The morning light spills over with full energy, but Ella's steps are sluggish as she drags herself outside. Her face is set in a scowl, her thoughts tangled around the fact that her tutor for the day is going to be Steffen—since John is away on a mission.
Her mind churns with anxiety, trying to figure out how to deceive Steffen about her fighting skills. It had been easy to fool John, but Steffen? He's sharp, like a tiger, and she knows he'll easily spot any flaws or inconsistencies in her techniques.
Still, why should she worry? They had already crossed hands and feet when she first arrived, and she's certain he had dismissed her abilities as beginner-level back then.
Hopefully.
"Are you ready?" Steffen's voice cuts through her thoughts, startling her. She turns to find him standing behind her, his intense gaze locking onto her.
"Not ready or happy, I presume," he remarks, his eyes flicking to the furrow in her brow. He doesn't need to be told—he can see she's less than thrilled about him stepping in for John.
But regardless of her feelings, Steffen is her mate, and she knows she has to follow his lead. Besides, he's undoubtedly the better tutor—stronger, smarter, and far more experienced.
Ella crosses her arms, her face a mask of frustration as she watches Steffen step onto the training ground. "Fine," she mutters, letting just enough irritation slip into her tone. "Let's get this over with."
Steffen's sharp eyes flick over her. "You're distracted," he says flatly. "I don't care if you don't like me stepping in for John. While we're here, you listen and learn. Understood?"
Ella nods, keeping her expression tightly controlled. "Understood," she replies, her voice neutral. Inside, her mind is already strategizing. She needs to play her part well—just competent enough to look like a beginner trying her best, but not so skilled that it raises suspicion.
"Good," Steffen says, stepping back. "Show me your stance."
Ella shifts into position, deliberately letting her weight distribute unevenly. Steffen's frown deepens. "Your balance is off," he points out, stepping closer. "Shift your weight, or you'll be on the ground before you even throw a punch."
She huffs, feigning annoyance, and adjusts as instructed.
"Attack," Steffen orders, his tone clipped.
Ella lunges forward with a punch that he blocks easily. She lets herself stumble just slightly, adding to the illusion. Steffen grabs her arm and twists, sending her to her knees.
"Sloppy," he says. "Again."
She rises, shaking her head as if frustrated, and resets her stance. This time, she throws a kick, careful to make it look powerful but uncoordinated. Steffen dodges effortlessly, grabbing her leg and throwing her off balance once more.
"You're hesitating," he says, his voice sharp. "In a real fight, hesitation will get you killed."
Ella grits her teeth, letting the tension show in her face. "I'm trying."
"Trying isn't enough," Steffen snaps. "Stop thinking and start moving. Fight like your life depends on it."
Ella's jaw tightens, but she knows better than to argue. Instead, she lunges again, this time aiming for his side. He blocks her strike with ease, countering with a quick jab that she lets graze her shoulder.
"You're telegraphing your moves," he says, stepping back. "Predictable."
Ella lowers her arms, pretending to catch her breath, though her heart isn't even racing. "You're not exactly an easy opponent," she says, adding a touch of defensiveness to her tone.
Steffen smirks faintly. "And you shouldn't expect your enemies to be. Again."
As the session drags on, Ella deliberately lets herself get thrown, blocked, and outmaneuvered, each failure meticulously planned. She knows Steffen is watching her like a hawk, and the last thing she can afford is to let her true abilities slip.
But as she fakes another stumble, his eyes narrow.
"You're holding back," he says suddenly, his tone quieter but no less intense.
Ella freezes for a split second before forcing a laugh. "Holding back? Against you? Yeah, right."
Steffen steps closer, his piercing gaze locked on hers. "Don't lie to me, Ella. I've seen glimpses, your reflexes, your timing. They're too good for a beginner. So I'll ask again: what are you hiding?"
Her heart pounds, but she keeps her expression calm, rolling her eyes for effect. "I'm not hiding anything. You're just reading too much into it."
Steffen studies her for a moment longer before stepping back, though the suspicion doesn't leave his face. "We'll see," he says, his tone low. "Next time, don't bother holding back. If you want to survive, you'll need every ounce of skill you have."
Ella nods, forcing a faint, reluctant smile. "Got it," she says, even as her mind races. She needs to be more careful—Steffen's instincts are sharper than she anticipated.
The sun filters through the towering trees of the dense woods, casting dappled light over Ella and Steffen as they walk side by side. The tension from their training session still lingers, but the cool forest air slowly eases the weight in Ella's chest. She keeps her pace steady, aware of Steffen's presence beside her calm yet commanding, as always.
"I'm surprised you wanted to go for a walk," she says, breaking the silence.
"You need to cool off after the session," Steffen replies simply. His voice is deep, steady, but there's a slight smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And it's better than sitting around sulking."
Ella huffs, feigning irritation, but she doesn't press further. Instead, she lets herself relax, her eyes roaming the surroundings. The forest is quiet, save for the distant calls of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Suddenly, the calm is shattered by a guttural growl.
