The clang of steel rang sharp in the cool morning air.
Aiden gritted his teeth, sweat running down the side of his face as he swung the sword again, both hands tight around the hilt. The blade was heavier than he expected, each strike making his arms ache, but he didn't stop. He couldn't.
The training grounds were nearly empty, only a few pack members watching from a distance, whispering among themselves. Some with curiosity, some with skepticism. The Alpha King's bonded mate, an omega pretending to be a warrior?
Aiden's jaw tightened. He drove the sword down hard against the practice dummy, wood splintering under the blow.
I'm not weak.
He had heard the whispers too many times. That he was fragile. That he was helpless. That he was only alive because Theron had chosen to keep him close.
The thought burned.
Again. Swing. Slash. Step back. Swing harder.
His arms shook, his chest heaved, but he forced his body to obey. He had spent his whole life thinking he was a beta, just like everyone else. He had fought with them, bled with them, proved himself. And now—now they looked at him like he was something delicate. Something to protect.
He wanted to scream.
"Your grip's sloppy," a voice called.
Aiden spun, sword raised. Ronan leaned against a post at the edge of the training ground, arms folded, hazel eyes steady. He didn't look mocking—just calm, evaluating.
"You'll cut your own hand open holding it like that."
Aiden scowled, lowering the blade slightly but not relaxing. "I don't need your advice."
"You're holding a weapon in front of warriors," Ronan said simply, stepping forward. His presence was heavy, not cruel, just firm. "If you're going to train, train right."
Aiden's tail twitched behind him, bristling. "I don't need you to babysit me."
Ronan stopped a few paces away, his expression unreadable. "No one's asking me to. But if you swing like that against a rogue, you'll last ten seconds. Maybe less."
The words cut deep.
Aiden's grip on the sword tightened until his knuckles went white. He hated how much it stung—because it wasn't said with malice, just fact.
"I can fight," Aiden said through clenched teeth.
"I know you can," Ronan replied, his tone calm. "But there's a difference between fighting and surviving."
The pack members nearby had gone quiet, watching the exchange with careful eyes. Aiden felt the weight of it pressing down on him, choking him. He wanted to shout, to prove himself, to smash the dummy apart just to show them he wasn't useless.
Instead, he raised the sword again. "Then show me."
Ronan studied him for a long moment before stepping into the ring. He drew a wooden training blade from the rack and twirled it once in his grip. His stance was relaxed, almost casual, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his readiness.
"Alright," Ronan said evenly. "Hit me."
Aiden lunged.
The clash of wood against steel echoed, and the training ground came alive.
Aiden lunged.
Steel met wood with a jarring crack, the vibration rattling up his arms. Ronan hadn't even shifted his stance—he'd just lifted his blade and caught Aiden's strike like it was nothing.
"Too high," Ronan said calmly.
Aiden growled, shoving harder, but Ronan angled his weapon, and Aiden stumbled forward, off-balance. He caught himself, spinning to face him again.
"Don't talk to me like I'm a pup," Aiden snapped.
"Then don't fight like one," Ronan shot back.
Heat flared in Aiden's chest. He attacked again—swing, feint, slash low. His movements weren't graceful, but they were fast, the kind he'd drilled over and over when he still believed he was beta. He ducked and pivoted like he always had, relying on speed and precision rather than brute force.
For a moment, it worked. His blade scraped Ronan's arm, drawing a surprised grunt. Aiden's lips curled into a grim smile.
But then Ronan moved.
It was like a wall closing in. The beta captain's body shifted smoothly, controlled, each strike carrying weight without effort. Aiden blocked one, then two, but the third sent his arm numb. The fourth knocked the breath from his chest.
He staggered back, panting, hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.
The whispers at the edge of the grounds grew louder. He could hear them, no matter how low they spoke.
The Alpha King's mate? He can't even hold a sword…He's just an omega. Fragile. Useless.
The sound dug under his skin.
With a snarl, Aiden surged forward again, slashing with reckless speed. Every strike was sharper, faster—his beta-trained instincts screaming to adapt, endure, outlast. Ronan blocked each one, his face unreadable.
But then—something shifted.
