Chapter 90
Chloe's POV
My name is Chloe Flores, and I'm the daughter of the Lightning Wolf Pack's Alpha.
That title might sound like something to be proud of, but the truth is, it only serves as a constant reminder: I'll always be nothing more than Connor's little sister.
The Lightning Wolf Pack isn't considered powerful among the surrounding packs. Our territory sits deep within Thunder Canyon, bordered to the north by the Silver Moon Pack with their elemental powers, and to the south by a dangerous stretch of land known as the Thorn Forest. Witches live in that forest, and our conflicts with them have never ceased. To the east lies the Blood River wasteland, and to the west, the territories of other smaller packs.
Enemies on all sides. That's the reality of the Lightning Wolf Pack's survival.
Because of this, our pack worships strength above all else. Every adult male must become a warrior, every female must learn to protect the young in times of crisis. We don't have elegant estates like the Silver Moon Pack, no lavish banquets—just day after day of training and vigilance. But even in a pack that values strength above all, women are still looked down upon.
My father, Tyler, is the Alpha—a powerful warrior who taught Connor how to fight, how to lead, how to make decisions in a crisis. My mother, Sophia, is the Luna, gentle and virtuous, skilled in herbs and healing, responsible for tending to injured warriors and young pups.
In my father's eyes, Connor is the future Alpha, the pack's hope.
And me? I'm just a dutiful wife waiting to be married off.
But I don't want to become a Luna like Sophia.
I want to become a battle leader like Tyler.
Since childhood, I've held myself to the same standards as the males. When Connor practiced combat under Father's guidance, I'd hide at the edge of the training grounds and watch, then practice those moves alone at night. While other girls learned weaving and cooking, I'd sneak into the forest to practice tracking and hunting.
My combat skills are no less than any male my age. My speed, strength, and reflexes—all earned through relentless daily training.
But none of it matters in the face of pack tradition.
Because I'm female, I'm not allowed to participate in the coming-of-age hunt.
It's one of the Lightning Wolf Pack's most important traditions. Every adult male, after awakening their wolf spirit, must venture alone into the depths of Thunder Canyon to hunt and kill a beast—a brown bear, a mountain lion, a wild boar—then bring back the prey's head to be officially recognized by the pack as an adult warrior.
In the past, this trial rarely resulted in deaths. The prey could be large or small; weaker young wolves could choose to hunt relatively manageable animals. But two years ago, things changed.
At every coming-of-age ceremony since, young warriors have died in the depths of the canyon.
At first it was just one or two, then three or four. When their bodies were found, they were often covered in wounds, some even torn to pieces.
Legends about the monster began to spread through the pack.
Some said it was a ferocious mountain lion, massive in size and terrifying in strength. Others claimed it was a wild boar with tusks sharp as blades and hide so thick even wolf claws couldn't pierce it. Still others whispered it was some unknown creature, perhaps a monster created by witches using dark magic.
Whatever it was, the creature had become a nightmare for young warriors.
Yet pack tradition wouldn't change because of a few deaths. The coming-of-age hunt continued, and women remained excluded.
Right now, I was doing agility drills on the training grounds.
The training grounds sat at the center of the pack's camp—a patch of hard-packed dirt surrounded by several thick wooden posts used for practicing evasion and attacks. I moved swiftly between the posts, my footwork light and movements fluid, each turn precisely avoiding obstacles.
Sweat ran down my forehead and soaked my collar, but I didn't stop.
In this place, for a woman to stand independent, she needed to work ten times—even a hundred times—harder than the men.
"Did you hear about that monster?"
A young male voice drifted over from the side.
Connor, Derek, and Jordan stood at the edge of the training grounds, apparently discussing something.
Connor was my brother, two years older, tall and strong with the same sharp gaze as our father Tyler. He rarely spoke.
Derek was the Beta's son—lean and agile, Connor's best friend. Level-headed and dedicated to training, he was one of the most promising candidates among the younger generation to become a high-ranking warrior.
And Jordan... Jordan was the Gamma's son, a typical spoiled rich kid.
He was decent-looking enough—handsome features, tall and lean—but lazy in training, spending his days eating, drinking, and making merry. His father, the pack's Gamma, managed logistics and supplies, so Jordan had grown up pampered and never took training seriously.
At that moment, Jordan was leaning lazily against a post with a blade of grass between his teeth, looking completely carefree.
"I heard four guys didn't come back last time," Derek said, his tone grave. "One of them was my cousin. When they found his body, his throat was torn out and his guts were ripped open."
Jordan yawned, unconcerned. "So what? I'm not planning to mess with that thing anyway. I'll just catch a rabbit and call it done. Who says the prey has to be big?"
Derek frowned at him. "The elders will mock you for that."
Jordan shrugged. "Let them mock me. I'm not trying to be some combat hero. As long as I pass the trial and get recognized as an adult warrior, I'm good."
Listening to their conversation, a flicker of contempt crossed my eyes.
Someone like Jordan didn't deserve to be called a warrior.
He noticed my look.
"Well, well, Chloe," Jordan pushed off from the post and walked toward me, a mocking smile on his lips. "What's with that look? You think you're better than me?"
I didn't answer, just stared at him coldly.
Jordan stopped in front of me and looked me up and down, his voice dripping with mockery. "You train so hard, but what's the point? You can't even participate in the hunt anyway. A woman's a woman—no matter how much you practice, you're just for show."
My fists clenched involuntarily.
"Maybe one day you'll need this 'decoration' to save your ass," I said coldly.
Jordan burst out laughing. "Save me? You? Chloe, you really think you're a warrior? Don't forget—you don't even qualify for the coming-of-age ceremony. When you get married off, make sure to tell your husband how you used to sweat it out on the training grounds. Maybe he'll find it amusing."
My anger flared instantly.
"I train to deal with people who run their mouths," I said, each word deliberate.
Jordan's smile froze. He turned to look at Connor, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. "Connor, your sister wants to fight me. You gonna do something about that?"
Connor stood where he was, watching us expressionlessly, saying nothing.
Seeing that Connor wasn't going to intervene, Jordan's smile returned. He rolled his wrists, his tone flippant. "In that case, I guess I'll have to educate your sister myself. Help her understand the difference between men and women."
I didn't back down.
I took a step forward and assumed a fighting stance.
The other wolves around the training grounds noticed the commotion and stopped what they were doing, gathering around to watch.
Derek sighed and said quietly to Connor, "You're really not going to step in?"
Connor still said nothing, just watched in silence.