Chapter 5 Sparks in the Yard

The yard was full to bursting. Wolves of every age crowded the rails, warriors lined shoulder to shoulder, and pups squirmed on parents’ hips to see over the crowd. Training demonstrations weren’t unusual, but today’s had a strange energy humming through it. Maybe it was because the moon was only a week from its half phase, or maybe because whispers about me and Kier had started sticking to every shadow like burrs.

Alpha Tor stood at the center, arms folded, his gaze sharp. Beside him, my father. And up on the balcony, Luna Alina, smiling faintly as though she already knew how the day would unfold.

“Today,” Tor announced, his voice cutting through the yard like a blade, “our future Alpha and the daughter of our Beta will spar together. Strength is nothing without control. Power is nothing without discipline. Let them show us both.”

My stomach dipped.

Kier was already in the ring, rolling his shoulders, muscles gleaming in the pale sun. His grin was sharp, but I saw the flicker of nerves in his eyes. He hated being put on display almost as much as I did. Still, he looked every inch the Alpha in waiting—commanding, dangerous, golden.

“Ready to give them a show?” he murmured when I joined him, close enough that only I could hear.

I adjusted the strap of my leather guard, giving him a look. “Ready to make you eat dirt again.”

That pulled a laugh from him, low and warm. The sound earned a ripple of whispers from the crowd. My jaw tightened. They were eating it up.

The Alpha dropped his hand. “Begin.”

Kier moved first, fast as lightning, sweeping in with a strike aimed for my ribs. I twisted out of reach, his momentum grazing me but not landing. He came again, harder, pressing his advantage, every strike precise. He wanted me to work for it—wanted to remind me, and everyone else watching, that he was power incarnate.

I met him blow for blow, blocking, pivoting, sliding under his guard. My mother’s lessons rang in my blood: patience, timing, breath. The crowd’s cheers blurred until there was only the rhythm of us, the thud of fists against leather, the grit of boots on dirt.

Finally, he lunged with too much force, his balance pitched forward. I hooked his leg, spun, and sent him sprawling into the dust.

Gasps, then wild applause.

Kier rolled onto his back, chest heaving, dust streaked across his jaw. For a heartbeat, he just stared up at me, eyes blazing with something I couldn’t name. Respect? Challenge? Something heavier?

I offered him my hand.

This time, he didn’t hesitate. He gripped it, pulled himself up, and didn’t let go right away. The crowd roared as if they’d seen a vow made before their eyes.

When the crowd finally dispersed, the whispers followed us like a storm. Kier leaned against the fence, watching the last of the warriors drift away.

“They’re convinced,” he said.

“Convinced of what?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“That you’re mine.” His eyes met mine, steady, not mocking. “That the mate bond is waiting, just out of reach.”

I felt heat climb my throat. “And if it isn’t?”

For a moment, something flickered in his gaze—something almost like relief. Then his voice dropped low. “Then maybe we get to choose.”

The words hung between us, dangerous and intoxicating.

I turned away before my heart could betray me. “Don’t let them hear you say that.”

His laugh was quiet, but it followed me all the way back to the lodge.

The air still buzzed from the demonstration as the pack slowly dispersed, the scent of sweat and pine clinging heavy. I slipped toward the path leading back to my family’s den, hoping to avoid more of the stares, but Kier caught up to me easily. His stride was longer, his presence impossible to ignore.

“Walking away before I can gloat?” he teased, falling into step beside me.

“You’re the one who ended up in the dirt.”

“Details,” he said, flashing that grin that made the younger girls in the pack giggle behind their hands. It never worked on me. Or at least, I told myself it didn’t.

We walked in silence for a few moments, the woods whispering around us. The quiet wasn’t awkward—it never was with him—but I could feel the weight of what had just happened. The way the pack had cheered, the way they’d looked at us as if we were already bound together.

“They’re not going to stop,” Kier said finally, voice low. “The whispers. The looks. You saw them today.”

“I always see them.” My tone was sharper than I meant. I shoved my hands into the pockets of my training leathers, trying to breathe past the knot in my chest.

He glanced at me, serious now. “Does it bother you that much?”

“Yes,” I admitted, the word tearing free before I could soften it. “Because they all talk like it’s inevitable. Like I don’t even get a say in my own life. Like I’m not a person, just… just a puzzle piece waiting to snap into place with you.”

We stopped at the edge of the river, the current rushing silver under the fading light. Kier leaned against a tree, arms crossed, eyes steady on me.

“You think I want that?” he asked quietly.

I looked at him, surprised. “Don’t you?”

He shook his head, a humorless smile tugging at his lips. “I want to be Alpha because I was born to it. Because the pack needs me. But I don’t want anyone thinking you’re just some extension of me. Sable, you’ve always been… you. Fierce, infuriating, stronger than most of the men I train with. If the bond happens, I don’t want it to erase that. And if it doesn’t—” He shrugged, his eyes catching the last of the sun. “Then maybe that’s freedom.”

My throat tightened. The honesty in his voice unsettled me more than the thought of a hundred stares.

“What if the bond doesn’t care what we want?” I whispered.

“Then we fight it,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

I laughed, but it was shaky, fragile. “You can’t fight the moon goddess.”

“Maybe not. But I’d fight anyone—or anything—that tried to take away who you are.”

The river roared louder between us, though neither of us moved away. My heart hammered in my chest, treacherous in its rhythm. This was Kier, my friend, my sparring partner, my closest rival. But for the first time, I couldn’t quite convince myself that was all he was.

I looked away before the moment could swallow me. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stubborn,” he said, pushing off the tree to fall back into step beside me. “Guess that makes us even.”

We walked the rest of the way in silence, but every step felt like it was carrying me closer to something I wasn’t ready to name.