Chapter 7 The Alpha's Mask

Layla's POV

The ground burned beneath my feet as I stepped onto the training field. Every eye turned to me. Smirks. Scoffs. Mockery dripped from their lips like venom.

"What's she doing here?"

"Did she get lost on her way to the laundry room?"

"Someone told me the omega playpen is back that way."

I didn't flinch. I didn't blink. I kept walking.

Each step was a refusal. Each breath was a rebellion.

The trainer, a grizzled brute named Jorah, with arms like logs and a mouth like a cleaver, stared at me as if I were a smear on his boot.

"Do you lose, girl?" he sneered. "The kitchen's that way."

I stopped at a distance of paces in front of him. The other warriors circled like vultures, sensing blood.

"I want to train," I said flatly.

Laughter erupted. Jorah didn't even try to hold it in. "You want to train? This isn't some omega exercise hour, pup. Go scrub something."

Someone behind him, a young warrior-cocky and stupid-stepped forward. Marcus's second son, Dane. I knew him well enough to hate him. He swaggered toward me, looking like he expected me to giggle and run.

Come on, sweetheart. Why don't you just go back to the nice little corner Marcus gave you before someone gets hurt?

I looked him dead in the eye, then I lunged.

My elbow caught him clean across the jaw, hard enough to spin him. His foot slipped. My leg swept him. I twisted, dropping him to the ground with a crack and a grunt.

Before he could recover, my hand was in his throat, my teeth bared in a low, instinctive snarl. He was breathing heavily.

Then Jorah stepped forward, furious. "Get off him, now!"

I rose slowly, meeting his gaze. My heart thundered. My hands started shaking. But I didn't let them see it.

"I said I want to fight."

"You're nothing," he spat, the word a weapon.

"Then prove it," I replied.

His lips curled. So he did.

For the next hour, he let every warrior line up against me. They came with cocky grins and left with bruises.

I didn't win every fight. My ribs ached. My lips split. I tasted dirt more than once, but I got up every time.

Ivy stood at the edge of the field, clapping for me through tears. "That's my girl!"

Grayson watched silently, his arms crossed, unreadable. But once, when I knocked down the broad-shouldered Liam, he gave me a slow, approving nod.

Even Kade stood at the far end of the clearing, arms folded, his jaw tight.

He didn't speak, not even then, but his eyes tracked every move I made. And when I finally collapsed beside the well, drenched in sweat and blood, my chest heaving, he came.

I looked up as he approached. "You come to laugh?"

"No." He crouched and handed me a cloth.

"To ask why."

I wiped my face and leaned back against the stone. "Because I want to survive." His look dropped. "You have already survived."

"No," I said, my voice steady. That was enduring. This is living.

He exhaled slowly. His voice dropped lower. "You don't have to do this alone."

I looked up at him sharply. "Don't I?"

He didn't have an answer, and I wasn't waiting for one.

I started training every day. They stopped laughing. They started watching me once I began my training, and that was more dangerous.

Celeste's eyes were always on me, dark with calculation. She whispered in corners and smiled too widely when I limped. But I ignored her until she struck.

It happened on a morning thick with fog. The packhouse was frantic. Guards shouted. Healers rushed.

The poison. One of the elders collapsed. A foul-smelling stew had been left in the warming room, meant for the council, laced with wolfsbane. And in the storeroom nearby?

My scarf was damp with the elder's blood.

They dragged me before Alpha Marcus without saying a word. I stood in the hall, bare feet cold on the marble, wrists bound, as the others gathered like vultures.

Marcus's voice was quiet. Too quiet. "Do you know what this is?" he asked, holding up the scarf.

I said nothing. My mouth had turned to dust. "Do you deny it's yours?"

"Yes, it is," I said. "Do you deny the crime?"

"I didn't do it."

His eyes narrowed, a predator sensing blood.

Celeste stood beside him, all innocence and horror. "It's awful," she said. "Who would do such a thing?"

My stomach churned with bile. Her smirk was a phantom. Marcus turned to the guards. "Put her in the dungeon. We'll decide what to do with her after the elder stabilizes."

They started dragging me away. No trial. No questioning. Only silence.

The cell stank of mold and old iron. The chains were cold. My wolf paced inside me, restless and angry.

I sat in the dark for hours. Then a shadow moved behind the bars.

Kade. His face was unreadable, and he stepped closer. "Did you do it?"

My throat burned. "No, I didn't." Everywhere went silent.

He stared at me for a long moment. Then he turned and walked away.

The sound of his boots faded into nothing.

I didn't cry at first; I just stared at the stone wall, letting the betrayal seep into my bones. I wanted to scream, to tear something apart, but instead, I sank.

And then, in the silence, there was a voice that said, "You're rising, Layla."

I flinched, turning toward the bars. Sage stood there, her face pale, her eyes glowing faintly in the gloom.

"This is your storm," she said. "Let it come." My voice cracked. "I'm in a cell."

She knelt beside the bars, her fingers curling around the rusted iron. "Storms don't start in safety, child. They begin in chaos, in pain, in fury."

My body was shaking. "This is the world trying to smother you before you grow."

I looked down at my wrists, the skin raw from iron. "What if I can't win the war?"

Her smile was terrible and beautiful. "You already are. Every breath you take is rebellion."

And then she was gone, as if she'd never been there, but her voice lingered.

"You're rising," she said.

They thought I would break. They locked me in chains and left me to rot, but they forgot one thing.

I'm not just surviving anymore. I'm becoming, and when I get out, I'll make sure they never forget what they tried to bury.