Chapter 42: Are You Alright?

Chapter 42: Are You Alright? Kaya The crowd thickens as more people pour onto the training grounds, the steady influx making it clear just how formidable this pack truly is. For the first time, I see the big picture—the sheer power and unity they exude. Everyone here seems as if they were meant to be part of this pack. And I mean that literally. How can they all look so... alike? Similar is the best word I can find to describe it. They are all tall, powerful, and perfectly built for battle. Their expressions brim with confidence—some crossing into arrogance—and their presence alone is overwhelming. Dressed mostly in black, they emanate a dark, commanding aura that makes them feel untouchable. If I had my wolf, I have no doubt she would be bowing her head to every single one of them. And yet, while they don’t approach me, I feel their eyes. Sharp, assessing stares, hushed whispers passing between them, subtle gestures in my direction. They’re curious, but not enough to engage. I am an outsider in a place where strength is the only language spoken. Then, as if drawn by an invisible force, my gaze finds Magnus. Oliver is already beside him, talking animatedly, while another man—one I assume must be Aksel, Magnus’s beta—joins in with ease. Their conversation seems natural, familiar. Meanwhile, Samantha drops onto one of the benches lining the perimeter, tapping away at her smartwatch as if this is just another day for her. But for me, it’s not. I remain standing, awkward and uncertain, sneaking glances at Magnus when I think he won’t notice. But then, he does. Our eyes meet, and a shiver racks through me. His stare is piercing, bright, unrelenting, as if peeling back my layers and reading everything I try to conceal. It lasts only a few seconds, but that’s all it takes. A strange dizziness overtakes me, and suddenly, I can barely breathe. "Finally!" Samantha exclaims, slapping her smartwatch with a triumphant grin. I flinch at the sudden motion, turning to see her practically glowing with excitement. "Got this damn thing working again! It stopped tracking my steps, and it’s been driving me insane for days!" I offer her a brief smile, though I can’t exactly relate to the frustration of a malfunctioning smartwatch. Before I can say anything, a sharp voice cuts through the chatter. "Listen up!" Both Samantha and I snap our heads in the direction of the sound. Oliver stands in the center of the training ring, his keen eyes sweeping over the assembled crowd with authority. "We’re starting with stretches, then running the usual three laps through the forest. After that, whatever strength training you prefer. No shifting." A soft, mocking snicker comes from nearby. "Yeah, I wonder why," Gloria murmurs, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she throws a pointed glance in my direction. I stiffen, but before I can react, another voice—low, commanding—cuts through the tension like a blade. "Because I said so." Magnus steps forward, his amber eyes locking onto Gloria with an intensity that radiates dominance. She falters instantly. I can almost see her wolf tucking its tail between its legs, her dark brown eyes flicking downward in submission, careful not to challenge him any further. For a fleeting second, I feel a sense of satisfaction at the way she backs down. But just as quickly as it comes, I push it away, forcing my expression to remain neutral. There’s no time to bask in anything because my mind is already latching onto something far more concerning. Running through the forest. Three times. I haven’t even made it across the forest once , and now I’m expected to sprint through it three times in a row? A cold dread settles in my stomach. "Hey, what’s wrong?" Samantha’s voice is suddenly softer, her bright blue eyes scanning my face with concern. "You look kinda pale." "Sam," I ask, "how long does it usually take you to run through the forest three times?" She tilts her head, thinking for a few seconds before replying, "In human form? About ninety minutes. In wolf form? No more than an hour." That fast? I barely whisper the words, but Samantha hears them anyway. A playful grin spreads across her face as she looks down at me. "Hey, no one’s forcing you to run all three laps, you know," she says with a casual shrug. "You’re new, after all. Oliver’s supervising today—just go talk to him. I’m sure he’ll come up with something lighter for you." I stiffen at the suggestion. The mere thought makes my stomach churn. If I do that, again they’ll look at me like I need special treatment. Again they’ll whisper behind my back, calling me the favorite. "I..." I trail off, my mind scrambling for an excuse. I don’t want to outright refuse, but I also don’t want to look weak. My fingers curl around the hem of my loose hoodie, tugging at the stretched fabric as if it holds the answer for me. "I don’t think I’m dressed properly for this. Maybe I should just..." I don’t even know where I’m going with that, but to my surprise, Samantha doesn’t immediately call me out on it. Instead, she narrows her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest as she gives me a slow, assessing look. Then, unexpectedly, she nods in agreement. "You’re right. Those clothes aren’t great for running." She gestures toward the side of the training grounds. "Go grab something from the storage room." "What?" I blink at her, thrown off. "What do you mean?" "There." Samantha points toward an annex building south of the training grounds, her fingers pressing lightly against my shoulder as she turns me in that direction. "It was supposed to be an equipment room originally, but we keep a lot of spare clothes there, for when we come back from hunting or shift during sparring matches. Most of them are training clothes, and I’m pretty sure you’ll find something in your size." "A-Alright," I stammer for some reason, then quickly start walking, eager to disappear. What a disaster. No matter how I look at it, this will only end in humiliation. If I try to run the full course like them, I’ll collapse halfway through, exposing how weak I really am. But if I ask Oliver to modify the routine for me, I’ll be seen as someone who needs special treatment. Maybe they wouldn’t judge me for it... but I’m too anxious to take that risk. Fine. Fine. I’ll just do my best. I’ll run all three laps, even if it kills me. But first... I push open the storage room door and flick the switch, blinking a few times as the dim overhead light hums to life. Samantha was right—it’s a big space. The walls are lined with tall shelves stocked with yoga mats and an assortment of dumbbells, though they’re nearly hidden behind the sheer number of boxes filled with clothes. To my left—men’s clothing. To my right—women’s. I head to the right and begin scanning the boxes for labels. They’re marked clearly—the type of clothing and its size. "Training bra... size S..." I murmur, reaching into the box instinctively. Pulling out the first bra I find, I hold it against my chest, assessing the fit. Should be fine... I guess. I look around to make sure I’m alone before stepping further inside and pulling off my hoodie. A wave of cool morning air rushes over my bare skin, sending a light shiver through me and tingling my scars. I drop the hoodie onto the floor and quickly slip on the sports bra, adjusting the straps until it fits snugly, offering the right amount of support. "Well, that’s covered," I murmur, glancing down at my chest. "But I probably shouldn’t leave my scars exposed like this... Gloria was wearing a long-sleeved training top earlier, maybe I can find one too." I scan the boxes again, unsure exactly what I’m searching for. When I don’t spot anything useful, I shift my focus to the shelves, searching specifically for a long-sleeved top. "Oh, there you are!" I stretch onto my toes, reaching for a box placed annoyingly high on the top shelf. I groan when I realize I’m too short to grab it, but I’m not ready to give up just yet. Determined, I try jumping a few times, hoping to catch the corner of the box. Instead, I only manage to nudge it farther out of reach. Frustration prickles at me, and it looks like I’ll have no choice but to throw my hoodie back on and pray I don’t pass out from overheating during the run. Just as I’m about to resign myself to defeat, a firm, warm hand suddenly presses against my waist. The scent of pine engulfs me, deep and intoxicating, wrapping around me like the heart of a dense forest. I flinch, startled, and in my panic, my forehead collides with the cold metal shelf. A sharp sting shoots through my skull, and I wince, bringing a hand up to rub the spot. "Are you alright?"