Three Weeks After the Beginner’s Showdown
The euphoria of winning the Beginner’s Showdown faded quickly as life resumed its usual pace. Training with Carlo late into the night became my new routine-our sessions often stretching beneath the stars until exhaustion pulled us apart. During the day, Sofia and Enrico pushed me harder than ever, driving me to my limits until every muscle ached and bruises marked my skin.
Where I once stumbled through training, struggling to keep up with the others, I now held my ground. My skin toughened, and I began using the sting of pain as fuel, something tangible to focus on. But even the ache in my muscles wasn’t enough to dull the deeper wounds.
A goal began to take root within me: I would one day surpass Carlo, earning the title of the pack’s fiercest warrior. I knew the odds were against me, but the challenge kept me afloat. Blue, my wolf, often warned me not to bury my grief-the loss of my mate and my mom still raw and festering beneath the surface. But I refused to listen. Drowning in sorrow had become unbearable, and fighting was the only way I knew to survive. I wasn’t healing, not really. I was just treading water.
Even with my progress, the nightmares returned like storm clouds, dark and unrelenting. I learned to silence my screams before they woke anyone in the house, though the terror still clung to me when I opened my eyes. But tonight’s dream was unlike the others-it marked the beginning of something new.
I found myself back on the battlefield, my body frozen in place as chaos raged around me. Carlo, Enrico, and Sofia fought valiantly, but the rogues pressed in from all sides. Trained warriors fell one by one, their lifeless wolves scattered across the field like discarded toys. The once-beautiful park was a graveyard now, blood staining the playground where children used to laugh.
Pain radiated from my leg where a rogue had sunk its teeth into my flesh, but my limbs refused to respond. I couldn’t shift, couldn’t fight. All I could do was stand there, helpless, as the rogues tore at my skin. And then she appeared-my mother’s wolf, a flash of teeth and fury. She lunged into the fray, her body a blur of movement as she fought to protect me.
But the ending was always the same. A rogue found her unguarded and clamped its jaws around her neck. I could only watch as the light drained from her eyes, the life slipping from her body with one final, heartbreaking whimper.
This time, however, the nightmare shifted. The rogue that killed my mother shifted too-into a man. Alpha Leonardo stood before me, his beauty a cruel contrast to the hatred in his pale grey eyes. His black hair shimmered under the sun, but his sneer cut deeper than any wound.
“This is your fault,” he hissed, his voice like ice slicing through my soul. “You distracted her. You killed her. Everything you touch dies, Isabella.”
His words hit me like a whip, leaving invisible wounds that bled deeper than the ones on my skin. Flames erupted around us, consuming both rogue and warrior alike. The scent of burning fur filled the air, mingling with the agonized howls of dying wolves. The earth beneath my feet turned to ash, and the fire crept up my legs, blistering my flesh.
The searing pain tore me from the nightmare, but it still clung to me like smoke. I woke to Carlo’s voice, his hands gripping my shoulders as he shook me. My body trembled uncontrollably, caught between the dream and reality.
“Ella! Wake up-you’re okay,” Carlo whispered urgently, his voice strained with fear.
Sweat drenched my skin, but it did nothing to soothe the fire that seemed to burn beneath it. My chest heaved as I struggled to breathe, convinced my body had been scorched to the bone.
“It was just a dream,” Carlo murmured, his gaze searching mine.
I tore myself free from his grasp, stumbling into the bathroom just in time to vomit into the toilet. The taste of bile burned my throat, and I fought the urge to cry.
Carlo followed me silently, his presence steady and unyielding. When he reached to pull my hair back, I flinched away, unwilling to accept his comfort. After rinsing my mouth and brushing my teeth, I glanced at my reflection. My face was flushed, my eyes hollowed and haunted.
I retreated to the bedroom, grabbing fresh clothes from the dresser. Carlo stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed with concern.
“Ella, what are you doing?” he asked quietly as I pulled on a tank top and leggings.
“I need to train,” I whispered, brushing past him without waiting for a response.
“Ella, it’s the middle of the night. Just try to sleep.” His voice was soft, but firm.
I shook my head, the phantom scent of burning fur still clinging to my senses. “I can’t. I need air.”
Carlo followed me outside, where the cool night breeze washed over me, soothing the lingering fire. I took deep breaths, inhaling the scent of damp grass and earth, desperate to erase the memory of the dream.
“This one was worse, wasn’t it?” Carlo asked gently, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored my own.
The way I felt about Carlo terrified me. It wasn’t the overwhelming pull of the mate bond, but something else-something quieter, yet just as powerful. He made me feel safe, grounded in a way I hadn’t felt in a long time. But I knew we were treading dangerous waters. Carlo had a mate somewhere out there, and it wasn’t me.
“I know you want to handle this on your own,” Carlo murmured, “but you don’t have to.”
“Don’t I?” My voice cracked as I met his gaze, my heart aching with the weight of everything unsaid between us.
No matter how much I wished otherwise, Carlo and I weren’t meant to be. My mate had rejected me, and my mother had been stolen from me. Carlo deserved better than the broken pieces I had to offer, and yet, the thought of losing him too was unbearable.
“I’ve prayed so many times,” I whispered, “asking the Moon Goddess to make you my mate.”
Carlo’s voice was barely audible, carried away by the breeze. “I wish I was.”
I trained alone that night, needing the solitude to sort through the chaos inside me. By the time the first light of dawn touched the horizon, my body was aching, but my mind was quieter. I showered under cold water, letting it wash away the remnants of the nightmare.
Later, I thumbed through my dad’s old book of lyrics, seeking solace in its familiar pages. One verse caught my eye, speaking to the warrior inside me:
“Every time I see a warrior stand tall,
I wonder-what shadows did you fight through?
What battles did you face?
Mountains don’t rise without the tremors that shake the ground.”