Chapter 22: The Enemy Within
Chapter 22: The Enemy Within
Kiara’s POV
The morning sun streamed through the stained-glass windows of the training hall, casting crimson and gold patterns across the tiled floor. But none of it warmed the fury simmering in my chest.
Eva.
She walked into our world like she owned a place she hadn’t earned.
I clenched my fists, the leather of my gloves creaking as I flexed. Every time I saw her, I felt it—this wild, irrational heat behind my eyes. I told myself it was loyalty to the pack, to tradition. But deep down, I knew the truth.
It was jealousy. Ugly and raw.
Because Trent was mine. Or at least, he should’ve been.
He used to trust me. Used to call on me before he made decisions, before he trained new warriors, before he blinked. But now? Now it was her.
He hovered around her like a lovesick wolf, his eyes always scanning her like she was glass—fragile and precious. When she collapsed in training yesterday, the desperation in his voice shook me. He didn’t even try to hide it anymore.
And everyone saw it.
I turned sharply and stormed into the locker room. The slap of my boots echoed on the stone floor. Myra was already there, wrapping her wrists like she had something to prove.
“You’re late,” she muttered without looking at me.
“And you’re still pretending you matter,” I shot back, tossing my bag onto the bench with a satisfying thud.
She snorted, not missing a beat. “Coming from the woman still trying to play Luna when she never got picked.”
That one stung. I didn’t let it show.
“I came to talk business, not relive your delusions,” I said coolly.
She finally looked up. “Well, go on then. What’s got your tail in a twist this time?”
“We have a problem.”
“Oh, let me guess,” she drawled, “Eva?”
“She’s weak,” I said. “Soft. No history. No family. She doesn’t belong here, Myra. And she sure as hell doesn’t belong beside Trent.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Trent seems to think otherwise.”
“Then we make him think otherwise.”
Myra straightened, her sarcasm dropping like a curtain. “You want to push him?”
“I want to open his damn eyes. You’re his sister—he still listens to you.”
“Barely,” she scoffed.
“Barely is enough. You plant the doubt. Whisper concerns. Stoke his guilt. Make him question her.”
She crossed her arms. “And if that’s not enough?”
“Then we give him proof,” I said, a smirk tugging at my lips.
She tilted her head. “What kind of proof?”
“We set her up. During training. Publicly. Let everyone see how weak she is.”
“You want to injure her.”
“No,” I said. “I want to embarrass her. Rattle her. Make the pack question her right to stand beside him. And if she gets a little hurt in the process, well... accidents happen.”
Myra hesitated. “Trent’s not stupid.”
“No,” I agreed. “But he’s blinded by whatever sick obsession he has with her. He won’t see clearly until we make him.”
She exhaled sharply, then gave a small nod. “Alright. But it needs to be clean. No blood. No obvious intent.”
“I’m not an amateur.”
\---
Later that afternoon, I spotted Kyle by the training field. He was inspecting the weapons rack, jaw tight, eyes calculating.
Perfect.
I walked over with a sugary smile pasted on my lips. “Kyle.”
He barely looked at me. “Kiara.”
I twirled a throwing dagger in my fingers. “Have you heard how our dear Eva is settling in?”
“She’s doing fine,” he said without interest.
“No background, no training, and somehow she’s perfectly fine?” I raised an eyebrow. “Suspicious, isn’t it?”
He turned fully now, his gaze cold. “Don’t get any funny ideas. Eva will be our Luna, whether you like it or not.”
I blinked, feigning innocence. “I didn’t say anything about not liking it.”
“You didn’t have to.” His eyes narrowed. “And if you ever try to hurt her—Trent won’t be the only one you’ll answer to.”
He walked off, his shoulders stiff.
Even Kyle was turning against me.
They were all drinking the Eva Kool-Aid. And for what? A girl who didn’t fight her own battles. A girl who couldn’t even block a simple strike without needing Trent to swoop in.
I gritted my teeth.
This pack needed a reminder of who the real warriors were.
\---
The next morning, I was at the training field before the sky had fully brightened. The grass was damp beneath my boots, the scent of wet earth rising around me. My muscles moved like second nature—kicks, strikes, transitions between stances. Each movement honed and perfected from years of discipline.
And every punch I threw, I pictured Eva’s stupid, clueless face.
She’d regret ever setting foot in this pack.
Myra arrived a few minutes later. She watched me from the edge of the field, arms crossed.
“You’re early,” she said.
“I’m ready.”
“Trent asked me to watch training today,” she added casually.
Perfect.
He’d trust her word. If she vouched that everything looked fair, no one would question a thing.
“Just remember,” she warned, “make it look like an accident.”
“I’ve had enough practice pretending to play nice.”
She gave me a long look, but didn’t argue.
By the time the rest of the trainees arrived, I was calm. Focused. The perfect warrior. No one would suspect a thing.
Then she showed up.
Trailing behind Trent like a shadow, Eva’s eyes were wide, taking in everything. But her shoulders were square, her chin lifted. She was trying. Trying so damn hard to look like she belonged.
She didn’t.
Trent’s eyes met mine across the field. A silent warning.
Don’t.
I smiled. Sweet. Innocent.
He didn’t know how far gone I was.
\---
The session started with group drills. We moved through warm-ups, then split into pairs. I waited for the right moment, biding my time.
Trent was talking to Kyle, distracted.
I made my move.
“Eva,” I called, turning toward her. “Let’s spar. Nothing heavy.”
She blinked. “What?”
“Come on. You and me. A light match. Help you loosen up.”
She glanced at Trent—he hadn’t noticed yet—and then at Myra.
Myra gave her a small, encouraging nod.
Eva nodded slowly. “Okay.”
We stepped onto the mat. Circled. I kept my expression soft, almost playful.
But inside, my blood was singing.
She raised her hands into a defensive stance. Sloppy. Unbalanced.
I let her settle.
Then I struck.
A low kick—fast and precise. She gasped and stumbled.
Gasps echoed around us. I backed off slightly, hands raised.
“Sorry,” I said. “Too quick?”
She got back on her feet, nodding. “I’m fine.”
I circled again.
This time, I swept her legs clean from under her.
She hit the mat with a thud.
“Enough!” Trent’s roar sliced through the murmurs.
He was already moving, shoving through the crowd to get to her.
I stepped back, hands still raised. “Just sparring, Alpha. Accidents happen.”
He knelt beside her, helping her sit up.
I heard it—low, buzzing whispers around us.
“She’s not strong.”
“She’s not ready.”
“What if she freezes again like yesterday?”
I turned away, hiding the grin stretching across my lips.
Checkmate.