Ella freezes, her senses instantly on high alert. From the shadows of the trees, a rogue wolf emerges—its matted fur bristling, yellow eyes locked on them with predatory intent.
"Stay back," Steffen says, his voice a low, commanding growl as he steps in front of her.
The rogue doesn't hesitate. It lunges, teeth bared, aiming straight for Steffen. With inhuman speed, he meets the attack head-on, his movements fluid and precise. He grabs the wolf mid-air, slamming it to the ground with a force that shakes the forest floor.
Ella watches, stunned, as Steffen shifts effortlessly between defense and offense. The wolf claws at him, but he's faster, stronger. With a final growl, Steffen dispatches the rogue, tossing its limp form aside.
The danger gone, Steffen turns back to Ella, breathing heavily. "Are you hurt?"
She shakes her head, her wide eyes fixed on him. It's only then that she notices the state he's in—his shirt torn and bloodied, exposing his chiseled torso. Scars crisscross his skin, each one telling a story of battles fought and survived.
"You're bleeding," she says, her voice quieter than she intended.
"It's nothing," he replies, brushing off the concern.
Ella steps closer, her gaze lingering on the scars. "These aren't nothing," she murmurs. "You've been through hell."
Steffen holds her gaze for a moment before turning away. "Let's head back," he says, his tone softer now.
"Not until we get you treated," Ella insists, her voice firm but laced with concern. Her fingers brush against a wound on his stomach, and she winces as though she feels the pain herself. Guilt gnaws at her—he got hurt protecting her, and the thought unsettles her more than she's willing to admit.
"I'll apply first aid," she adds, stepping closer, determined.
"Ella," Steffen says gently, grabbing her wrist before she can move further. "This is nothing. It will heal on its own."
"But how—" The question barely leaves her lips before the answer unfolds before her eyes. The cuts on his body begin to fade, the torn skin knitting itself back together as though it was never damaged. Ella watches, breath held tight in her chest, as the impossible happens right in front of her.
"Wow," she whispers, her eyes wide. "It really did heal."
"I told you," Steffen says with a faint smirk, releasing her wrist. "Now, let's head back."
This time, Ella doesn't argue. She follows him in silence, her mind racing.
The rest of the day passes in a blur, but Ella can't stop replaying the scene in the woods. She knows Steffen is a supernatural being—it's impossible not to, given who and what he is. But seeing him heal like that, without so much as a wince, feels different. It's not just impressive; it's unnerving.
Most wolves, even the strongest, need time to recover from injuries. They bleed, they scar, they need care. But Steffen? His body defies every rule she's come to know.
What kind of wolf is he? she wonders, the thought sticking with her even as the sun dips below the horizon.
Night settles in, and the warmth of the fire casts long shadows across the room. The scent of burning wood mingles with the faint, spiced aroma of whiskey as Steffen pours two glasses. Ella sits cross-legged on the plush rug, her back leaning against the edge of the couch, watching him move with a quiet ease.
"Did you always drink whiskey?" Ella asks, breaking the quiet.
He smirks faintly. "No. It's a… newer habit." He takes a slow sip, his gaze distant, as though he's seeing something or someone not in the room.
They drink in companionable silence, the earlier tension of the day giving way to something softer, something unspoken but understood. Ella watches the firelight flicker in Steffen's eyes, her curiosity building again.
"You're different," she says suddenly, breaking the quiet.
Steffen arches a brow. "Different how?"
"You heal faster than anyone I've ever seen. It's like… your body doesn't even recognize pain," she says, tilting her head. "Most wolves aren't like that. So, what makes you—"
"Different?" he finishes for her, his lips curving into a faint smile. He takes a slow sip of his whiskey before answering. "I've had a long time to grow into my abilities. Longer than most."
"How long?" she asks, leaning forward slightly.
"Centuries," he admits, his voice calm but heavy.
Ella blinks, stunned. She had guessed he was older than he looked, but centuries? That's a weight she can't even begin to comprehend.
The room falls quiet again, the crackling fire filling the silence. Ella doesn't push, but something in her steady presence makes him feel like he can speak. And for the first time in centuries, he wants to.
"Do you know what it means to carry a legacy, Ella?" he begins, swirling the whiskey in his glass. "To bear the weight of an entire species on your shoulders?"
Her brows knit, sensing the gravity in his words. "I can't say I do, but it sounds… heavy."
"It is," he admits. "Especially when that legacy is built on a curse."
Ella stiffens slightly but doesn't interrupt. She waits, letting him find his words.
"My father, King Lycaon,"
"Wait, the King Lycaon? The Lycaon Lycaon I know?" Her voice comes out untamed, her eyes widening in disbelief. Her fingers anxiously drum against her thighs as she processes his words.
"Yes," Steffen replies plainly, his tone unyielding.
"No way. Isn't he the one who tried to trick Zeus into eating human flesh?" Her lips part slightly, pausing as she studies Steffen's unmoved expression. He couldn't be serious. "That's just a myth, right? Made-up stories?"