Chapter 16 A Different Kind of Strength
ELARA
The air smells of sweat, damp earth, and anticipation. It is a scent I have never known. It is the scent of a training ground.
Twenty of us stand in a clearing. The Crescent Moon pack’s strongest. Anya is here, her expression focused. Rhys stands beside her, his arms crossed over his massive chest, a cocky grin on his face. They all look like warriors. I look like the librarian I was a few weeks ago.
Kael stands before us. He is not the patient mentor from the meadow. He is not the quiet man who found me in the city. He is the Alpha.
“The Games are not a test of individuals,” he says, his voice a low command that silences the morning birds. “They are a test of a pack. Of unity. Of a single will moving through many bodies.”
He paces before us, his green eyes scanning each face. They linger on mine for a fraction of a second. I do not flinch.
“Today, we begin. Today, we find our team.”
Finally, Luna purrs in my head. A chance to stretch our legs.
The first challenge is simple. Brutal. A race to the top of the ridge that borders the valley, and back down. The catch? We each have to carry a large, awkward stone from a pile at the starting line.
Rhys laughs, grabbing the largest rock he can find. He hefts it onto his shoulder and gives me a wink. “Try to keep up, Silver.”
I ignore the nickname. I walk to the pile. The rocks are all heavy, designed for werewolf strength. I choose one of the smaller ones, but it is still a struggle to lift. Its weight is a dead thing in my arms.
“Go,” Kael says, his voice flat.
The warriors explode from the line. They are a blur of motion, their powerful legs eating up the ground, even with the heavy stones. I am left behind in a cloud of dust.
This is foolish, Luna growls. Drop the rock. Let us run. We are faster than all of them.
“It is not about being the fastest,” I tell her, my voice a strained gasp. “It is about finishing.”
I trudge up the hill. My arms burn. My lungs feel like they are on fire. I am not built for this. I am built for silence and shadows. One by one, the others pass me on their way back down, their faces flushed with victory. Rhys is first, of course. He drops his stone at Kael’s feet with a loud thud and a triumphant grin.
I am last. By a lot.
I finally reach the finish line, my body screaming in protest. I let the rock fall from my numb fingers. It lands with a pathetic clink. I stand there, heaving, my head down, avoiding the eyes I can feel on me. The pity. I know it is there.
“What did you learn, Elara?” Kael asks. He is standing right in front of me.
I look up, surprised. His expression is not disappointed. It is questioning.
“I learned that I’m not strong enough,” I say, the words tasting like failure.
“Wrong,” he says. “You learned that brute force is not your path. You tried to play their game. You lost. Now, play yours.”
He gestures to the next challenge. A high, sheer rock wall, built from logs and stone. At the top, a single banner flutters in the breeze. “First one to the top wins.”
Rhys cracks his knuckles. “My turn again.”
He and two other warriors rush the wall. They try to power their way up, finding handholds and footholds through sheer strength, their claws scratching against the stone. It is a slow, grueling process.
I do not move. I stand back and I watch.
He is a fool, Luna scoffs. All muscle. He moves like a clumsy bear.
I ignore her, my mind working. This is not a race. It is a problem. For three years, every day was a problem to be solved. How to get enough money for rent. How to avoid the man who watched me on the bus. How to look normal. How to survive.
“Are you going to stare at it all day?” Rhys grunts from halfway up the wall.
“Every wall is a puzzle, Rhys,” I call back, my voice clear. “You just have to find the key.”
I see it. A pattern. A series of jutting logs that create a near perfect spiral staircase up the side. It is a longer route, but it requires balance and agility, not pure strength.
I start to run. Not at the wall, but alongside it. I leap, my body light, my feet finding the first log. Then the next. I am not climbing. I am flowing. I move with a speed that surprises even me. It is a dance.
I reach the top before Rhys is even three quarters of the way up. I snatch the banner, its rough fabric a victory in my hand. I look down at the stunned faces below me.
Rhys hangs from the wall, his mouth open. Anya is smiling, a slow, proud smile. And Kael. Kael looks at me like he knew this would happen all along.
I climb back down, my heart hammering with a feeling I have never felt before. Not triumph. Not pride. It is a feeling of… rightness.
“That was a fluke,” Rhys mutters, dropping to the ground, his face red.
“Was it?” Kael asks, his voice dangerously quiet. “Or did she just prove that the strongest wolf is not always the one who wins?”
He looks at me, and his next words are for the whole team. “Strength is good. Speed is better. But strategy? Strategy wins wars. And these are the Werewolf Games.”
The final trial of the day is sparring. One on one. In wolf form.
“I will not put you against an experienced fighter,” Kael says to me quietly. “You are still learning.”
Tell him we want the big one, Luna snarls in my head, her eyes on Rhys.
“I want Rhys,” I say.
Kael raises an eyebrow. Rhys, who overheard me, lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re joking. I’ll break you in half.”
“She will not fight you,” Kael says, his Alpha tone making the air crackle.
“Let her,” Anya interjects, stepping forward. She looks at Kael. “She has to learn. And Rhys needs to learn a lesson in humility. I will referee. No claws. First one to pin the other for three seconds wins.”
Kael hesitates, his jaw tight. He looks at me, a question in his eyes. I meet his gaze and nod. He finally gives a single, sharp nod in return.
We shift. The change is smooth now, a second skin. I feel Luna surge forward, her confidence a roaring fire in my veins. The world sharpens. I see the twitch of every muscle under Rhys’s thick brown fur. He is huge. A beast of pure power. He circles me, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
He lunges.
I do not meet him head on. That is what he expects. I dodge. I am a flicker of silver light. He is a battering ram. He overshoots, stumbling as he tries to regain his footing.
He is slow, Luna sings. All that muscle weighs him down.
He comes at me again, furious this time. He is snapping, trying to use his size to corner me. But I am not there. I weave and duck, letting him exhaust himself. I am not fighting him. I am letting him fight himself.
“Stop dancing and fight me!” he snarls, his actual voice a garbled, wolfish sound.
I see my opening. He lunges one last time, all his weight thrown forward. Instead of dodging away, I dodge in. I dip under his snapping jaws, my smaller, leaner body a perfect wedge. I use his own momentum against him, hooking my leg around his and pushing with my shoulder. It is a trip. A simple, human trick.
He goes down. Hard. The ground shakes with the impact. Before he can react, I am on him, my paws pinning his shoulders, my teeth a hair’s breadth from his throat. I am not snarling. I am perfectly still. A silent threat.
Anya counts. “One. Two. Three.”
The clearing is silent. Then, a few of the younger wolves start to cheer.
I step back. Rhys scrambles to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief. He looks at me, his eyes wide with a new, grudging respect.
Later, as the sun sets, Kael finds me by the creek, skipping stones across the water.
“You surprised everyone today,” he says, his voice a quiet rumble beside me.
“I surprised myself,” I admit.
“Where did you learn to think like that?” he asks. “To see the angles no one else does?”
I look at the water, at the last rays of sun turning it to liquid gold. “For three years, I had to see every angle. Predict every threat. I didn’t have a wolf to protect me. I only had my wits.”
I finally look at him. “When you cannot win with muscle, you learn to win with your mind.”
He holds my gaze, his own eyes dark and intense in the fading light. He takes a step closer. The air is thick with the scent of wet stone and his own clean, earthy scent.
“That is why you are our greatest weapon,” he says, his voice so low it is almost a whisper. “Not your silver fur. Not your speed.”
He lifts a hand, his fingers gently brushing my cheek. His touch is a spark on my cold skin.
“Your mind,” he says. “The mind of a survivor. That is what Damon threw away. And that is what will win us the Games.”