hit," he said. "Don't brace. Move."
"How?"
He didn't answer. He demonstrated. Slow, then fast. How weight shifted. How the body became fluid instead of fixed. I watched. Tried to copy. Failed. Tried again.
An hour passed. Maybe more. The sun climbed. Sweat soaked my sweater. My hands shook. I hit the ground seventeen times. I stood up eighteen.
The pack watched. Some openly now. Leaning on fence posts, drinking water, waiting for me to quit.
I didn't quit.
Cassian stopped. Stepped back. I was braced for another strike, off-balance, exhausted. It didn't come.
"Again," he said. But his voice was different. Not softer. Assessing.
"Show me."
I tried the stance. Shaky. Wrong in six ways. But I was standing. I hadn't fallen.
He nodded. Once. "Tomorrow. Same time."
He walked away. Jax followed. The pack dispersed, disappointed I hadn't collapsed.
I stood in the training ground alone. Breathing hard. Every muscle screaming. A bruise blooming on my hip where I'd hit the dirt first.
I touched it. Pressed. Felt the pain sharp and real and mine.
For the first time in five years, I had earned something. Not been given it. Not begged for it. Earned it.
I smiled. No one saw. It didn't matter.
I had come to this place broken. Desperate. Dying.
Today I had stood up eighteen times.
Tomorrow I would stand up nineteen.