Aiden ducked under a swing, coming in too close, his chest brushing Ronan's arm. His senses lit up, not from fear, but from instinct. His wolf surged, heat curling deep in his belly even though his first full heat had only just ended days ago. He smelled dominance—Ronan's—his own body responding in ways he hated.
Submit, something whispered inside him.
"No!" Aiden snarled aloud, shoving Ronan back with all his strength. His claws half-slipped at his fingertips, his breathing ragged. "I'm not weak. I'm not just—" His voice broke, fury choking the rest.
Ronan had stilled, sword lowered slightly, eyes narrowing. "You think being omega makes you weak?"
Aiden's throat tightened, but he lifted his blade again. His arms trembled, but his stance didn't falter. "I'll prove it. I've always fought like a beta. I am a beta. Nothing's changed."
Ronan's gaze softened for a heartbeat, then hardened again. He stepped forward and raised his weapon, steady as stone. "Then prove it."
Aiden bared his teeth, tail lashing behind him. Every muscle burned, every instinct screamed contradiction—submit, fight, survive, yield—but he only gripped the sword tighter.
"I'm not weak," he whispered, before charging again.
Aiden's body was fire. Every muscle screamed, sweat ran down his spine, his lungs begged for rest. But he refused.
Ronan's blade came down hard — Aiden twisted aside, the edge grazing his arm, tearing skin. Pain flared bright, but he didn't falter. Instead, he used the momentum, spinning low, sword dragging in an arc.
"Too wild," Ronan muttered, moving to block—
But Aiden didn't aim for his guard.
He shifted at the last second, forcing his burning legs to push harder, faster. His blade sliced upward, past Ronan's block, the steel hissing through the air before biting into Ronan's side. Not deep — but enough to sting, enough to draw blood.
Ronan hissed, staggering a step. His silver eyes snapped wide, surprise flashing across his usually calm face.
And for the first time, the training ground went silent.
The whispers stopped. The watching betas stilled. All eyes locked on the cut bleeding down Ronan's ribs.
Aiden stood there, chest heaving, sword trembling in his hands. His vision swam, black spots dancing at the edges, but his teeth bared in a fierce grin.
"I told you…" he panted, voice breaking but steady with conviction. "I'm not weak."
Ronan pressed his hand to the wound, then looked at Aiden. Not with anger, not even disappointment—there was something sharper. Respect.
He lowered his blade.
"You fight like a beta," Ronan said quietly, almost to himself. "No… you fight like someone who refuses to break."
Aiden's knees buckled, but he locked them, forcing himself upright, sword still raised though his arms shook violently.
The silence cracked.
One of the younger wolves let out a bark of surprise, another muttered, "He actually—" before cutting off. The crowd shifted uneasily, the old doubts wavering in the air.
Ronan straightened, wiped the blood from his side, and lifted his blade in salute. His voice carried clear and firm:
"This fight is his."
The betas stirred, disbelief hanging heavy, but no one argued.
Aiden's chest swelled with something unfamiliar. Not triumph exactly. Not pride either. But a weight lifted — just a little. His body finally gave in, his sword clattering to the dirt as he staggered back, gasping.
He wasn't weak. He'd proved it.
The training ground was still humming with whispers when Aiden finally lowered himself onto the dirt, sweat dripping into his eyes, chest heaving like a drumbeat. His whole body ached, but deep inside, something pulsed stronger than exhaustion — defiance.
He'd landed a real blow. He'd won.
But before the pack could settle, a cold wind cut through the field.
Silence followed.
Every wolf in the clearing stiffened. The hairs along Aiden's neck prickled, a low chill shivering down his spine. He didn't need to look to know who it was.
Theron.
The Alpha King stood at the edge of the grounds, white hair gleaming like snow in the fading light, silver eyes burning holes into the scene.
The crowd parted instantly, betas lowering their gazes, stepping back. Even Ronan dipped his head, blade resting against his shoulder as he retreated a step.
But Theron wasn't looking at them.
His eyes were locked on Aiden.
