Evaline:
The mont I stepped into the Warrior Academy’s massive grounds, a wave of cool, crisp morning air hit my lungs. Maybe it was the altitude, or maybe it was just the weight of what this place ant.
Warrior Academy.
I let out a long exhale, trying to steady the nerves buzzing under my skin. I had trained for months under River and Oscar. I had faced a few of their warriors. I had learned to hold my ground. I had even won a few tis. But the anxiety creeping up my spine now wasn’t about the combat.
It was the eyes.
The recruits... dozens and dozens of them. Talented, ambitious, fierce. All trained or raised with the dream of becoming warriors. And today I was expected to spar among them.
A warm palm gently pressed against my lower back, grounding . Oscar’s voice followed, soft enough for just .
"Don’t overthink it," he said, leaning closer. "You are going to do great. I have seen you train. You are more than ready for this."
I managed a small nod, drawing a breath deep enough to push my shoulders back.
"I’m not worried about losing," I murmured. "I just... I have never fought in front of so many people. And most of them probably think it’s ridiculous that soone without a wolf is here."
Oscar chuckled under his breath. "That’s precisely why River and I decided to make you join the recruits for the rest of the holidays."
I blinked. "...What?"
He smirked. "You’ll get used to the eyes if you are constantly around them."
I groaned. "That sounds awful."
"That’s the point," he said, walking ahead. "Now co on. Go change. River’s leading the first half of today’s session, and he’ll want you there on ti."
I stepped into the changing room, inhaling the faint scent of lavender detergent that clung to the academy uniforms hung neatly in rows. After changing, I tied my hair into a tight braid, smoothing loose strands in the mirror.
I was sliding the band into place when the air shifted behind and I felt his presence - warm, commanding, achingly familiar.
My heartbeat imdiately picked up.
River closed the door behind him without a word, the soft click echoing in the small room. When I t his eyes through the mirror, he was already standing close... so close I could feel the heat radiating from him even though he wasn’t touching .
My breath hitched.
He didn’t speak. Neither did I.
His gaze traced the line of my braid, down my exposed neck, lingering at the curve of my collarbone where the academy uniform dipped slightly. That look... stars. He had been giving that look for days. Weeks.
As if he wanted to devour whole.
As if he was waiting... challenging ... to make the first move.
And I... I was doing the exact sa.
The tension between us had turned into sothing thick, electric, impossible to ignore. Every glance, every brush of fingers when he handed sothing, every mont he stepped just a bit too close during training... it all added up to a heat that curled low in my belly.
But neither of us crossed the line.
He stood behind now... close enough that my back ward, but still keeping a sliver of distance, almost painfully.
"You are nervous," he finally said in a low voice.
I swallowed. "I am."
His eyes softened, though the intensity never faded. "You’ll be fine."
"I know," I whispered. "I trust my training."
He nodded once. "Good."
But he didn’t step back. Didn’t look away.
And suddenly, the tiny room felt even smaller.
I turned around slowly to face him. His gaze dropped briefly... to my lips... and then snapped back up, controlled but burning.
Stars.
I felt my pulse between my ribs.
Neither of us moved.
Then he exhaled... rough, quiet, as if keeping himself in check.
"You look good in the academy uniform," he murmured, his eyes tracing the lines of it with a hunger he didn’t bother to hide.
Heat rushed to my cheeks.
"And you..." I swallowed. "You are doing that look again."
"What look?" he asked, innocent in tone, sinful in expression.
"The one that makes feel like..."
My voice faded. I couldn’t finish that sentence without combusting.
He stepped closer.
Barely an inch this ti.
Just enough that our breaths mingled.
"That’s because I haven’t forgotten what you taste like," he said softly.
My knees genuinely threatened to give out.
Before I could form a response, a distant whistle sounded. It was Oscar calling recruits to the training ground.
River didn’t move.
Neither did I.
"Go," he said finally, though his voice was thick. "I’ll see you out there."
I nodded, though I stayed still a mont longer, my heart pounding loud enough to drown out everything else.
I forced myself to step around him and walk toward the door. When my fingers touched the handle, he spoke again.
"Angel."
I turned.
His eyes were molten.
"Try not to make your opponent cry," he said, his mouth lifting slightly. "We need them functional for the rest of the day."
Despite everything, I laughed - soft, but real.
"I’ll try."
Then I stepped out, leaving the charged air of the changing room behind .
- - -
The training ground was massive... open-air, surrounded by tall stone walls covered in vines. The recruits stretched in rows, chatting, adjusting wraps, swinging practice blades.
Oscar stood at the center, his arms crossed as he watched the students with a hawk-like attention.
River stepped onto the platform monts later, and the shift in atmosphere was imdiate.
Recruits straightened. Their voices hushed and attention snapped forward.
I joined Kyros near the edge, ignoring the curious stares.
Oscar gave a little nod from across the field, his expression confident. Warm. Reassuring.
River didn’t look at ... but I felt him. Felt his awareness tracking even when he addressed the recruits.
"Today," River began, his voice strong and commanding, "we are focusing on adaptive combat. Unpredictability. Improvisation. And endurance." His gaze swept the groups. "We also have a new trainee joining us today, Evaline."
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