Chapter 83 Chapter 83

Chapter 83 Chapter 83
E L A R A

Hours later, I barely recognized the woman staring back at me in the small polished shield that served as a mirror.

My soft dresses had been replaced with fitted training leathers. They were lighter than armor but heavier than anything I was used to wearing, snug at my arms and shoulders, stiff at the waist. My hair was pulled back tightly, every loose strand pinned away.

I looked… like a warrior in training.

Or at least, like someone pretending to be one.

The thought made my stomach twist.

Hunter walked beside me as we moved down the long stone corridor leading to the training grounds.

The echo of our boots against the floor felt too loud, as if announcing my presence before I was ready for it.

“This still feels like a bad idea,” I muttered under my breath.

Hunter glanced at me. “Most necessary things do at first.”

That didn’t help.

The scent of sweat, leather, and dust reached me before we even stepped through the wide archway.

The training ground was alive with movements, warriors sparring, others running drills, the sharp crack of wooden weapons colliding echoing off the stone walls.

The moment I stepped inside, everything stopped.

Every head turned.

The sound of clashing wood faded. Conversations died mid-sentence.

One by one, they bowed their heads.

The weight of it hit me all at once.

Heat rushed to my face. I froze, completely unsure what I was supposed to do. I wasn’t prepared for this kind of attention. I wasn’t prepared to be seen here.

I wasn’t prepared to be Luna in a place built for fighters.

Hunter sensed it instantly.

“Back to your training,” he said firmly, his voice carrying across the ground. “Now.”

There was no hesitation.

They straightened at once and returned to their drills, though I could still feel eyes flicking toward me when they thought I wasn’t looking.

Judging.

Curious.

Whispering in their heads.

Hunter guided me toward a quieter corner of the training ground, away from the main sparring circles.

He reached into a rack along the wall and pulled out two wooden swords.

He handed one to me.

The weight surprised me. It was heavier than it looked, solid in my hands, unfamiliar and awkward.

“Do not worry,” Hunter said calmly. “They might be surprised, but they will not cause you any trouble.”

I nodded, though my throat felt tight.

“They must think I’m ridiculous,” I thought.

A Luna should be resting. Enjoying her new role. Being sheltered. Protected.

Not standing on a dusty training ground, gripping a practice sword while her mate was away at goddess knows where.

I tightened my fingers around the hilt.

They must be judging me.

Judging Kane.

Judging my worth.

Hunter studied my stance for a moment. “You’re holding it too tightly,” he said gently. “You’ll tire yourself out before you even start.”

I forced myself to loosen my grip. “I don’t belong here,” I admitted quietly.

Hunter met my eyes. “You belong wherever you choose to stand.”

The words settled deeper than I expected.

He stepped back, lifting his own wooden sword. “This isn’t about pride,” he said. “It’s about survival. We start simple.”

He shifted into a basic stance. “Feet apart. Knees slightly bent. Balance first. Always.”

I tried to copy him. It felt clumsy. Wrong.

“I look foolish,” I muttered.

“You look like someone learning,” he corrected.

That was worse.

But also… better.

Around us, the sounds of training continued. The rhythm of strikes. The grunt of effort. The world of warriors moving on as if I had always been meant to be here.

Hunter demonstrated the swing next, his movements fluid and controlled, like water carving stone.

The wooden sword arced through the air in a clean, horizontal slice, stopping just short of an invisible target.

"Watch the path," he said. "It's not about force, it's about following through. Stand with your feet shoulder-width apart, like this."

He planted his boots firmly, knees flexing just enough to lower his center. "Then pivot from your hips, let the blade lead."

I gripped my sword tighter, too tight again, I knew and tried to mirror him. Feet apart, knees bent, swing. But as I twisted, my balance wobbled.

The world tilted, and I nearly stumbled forward, the sword dipping awkwardly toward the dirt. Heat flooded my cheeks, embarrassment sharp as a blade's edge.

"Damn it," I whispered, steadying myself with a hand on my thigh.

Hunter's chuckle rumbled low, warm and unmocking, easing the knot in my chest just a fraction.

He dropped his wooden sword at his side, letting it thud softly to the ground. "Is it okay if I show you closely?" he asked, his voice steady, eyes locking onto mine with that quiet intensity.

I nodded, pulse quickening. Not sure what he meant by 'closely' until he circled behind me, his presence a sudden heat at my back.

His hands settled on my shoulders first, firm but gentle, guiding me to reset. Then he stepped in, his body aligning with mine.

I felt the brush of his thighs as he nudged my legs wider with his own, parting them until my stance matched his, solid, unyielding.

A shiver ran down my spine, not from the cool air but from the warmth radiating off him, his chest nearly grazing my back.

He reached around, his callused fingers wrapping over mine on the hilt, stretching my arm out straight. The contact sent a jolt through me, his grip enveloping, strong.

I swallowed slowly, throat dry, as his breath ghosted hot across the nape of my neck, stirring the fine hairs there. It was intimate, this proximity, too close for mere instruction, yet necessary in a way that made my skin prickle.

"The first and most important thing is your stance," Hunter murmured, his voice a low vibration against my ear. "This is a perfect stance. Even people who wrestle have a stance, rooted, balanced, ready to move or hold."

I nodded, words caught somewhere in
my tightening chest, focusing on the press of his body steadying mine.

His hands moved with mine now, guiding the sword up and back.