Aiden's ears twitched nervously, his tail brushing low against the dirt as he forced himself upright. His chest was still bare where the fight had torn his shirt, skin flushed and slick with sweat. And then he realized—too late—that his own scent was rolling off him in thick waves. His heart skipped. Heat clung to his skin, faint but undeniable, his pheromones stirred wild by the spar, his omega nature leaking into the air.
And he saw it.
The way two alphas near the back stiffened, their pupils blown wide, throats bobbing as they scented him. Hunger flickered in their gazes before they quickly dropped their eyes to the ground, ashamed but unable to hide it.
Theron's snarl split the silence.
It wasn't loud. But it shook the ground.
In three strides, he was across the field. His hand fisted in Aiden's collar, hauling him upright so their faces nearly touched. The Alpha King's scent crashed over everything, blotting out the faint traces of desire from the other wolves, a storm of dominance and fury.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Theron's voice was a growl, sharp enough to make the younger wolves flinch.
Aiden clawed at his wrist, fangs bared. "I was fighting. I was proving myself."
"You were broadcasting yourself!" Theron snapped, his eyes flashing. "Do you even realize—" His words broke, his jaw clenching, as if even saying it out loud would make him lose control.
Aiden froze. He knew what Theron meant. He'd felt it himself, the way his body had burned under the fight, the way his scent had spilled into the air without his permission.
"I didn't mean to," Aiden whispered, ears flattening.
Theron leaned closer, voice dropping low, dangerous. "They looked at you, Aiden. They wanted you." His claws pricked against Aiden's shoulder, his wolf rattling under his skin. "And if you think for one second I'll allow another alpha to scent what's mine—"
Aiden shoved at his chest, tail lashing with anger. "I'm not yours!"
The training ground sucked in a collective breath.
Theron's grip tightened, but only for a moment before he released him with a sharp shove. Aiden stumbled back, panting, caught between fear, rage, and something he couldn't name.
"Training's over," Theron growled to the rest of the pack without looking at them. "Leave."
No one argued. Within seconds, the field emptied, leaving only Theron and Aiden standing in the dirt, tension sparking like lightning between them.
The last of the pack scattered, paws thundering against dirt, leaving the training grounds heavy with silence. Dust still hung in the air, curling in the fading light.
Theron didn't move at first. He stood there, chest heaving, eyes fixed on Aiden with a rage that wasn't just anger — it was instinct. Possessive. Raw.
Aiden's own body betrayed him. His heart hammered, breath sharp in his throat, but he refused to look away. He held Theron's gaze, trembling but stubborn. "I told you—I'm not yours."
The words snapped something.
Theron's shoulders rippled, bones shifting beneath skin. His eyes glowed a deep, molten amber. White wolf ears pushed through his hair, tail flashing high in dominance.
"Theron—" Aiden started, but the rest of his words were drowned by the guttural growl that spilled from the Alpha King's throat.
The shift overtook him in a rush of fur and muscle. In seconds, the massive white wolf stood before him, fur bristling, amber eyes blazing like twin suns. The ground seemed to shudder beneath the weight of his presence.
Aiden stumbled back, instincts screaming. His own body reacted before his mind caught up. Black fur burst along his skin, his frame narrowing, paws replacing hands. His wolf form stood braced against Theron's, teeth bared, ears pinned.
He wanted to growl back. Every nerve in him screamed to fight, to defy. But the sound stuck in his throat, strangled, his chest tight. His wolf trembled, tail tucking despite his will.
Theron moved, slow and deliberate, each pawstep ringing dominance into the earth. His body curled around Aiden, not pressing, not striking — just surrounding. Claiming. The low rumble in his chest vibrated through the ground, through Aiden's paws, through his bones.
Aiden tried again to snarl, to push back against the crushing weight of that presence. But instead, a small whine slipped free. His ears flattened lower, his muscles shaking with the conflict between defiance and instinct.
Theron's massive head lowered until his muzzle brushed against Aiden's neck, right above the gland. His hot breath poured across Aiden's fur, and the growl turned into a sound closer to a warning, a reminder of exactly who held control.
Aiden squeezed his eyes shut, rage burning hot in his chest. Why can't I fight him? Why can't I move?
His body betrayed him again, sinking slightly into the dirt as his tail flicked low, forced into a posture he hated, a posture that screamed submission.