CHAPTER 7: THE ASSESSMENT (1)
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My alarm vibrated silently at 5:30 AM. I slipped from bed, careful not to wake Damon, and locked myself in the bathroom. After a quick shower, I applied extra scent neutralizer and rewrapped my chest, wincing at the tender skin beneath. The binding was becoming increasingly uncomfortable, but I had no alternative.
Dressed in the Academy's training gear—black sweatpants and a loose gray t-shirt—I headed for the training room. The campus was quiet, dawn just breaking over the eastern mountains.
To my surprise, Damon was already there, wrapping his hands with athletic tape.
"You came," he said, sounding pleased.
"You doubted I would?"
"Most people talk big, then sleep in," he replied, tossing me a roll of tape. "Wrap your hands—we're starting with basics."
"I know how to wrap my hands," I said defensively, then proceeded to create what looked like a mummy's partially unwrapped bandage.
Damon stared at my handiwork. "That's... creative. Did you learn that from a YouTube tutorial called 'How to Guarantee Hand Injuries'?"
I glared at him. "Fine. You do it."
He took my hands in his, and the mate bond flared instantly, sending warmth up my arms. His touch was gentle as he unwrapped my disaster and started over.
"Pay attention," he instructed, his voice slightly rougher than before. Had he felt it too? "This protects your knuckles and wrists."
For the next hour, Damon drilled me on proper fighting stance, basic strikes, and defensive moves. He was a surprisingly patient teacher, adjusting my form with careful instruction rather than physical correction—something I appreciated given my situation.
"You're thinking too much," he observed as I practiced a combination. "Fighting isn't just technique. It's instinct."
"Easy for an Alpha to say," I muttered.
He paused. "You're not?"
My heart skipped. "I mean—I'm not a natural fighter like you."
He seemed to accept this. "Not everyone is. But you're quick, and you read movements well. Use that to your advantage. Stop trying to match strength with strength."
"So what, I should just dance around until my opponent gets tired?"
"If that's what works." He demonstrated a move where he used an attacker's momentum against them. "You don't have to be the strongest wolf to win a fight. You just have to be the smartest."
By the time we finished, sweat soaked my shirt and my muscles burned, but I felt more prepared. At least I wouldn't embarrass myself completely.
"Thanks for this," I said as we gathered our things.
Damon studied me, his expression unreadable. "There's something about you, Silver. Can't quite figure it out."
I froze. "What do you mean?"
"You move differently. Think differently." He stepped closer, and my breath caught. "It's... interesting."
"Interesting good or interesting bad?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
A slow smile spread across his face. "Just interesting. For now."
Before I could respond, the door opened as early risers arrived for pre-breakfast training. The moment broken, we headed back to our room to shower and change.
"By the way," he said as we walked, "I installed a new lock on the bathroom door. Industrial strength. Might need a battering ram to get through it now."
I laughed despite myself. "Still traumatized from our first meeting?"
"Let's just say I've never made such a memorable first impression before," he replied with a wry smile. "Usually I at least buy someone dinner before they see... everything."
"If it helps, I was equally traumatized," I lied. Traumatized was definitely not the word I'd use.
"Liar," he said with a knowing smirk. "I saw your face."
