Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen
Amaris

The training yard turns into my battleground because it’s the only place on Ravencrest land where I can control the terms of conflict.
I can choose who hits me, when I hit back, and to stop when the rage starts tasting too sweet.
Today starts with Boone tossing me a pair of padded wraps and looking at me like he’s deciding whether this is a good idea or a spectacular way to get someone killed.
“You’re stubborn,” he says.
“I’m alive,” I answer.
Boone huffs a laugh. “Same thing, usually.”
Ember is already there, perched on the low fence like she’s waiting for entertainment. Dutch and Riggin lean against a rack of practice weapons. Winston stands with his arms crossed, trying to look unimpressed. Asher watches from the edge of the yard, calm and quiet, gaze cataloging everything.
Maxon isn’t in the center today. He stands back, near the tree line, still enough that he almost looks like part of the woods. His eyes stay on me anyway, just like they always do. I try not to react to it, but my body reacts anyway.
Boone steps into the ring and gestures. “We start basic,” he says. “Footwork. Guard. Breathing.”
“Breathing,” Ember repeats with mock solemnity. “Revolutionary.”
Boone shoots her a look. “If you want to teach, step in.”
Ember grins. “I want to watch her make you bleed.”
I wrap my hands with the padded cloth, pulling tight. The pressure steadies me. The wolf under my skin hums, impatient. It wants movement. It wants impact, and it wants to prove something I can’t name.
Boone circles me, hands raised. “Show me your stance.”
I do, feet planted, weight balanced. He adjusts my shoulder with two fingers, careful not to touch more than necessary. “Better,” he says. “Now strike.”
I throw a punch.
He blocks easily, knocks my wrist aside, and taps my ribs with two knuckles. “Dead,” he says.
I grunt, annoyed, and reset.
Again and again.
By the end of the day, my forearms ache, and my ribs feel bruised in three places. Boone finally nods with approval. “You learn fast,” he says.
“I’ve had practice surviving,” I answer.
Boone’s gaze softens for a heartbeat, then hardens again because he’s not a man who lives comfortably in softness. “Surviving and fighting aren’t the same,” he says. “But you’re closing the gap.”
The next day, Dutch enters the ring.
Dust is broad, mean-looking, and honest in the way he fights. He doesn’t posture, and he doesn’t talk. He just tests you until you either break or adapt.
He takes my first strike, then counters with a sweep that knocks my legs out from under me. I hit the dirt hard enough to knock the air out of my lungs.
Ember whoops. “That’s my favorite part.”
I push up, spitting dirt, and glare at Dutch. “Again.”
Dutch’s mouth twitches, almost a smile. “Again,” he agrees.
In the second round, I anticipate the sweep and jump it. My foot catches his knee lightly, enough to make him shift his stance, and I swing my fist toward his jaw. He blocks, but it lands hard enough to make his head snap slightly.
Dutch’s eyes brighten, impressed.
Riggin lets out a low laugh. “She’s got bite.”
Winston mutters, “Or she’s reckless.”
Ember leans forward. “Reckless is fun.”
By the ninth day in the Ravencrest pack, the yard feels different.
The pack’s attention is still there, but it’s not only suspicion anymore. It’s respect wrestling with fear, and fear doesn’t like losing.
Boone pairs me with Winston, probably because Winston needs to learn that staring doesn’t make you strong.
Winston steps into the ring with his shoulders tense. “I’m not going easy,” he says.
“Good,” I answer. “I’m not either.”
He rushes fast, trying to overwhelm me with speed. I pivot, let him pass, and hook my arm around his elbow the way Boone showed me. Winston stumbles. I twist just enough to make him yelp, then I release before it becomes a real injury.
He jerks away, glaring. “Cheap.”
“Smart,” Ember corrects loudly.
Winston flushes and swings again.
I catch his wrist, step in, and drive my shoulder into his chest, sending him back a pace. My balance feels too good for a human body. My strength feels wrong, not impossible, but sharper than it should be. The wolf hum under my skin rises, and the air in the ring seems to tighten.
Winston lunges, and I react without thinking, my hand shoots out, palm open, and something flashes across my skin like cold light. It isn’t fire. It isn’t lightning. It’s a flicker of pressure, a pulse that pushes outward.
Winston stops mid-step like he hit an invisible wall, and his eyes widen.
The yard goes silent, and Boone’s head snaps toward me. Asher straightens at the edge of the yard, all calm gone, focus turning razor-sharp. Dutch and Riggin both freeze, staring.
Ember’s mouth slowly opens, and for once, she has nothing smart to say.
My own hand trembles as I stare at my palm like it belongs to someone else, and the air around it feels thin, charged, like the world just exhaled.
What did I just do?
Winston swallows, voice suddenly quieter. “What was that?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, and the honesty tastes like metal.
Boone steps closer, careful. “Do it again,” he says, not a demand, but a request that carries urgency.
“I can’t,” I snap, because fear hits fast when you realize your own body is a weapon you don’t understand.
The silence holds for a beat longer, then Ember finds her voice again, and it comes out in a rough laugh that sounds half thrilled and half terrified. “So,” she says, looking around at the watching wolves, “anyone still want to whisper about lore like it’s harmless?”
No one answers.
Boone’s gaze stays on my hand. “We slow down,” he says, voice low. “We figure out what that was without panicking the pack.”
I curl my fingers into a fist to hide the tremor. The hum under my skin doesn’t fade. It lingers, restless and bright, like it just tasted freedom and wants more.
Maxon’s gaze burns from the tree line, intense and unreadable, and I feel his tension like a warning wrapped in silence.
Because if I can do that by accident, then someone else might be able to do worse on purpose.
And something deep in my bones keeps whispering that the world is not done coming for me.