CHAPTER 6: BONFIRE NIGHT (2)
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As the night progressed, I found myself actually enjoying the camaraderie. These wolves weren't so different from my brothers and their friends—competitive but loyal, rough around the edges but good-hearted.
Until Carter arrived.
"Well, well," he sneered, approaching our log with three equally large wolves flanking him. "The fresh meat made friends."
I tensed, but Noah placed a subtle hand on my arm. "Ignore him," he whispered.
Carter wasn't deterred. "Heard you were dancing in combat class today, Silver. My little sister takes ballet too. She's seven."
Laughter rippled from his friends. I kept my eyes on the fire, jaw clenched.
"Back off, Carter," Noah said, his voice surprisingly firm.
"Or what, four-eyes?" Carter stepped closer. "You'll calculate me to death?"
"Or I'll get involved," came Damon's voice as he materialized beside us. "And you really don't want that."
The atmosphere shifted instantly. Carter's smirk faltered.
"Just having some fun, Blackwood," he muttered.
"Your idea of fun needs work," I said, surprising myself. "Maybe try a hobby. Knitting? Pottery? Basic human decency?"
Carter's eyes narrowed dangerously. "You've got a mouth on you, runt."
"Better than having your personality," I shot back.
A tense silence fell. Carter looked ready to lunge, but Damon stepped slightly forward, his posture casual but his message clear: go through me first.
"Find your fun elsewhere," Damon said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
Carter retreated, throwing one last glare my way. "This isn't over, Silver."
"Looking forward to it," I called after him, heart racing with adrenaline. "I'll bring my ballet shoes!"
Once he was out of earshot, Noah stared at me. "Are you crazy? Carter's family has a blood feud with three different packs!"
"I don't need your protection," I said to Damon, ignoring Noah's comment. The rush of standing up for myself was intoxicating.
Damon raised an eyebrow. "Never said you did. But Carter's a problem for everyone."
"He's right though," I admitted quietly. "I was terrible in class."
"It was your first day," Noah offered kindly.
Damon studied me. "I could help you train. Before assessment tomorrow."
I looked up, surprised. "Why would you do that?"
"Because..." He paused, seeming to search for words. "Because everyone deserves a fair chance. And watching you try to punch is both hilarious and painful. Like watching a kitten try to intimidate a vacuum cleaner."
I should have been offended, but instead, I laughed. "That bad, huh?"
"Worse," he confirmed, but his smile was kind. "But fixable."
There it was again—that strange connection between us, pulling like an invisible thread. I should refuse. Distance was safer. But the thought of failing tomorrow's assessment terrified me more.
"Okay," I said finally. "Thanks."
The party continued around us, but something had shifted. As the night deepened, I found myself watching Damon—the way he laughed, the respect others showed him, how his eyes occasionally found mine across the fire.
My mate. The thought was both thrilling and terrifying.
Around midnight, people began drifting back toward campus. Noah bid me goodnight, and soon only a handful remained by the dying fire.
"Ready to head back?" Damon asked, appearing at my side.
I nodded, suddenly exhausted. We walked in comfortable silence, the path lit only by moonlight filtering through trees.
"Thanks," I said as the dormitory came into view. "For the invitation. And for... you know."
"Carter?" He shrugged. "He's all bark, no bite. But watch out for him anyway."
"I meant for offering to help with training," I clarified. "But thanks for the Carter thing too. Though I totally had it handled."
"Sure you did, Sock Boy." His smile was teasing but warm. "Your devastating wit was about to make him cry."
In our room, the awkwardness returned as we prepared for bed. I gathered my things for a quick bathroom change, hyperaware of his presence.
"Meet me at the training room at six," he said as I headed for the bathroom. "Before breakfast. We'll work on your form."
"You don't have to—"
"Six o'clock, Ari." His tone was firm but not unkind. "Everyone needs help sometimes. Even sock-throwing champions."
"I'll be there," I promised. Then, unable to resist: "And I'll knock first. You know, just in case."
His groan followed me into the bathroom. "We had an agreement!"
Later, lying in bed with Damon's steady breathing across the room, I stared at the ceiling. Tomorrow would bring new challenges—physical assessment, more classes, and now early training with my mate.
One day down. How many more could I survive before my secret was discovered?
And why did part of me wish Damon would be the one to discover it?
