CHAPTER 3: A CLOSE CALL
HARPER'S POV
This was supposed to be easy.
Not a walk in the damn woods, sure, but I have trained for this. I have bled for this. Fought wolves twice my size. Survived things that would have shattered most.
But the second he stepped onto that platform… something in me shifted.
And not in the cool, badass "I have got this" kind of way.
No.
It was like my stomach turned inside out, and my breath just… stopped.
What the hell?
I force my boots to move. One step. Two. Onto the platform. My hands flex at my sides, itching for a fight, but my chest is tight.
I don't like this. I don't like it at all. This is so not like me. I don't get anxious or scared. Not after that night
Still, I don't freeze.
But gods help me, the moment I stand in front of him, hood up, face mostly shadowed, his scent barely there but still somehow powerful every nerve in me goes haywire.
And then—
"...Oh."
It's not me.
It's her.
My wolf.
My wolf who hasn't spoken to me in weeks. Not since I downed that potion. Not since I buried everything that made us... us.
"You are awake?" I whisper in my head, my heart pounding against my ribs.
No answer.
Of course.
Typical.
"Oh, now you decide to pop in?" I scoff internally, sliding into a loose stance. I keep my eyes trained on the mystery man's shoulders. Wide. Tense.
Relaxed in that "I could kill you if I felt like it" kind of way. "You haven't said shit since I took the potion, and now you are breathing down my spine?"
Still nothing.
Just this weird, coiled energy. Like my wolf's pacing in circles behind my ribcage. Watching. Wanting.
And that right there, is the part that scares me.
My wolf doesn't get antsy. She is cool and calculated, like the apex predator she is. Nothing shakes her. Not unless there's a reason.
"Do you know him?" I ask, trying not to let my nerves reach my face. The recruits are all staring. I have to keep my cover.
But again, silence.
My teeth grind.
"Answer me, dammit. If you know him, tell me. What is it? Is he dangerous? Do I need to be on gird? Do you recognize him?"
Still nothing.
But I feel her. Sitting there. Tail twitching. Chest heaving.
She knows something. I can feel it.
"Hunter!" the instructor calls from the edge of the ring.
Right. That is me. Hunter.
I nod, step forward, and square off with him. The so-called instructor.
He doesn't speak.
Just stares.
Like he is trying to peel my skin back and see what's underneath.
My wolf lets out the softest growl.
"Now you growl?" I snap. "You've been mute for weeks and now you have got opinions?"
Still. No. Words.
I'm going to rip my hair out.
But I can't. I have to focus.
He moves.
Quick. A blur of motion that nearly takes me out.
I duck, barely, and feel the wind of his fist brush my cheek.
Hell no.
I retaliate, fists flying, feet light. We clash hard, strike for strike, blow for blow. And every hit is like sparring a damn boulder.
Where did they even find this guy?
And why does my chest feel like it's collapsing?
His hits are sharp. Controlled. Mine are faster and wilder, but he adapts too quickly.
I dive low, aiming a sweep at his knee, but he leaps… leaps!... and lands behind me.
I spin, but he's already coming.
And that's when it happens.
A crack.
Subtle, but suddenly something deep inside just gives out.
My body doesn't falter. But my control? Yeah. That slips for half a second.
Because I smell him.
Not just in the way I've smelled everyone in this arena, sweat, dirt, tension. No. This is sharper. More defined. Crisp, cold. Like winter wind and danger wrapped in muscle.
And it hits too strong. Too vivid.
Which means—
Shit.
I stumble, not from a hit- but from realization.
The potion.
It's fading.
The masking. The boost. The wall between me and them.
"Not now," I hiss under my breath, ducking another strike. "Not now."
He doesn't slow. Doesn't flinch. He's relentless.
And I'm burning. My muscles are screaming. My limbs feel heavier than they did five minutes ago. Slower. Sloppier.
This is bad.
I twist away from a fist aimed at my jaw. Barely miss it. Counter with an elbow to his side. He grunts but barely backs off.
I'm panting.
He's not.
Why isn't he? Why isn't he getting tired?
Focus, Harper. Focus.
But it's hard. The potion's wearing thin and I can feel it unraveling inside me. Not all at once but in threads. My body's not moving right. My heartbeat's erratic. My scent—
My scent.
Can he smell it yet?
Panic sparks. No, it ignites.
If he picks it up, if anyone does—
They'll know I'm not Hunter.
They'll know I'm Harper.
The girl who's supposed to be dead. The rogue. The threat.
And everything I've planned will fall apart.
I duck, twist, slam a knee into his ribs. He grabs my wrist. Too fast.
I wrench it free, pulse spiking like I've been electrocuted.
I can't let this slip.
I won't.
He lunges again, goddess, he's fast, and his shoulder brushes mine. Too close. Too much pressure. Too much of him.
"Back off!" I snap without thinking.
He pauses. Just a fraction of a beat. Eyebrows knit.
And that hesitation?
That's mine.
I hook my leg, sweep his out from under him, and slam him to the ground.
Gasps echo. Someone whistles.
I don't care.
I'm not gloating.
I'm barely breathing.
He's staring at me like he's trying to figure me out. Like something about me doesn't add up.
Yeah?
Join the club.
I yank my hood lower and back off the platform, fingers twitching, lungs still on fire.
My wolf is still silent.
Which somehow makes it worse.
I want to scream at her. Demand she do something, say something, help.
But there's nothing.
Just her presence.
Watching. Waiting.
"Traitor," I mutter under my breath as I hit the ground, legs dragging like they're full of lead.
I need to get out of here.
Now.
Before someone smells what I really am.
Before someone recognizes me.
Before I screw this all up.
And the worst part?
This isn't even over. Not even close.