Third Person’s POV
The heavy ss base of the tumbler mmed onto the table, leaving a shallow dent and a dull echo.
“Get out there. Kneel in the front yard for an hour. Think about what you did.”
“Yes, Ma’am!”
Alfred didn’t hesitate. He stood up, marched outside, and dropped straight onto the freezing, rock–hard stone tiles.
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Inside, Adide watched Paisley’s stiff posture and the way she’d handled the ss. For some reason, a chill ran down her spine.
The fear was way too familiar–it was hardwired into her bones.
She instinctively nced at Craig.
Sure enough, he had the same “thousand–yard stare,” clearly shing back to their traumatic training days in the Shadow Peaks.
Paisley was a carbon copy of their master, Klein.
Lance, however, looked perfectly fine. He was even in the mood to sip his wine.
Back in the day, Klein had always said that since Adide and Craig were “gifted” and “built like tanks,” they deserved the extra brutality. But with Lance… Klein was always much more polite.
Truthfully, Adide’s fear onlysted a second.
In Klein’s world, kneeling for a mere hour was basically a spa day. If Klein was punishing you, you’d usually have wet oak logs bnced <i>on </i>your shoulders, fifty–pound steel chains around your ankles<b>, </b>or at the very least, you’d be kneeling on a pile of jagged ss. Anything less was considered “rest.”
But obviously, Paisley’s lesson wasn’t going to be that simple.
An hourter, Alfred’s legs were stiff with cold, but he was still as straight as a board.
Just <i>then</i><i>, </i>the front gates opened, and three massive figures stepped in, bringing a gust of winter air with them.
It was Paisley’s “Original Three“: Ellen, Anilo, and Ampelio. She’d summoned them specifically.
They’d heard Paisley took a new student and were dying to see who it was. When they saw Alfred kneeling in the yard, they exchanged looks, and thepetitive fire in their eyes lit up instantly.
Paisley stood on the porch, looking down at Alfred as he struggled to stand on his numb legs. She called out to her disciples.
“You three. All at once.”
“Test his basics for me. <i>Don’t </i>hold back–just make sure he can still crawl to work at the Pce tomorrow.”
Paisley pulled Adide into the shadows of the corridor to watch.
She knew Adide was still drowning in anxiety over Alpha Zander.
<b>1/3 </b>
<b>12:26 </b><b>pm </b>
In the werewolf world, there’s no better distraction than watching a good scrap.
Combat theory was the one thing that could always clear Adide’s head.
Lance stayed by her side, though he didn’t particrly care how many bruises were handed out in the yard.
But soon, it became impossible to ignore.
The “test” had turned into a one–sided massacre.
Against Ellen, Anilo, and Ampelio, Alfred was basically a punching bag.
A dull thud echoed as Anilonded a heavy low sweep on Alfred’s ankle, sending him crashing to the ground.
Before he could even scramble up, Ampelio’s elbow was already whistling toward his temple.
It was brutal.
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Luckily, the three wolves knew where the line was. They avoided his head and face–it would be a PR nightmare if a member <b>of </b>the Obsidian Guard showed up to work with a ck eye.
They focused on the “meat“-the stomach, the outer thighs, thets–ces that hurt like hell but wouldn’t show under a uniform.
Under the high–intensity pressure of the triple–team, Alfred’s stamina evaporated. He was barely hanging on.
Lance was about to call it off, but Adide beat him to it.
“Stop!”
As a truebat specialist, she couldn’t stand watching someone get beaten this unproductively.
She’d seen enough in thest <i>few </i>minutes to know exactly where Alfred stood. His basics were decent–he’d clearly put in the hours–but that was it.
His technique, footwork, and <i>reaction </i>time were a mess. He had zero strategy.
He was like a powerhouse wolf who’d been thrown into a diator pit with no idea how to actually fight.
Seeing the analytical spark return to Adide’s eyes, Paisley felt a wave of relief.
She looked over at Alfred, who was sprawled on the ground like a dead dog, and her gaze softened just a fraction.
At least the guy could take a hit.
Adide walked over to him and looked down. “How many years have you been training?”
Alfredy on the cold stone, his chest heaving. His throat made a jagged, wheezing sound like a broken bellows.
Before he could catch his breath, Paisley’s voice boomed with authority.
“Did you go mute? Answer Gamma Adide.”
Adide frowned slightly, wanting to remind Paisley that she wasn’t the instructor here. She didn’t want a fourth “idiot” following
her around.
<b>12:26 </b><b>pm </b>
Alfred gritted his teeth, relying on his wolf healing to shakily push himself up.
Even though he was wobbling like a drunk, he forced himself into a stiff, slightly crooked salute.
He swallowed a mouthful of bloody spit. “Since I was seven. Twenty years.”
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<strong>Olivia Harris</strong> is an emerging author celebrated for her captivating romantic and steamy novels. With a talent for crafting deep emotional connections and fiery chemistry between her characters, Olivia’s stories offer readers an escape into worlds filled with passion, intrigue, and heart-stopping drama.