Chapter 54

Chapter 54
Abigail's POV

Two months of training had reshaped me in ways I could feel with every movement.

Where there had once been only softness, muscle memory was taking root. All those strikes I'd failed to dodge had honed my reflexes, until one day I realized I wasn't always getting hit anymore.

My endurance had gone from barely surviving ten laps around the valley to holding out against Nicholas for half an hour before he caught me.

The progress was real.

So was the cost.

"Miss, if you keep this up, your body is going to fall apart."

Orchid crouched in front of me, dabbing at the half-healed scrape on my knee with a cloth soaked in herbal tincture. Her touch was exaggeratedly gentle, but her mouth hadn't stopped since I'd walked through the door.

"That Winter Pack Alpha is an absolute brute. The bruise on your shoulder from last time still hasn't fully faded, and now look at this—"

"He pushes me because I need it."

I leaned back in the chair and let her fuss, the corner of my mouth lifting despite the sting.

"The Hunt isn't going to go easy on me because I'm a woman, Orchid."

She pouted, unable to find a decent comeback, and pressed the cloth down a little harder than necessary—her version of a wordless protest.

I sucked in a breath at the sting but didn't pull away.

Just then, Autumn walked in carrying a letter sealed with dark blue wax.

"Miss, a letter from Elodie."

I reached for it, broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment.

Elodie's handwriting was exactly like her—bold, oversized, practically leaping off the page.

Abi, you absolutely will not believe this—I learned a new move! The oldest warrior in Father's pack taught me. You hook your claws into the opponent's flank in an arc while using the momentum to flip over their back, then reverse into a full mount the instant you land.

Took me a solid week to pull it off once, but the feeling? Incredible.

How's your training going? Is that stone-faced bastard still torturing you?

I laughed out loud.

Classic Elodie. Even through ink on parchment, her energy was contagious.

I reached for pen and paper, the smile still on my face as I began to write.

Congratulations on the new technique.

I've been working on strength and speed—pushing boulders uphill, weighted sprints, live sparring. Every session makes me wonder what I did in a past life to deserve Nicholas as a trainer.

But it's working. I can take a punch at three-tenths of his strength now, even though my whole arm goes numb for an hour afterward.

Looking forward to seeing your new move at the Hunt. But if we end up in different groups, don't expect mercy.

When I finished, my pen hovered above the page. I reread what I'd written.

His name sat right there in the middle of the sentence.

And I realized, belatedly, that my handwriting had noticeably slowed around those letters. Each stroke more deliberate, more careful than the ones before and after. I blinked—as if that alone could shake the thought loose—and quickly folded the letter to hand to Autumn.

"Miss."

Orchid's voice drifted from the doorway, deliberately casual.

That particular tone immediately put me on guard.

"Do you... like that Winter Pack Alpha?"

Heat shot from my neck to my cheeks so fast it felt like being slapped in the face.

I bolted upright.

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not making things up."

She stepped fully into the room, hands clasped behind her back, her expression so earnest it was almost alarming.

"Every time you mention him, your eyes light up. And just now, when you were writing that letter—the part where you wrote his name? Your handwriting changed."

"I did not—"

I grabbed the pillow and hurled it at her.

Orchid dodged with a gleeful shriek, laughing as she darted out the door. Her voice floated back from far down the hallway:

"You're blushing, miss!"

The room fell quiet again.

I sat rigid on the bed, one hand pressed unconsciously to the pendant at my throat. The carved lines of the amulet were cool beneath my fingertips, but my face was still burning and my heartbeat was doing something completely unreasonable.

Because she was right.

I knew she was right.

I thought about yesterday, at the summit in the moonlight—the way he'd stood there, all sharp edges and hidden warmth, telling me that if his fated mate ever appeared, he would never let her go.

I yanked the blanket over my head.

"Get it together, Abigail."

I whispered it to myself in the dark.

But the flutter in my chest wouldn't settle. I stayed under the covers a few seconds longer, waiting for the heat in my face to subside, then forced myself to surface and drew in a deep breath.

I couldn't afford distractions.

Not now.

Less than a month until the Hunt.

And with that thought, a colder realization surfaced alongside it.

Evelyn and Olivia had been quiet lately.

Since the ambush on the mountain road, Evelyn hadn't made a single move.

No veiled barbs at meals. No servants quietly reassigned. No mysterious gifts carrying hidden implications.

On the rare occasions we crossed paths in the corridors of Crimson Fang's keep, Evelyn's demeanor was calibrated to perfection—neither overly warm nor pointedly cold, as if nothing had ever happened.

That was precisely what frightened me.

I knew Evelyn. When she was loud, when she was cutting, when she picked fights and flung accusations—those were actually the safer times. It meant she was reacting, not planning. But when Evelyn went quiet, it meant she was behind closed doors assembling something.

At the Hunt, every competitor would leave the safety of their pack's territory and enter the wilderness. Far from guards. Far from witnesses.

If Evelyn wanted to stage another "accident," she couldn't ask for a better setting.

I stared at the ceiling, my gaze hardening by degrees.

Whatever she was planning, I couldn't let my guard down.

The Hunt was my chance to prove myself. But it could just as easily become a trap. And I needed to be ready for both.

---

The next morning, I stood in the training valley, watching Nicholas emerge from the tree line.

My traitorous heart picked up speed immediately.

Orchid's words clung to me like thorns.

Your eyes light up. Your handwriting changed.

Suddenly every glance I cast in his direction felt as exposed as an unbandaged wound.

I clenched my fists, forced my breathing to steady, and tried to arrange my expression into something that looked normal.

"What are we working on today?" My voice came out even enough.

"Sparring."

I barely had time to process the word before his fist was already in front of me.

The air cracked past my ear.

I twisted sideways on instinct, but I was half a beat too slow. His knuckles grazed my shoulder, and a dull ache radiated down my arm. I stumbled, recovered my balance quickly, and raised my forearm to block through gritted teeth.

"Focus."

Nicholas's voice was hard as iron, carrying not the faintest trace of yesterday's tenderness.

I dropped my center of gravity, tightened my core, and locked my eyes onto his movement.

Before the next punch arrived, I read its direction from the angle of his shoulder a half-second early, slipped left, and drove my elbow toward his exposed ribs in a counter.

He blocked it effortlessly, barely shifting his stance.

But in that instant—just a flicker, so fast I almost thought I'd imagined it—a glint of approval passed through his eyes.

My chest went soft again. The next second, I forced the flutter down, reset my feet, raised my guard, and waited for his next attack.