Chapter 98
Ivan's POV
The girl named Chloe—I first truly noticed her during my duel with Jordan. My head was full of rage back then, focused on that bastard who wanted to tear down our gym just because his daddy was the Gamma.
After the lightning struck, the crowd scattered in all directions. But she remained standing there, staring straight at me with those amber eyes. There was no fear in them—instead, there was something like recognition.
Later, she followed me into the gym with some clumsy lie about wanting to learn how to fight. I figured she was just another noble girl slumming it in the poor district for thrills. Dad thought the same, which is why he threw her out the second he saw that crest.
But when Gamma Leon surrounded the gym with his guards, this girl I'd written off as a thrill-seeker stepped in front of us. She straightened her spine like a reed that might snap but refused to bend, looked Leon dead in the eye with those amber eyes, and spoke three words, one at a time: "Treason. Against. The. Pack."
That's when I realized I'd had her all wrong.
This girl had something I'd only seen in rogues—the kind of viciousness that comes from being backed into a corner, the willingness to bite through your own fangs if it means tearing out your enemy's throat.
Honestly, when Dad agreed to take her on as a student, I had my doubts. An Alpha's daughter, no matter how you slice it, is a hothouse flower. Could she really handle this kind of suffering?
But what happened over the next two weeks completely erased my doubts.
Every day before dawn broke, she was already on the training grounds. Dad's requirements were brutal—repeat each movement hundreds of times until muscle memory kicked in, no mercy during sparring, get knocked down and get back up. I'd seen plenty of students break under this kind of training, crying and begging to go home.
But Chloe was different.
She felt pain, she got tired, but she never complained, never begged for mercy. Every time she went down, she got back up, wiped the blood from her mouth, and set her stance again.
The fire burning in those eyes reminded me of Dad when he was young—the same stubbornness, the same refusal to yield.
I started paying attention to her on the fifth day. That afternoon, she was practicing the joint locks Dad had taught her against a Beta she-wolf who had a head of height on her. Her opponent used her size advantage to press forward relentlessly, backing Chloe into a corner.
I thought she'd give up. The other woman's fist was already raised to her face.
But she didn't.
She suddenly dropped low, slipped between her opponent's legs, spun around and drove her elbow into the back of the woman's neck. The movement flowed like water. Her opponent dropped, and Chloe stood there, chest heaving, but her eyes unnaturally calm. In that moment, my heart skipped a beat.
After that, I found myself watching her without meaning to. During training I'd sneak glances at her movements, during breaks I'd notice which corner she sat in, and even when she changed out of her sweat-soaked training clothes, I'd instinctively turn away, heart racing like it wanted to jump out of my chest.
"What are you staring at her for?" Zeus teased in my head. "Kid, you've got it bad."
"Shut up," I shot back mentally, though my face burned anyway.
I didn't know if this counted as having it bad. I only knew that when she got knocked down, my fists would clench without thinking; when she won a sparring match, I'd cheer for her silently; when she sat alone in a corner with her knees pulled up, staring out the window, I'd want to walk over and ask what she was thinking, but I never knew what to say.
What I couldn't forget was that evening. After training ended, I walked past the women's changing room. Through the half-drawn curtain, I saw her changing. Her back was to the window, her bare spine covered in scars of all sizes—some were fresh wounds, red and swollen, not yet scabbed over; others were old, faded to pale marks.
My breath caught. My heart felt like an invisible hand had squeezed it.
"Stop looking, you pervert," Zeus's voice rang in my head with rare seriousness. "The girl's changing. What are you doing lurking here?"
I spun around and practically fled. My face burned like it was on fire, my heart pounded like it would explode. I bolted from the gym, shifted into my wolf, and ran madly through the forest, trying to use speed and the rush of wind to drive that image from my mind.
It didn't work. No matter how fast I ran, that scar-covered back, those amber eyes, that unbreakable resilience—they were branded into my brain.
Finally, I reached the lake. Zeus leaped into the air, I shifted back to human form, and plunged headfirst into the freezing water. The bone-chilling cold wrapped around me instantly, clearing my head somewhat.
I floated on my back, staring up at the deep blue night sky. The moon hung there like a cold, indifferent eye looking down at me.
"What's wrong with you?" Zeus asked.
"I don't know," I answered honestly.
I really didn't know. I'd never felt like this before—like something had a grip on my heart, like one person's shadow filled my entire head, like even my breathing had become unstable.
What was this? Love? Or something else?
I soaked in the lake for a long time, until my body started going numb, then dragged myself onto shore. I caught two fish from the lake and built a fire on the bank to roast them. The flames danced and crackled, but as I stared at those orange-red tongues of fire, I felt no heat at all.
Water droplets fell from my hand into the flames, instantly evaporating into white steam. I stretched out my hand, palm almost touching the fire, but felt no burning pain. The water on my skin vaporized in the heat, yet I had no impulse to pull my hand back.
"What's going on?" I muttered, staring at my palm.
"Ivan, you're special," Zeus's voice echoed in my mind with a certain certainty. "You're immune to elemental damage. It's a gift from the gods, a unique constitution."
"Elements?" I blinked. "I've heard Dad mention it. There are really people who can be immune to elemental forces?"
"Yes," Zeus's tone carried a kind of pride. "You are the chosen one."
I was silent for a moment, then laughed it off and changed the subject.
Honestly, I didn't really believe in any "gift from the gods."
Rogues who grew up in the poor districts stopped believing in that ethereal crap a long time ago.
Survival came down to fists and luck, not some bullshit destiny.
The roasted fish gave off a tempting aroma. I took a bite—not bad. But my thoughts drifted back to Chloe against my will.
Why was she pushing herself so hard? What was she running from, and what was she chasing?