Chapter 107: The Training

So, Zero, an instructor from Ravenhollow Academy, just happens to be the battle instructor Edgar picked for me. What were the odds?

Zero cleared his throat sharply, pulling his broad shoulders back as he desperately attempted to wrap himself in a mantle of strict professionalism.

I took a calm step forward. I extended my right hand, a light, almost mocking curve touching my lips.

"Hi," I murmured, my voice smooth and deliberate. "I’m Brianna Wells. You must be the instructor..."

The name left my lips softly, floating between us in the cold air of the training hall.

"...Zero."

I caught the exact split second his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his piercing emerald eyes widening just a fraction. A faint, dark flush crept up his neck beneath his golden skin, the only giveaway that he hadn’t forgotten a single second of that sweat-slicked, suffocating afternoon in the locked equipment shed.

Zero cleared his throat sharply, forcing his spine straight as he lightly shook my hand for half a second before pulling back.

"That’s right," he said, his tone thick with forced, rigid formality. "I’m Zero Nightingale. Your instructor."

Neither of us brought up the shed, though. The sheer, overwhelming awkwardness of the memory hung thick in the air of the hall, mutually unspoken.

"You’re an active instructor at the Academy," I said flatly, crossing my arms over my chest and breaking the heavy silence. "My suspension doesn’t end until tomorrow so I’m not as school, but what are you doing out during school hours? Did you lose your job—and your license—because of that incident?"

Zero’s jaw tightened, his emerald eyes flicking away for a split second before meeting mine again. "I am on administrative leave."

I paused, raising an eyebrow. "Leave? Because of... that?"

"I ask that we do not bring up any topic that does not directly relate to your training, Miss Wells," Zero cut in smoothly, his voice dropping into a stern, authoritative register as he adjusted the leather straps on his combat gloves. "Alpha Edgar hired me to evaluate your combat readiness and refine your technique for the Tournament of Power. That is our sole focus."

I stared at him deadpan for a silent second. Sole focus, huh? Fine.

Remembering Edgar’s arrogant taunt from last night and my boast about breaking his instructor, a sharp, competitive itch flared beneath my skin. I wanted to test just how strong this emerald-eyed wolf actually was when he wasn’t out of his mind on rut fever.

Before, he gave off the feeling of an apex Alpha, one who I might not be able to beat, but that was before I recovered a bit of Silas’s power. This time may be different.

Without warning, I launched myself forward, cutting the distance between us in a fraction of a second.

My assassin instincts took over instantly. I aimed a lethal, lightning-fast feint at his throat, pivoting on my heel to deliver a brutal kidney strike from his blind spot. I had intended to end this little evaluation in under ten minutes.

CLANG!

Zero didn’t even flinch. His reaction time was frighteningly precise. With a single, fluid sweep of his forearm, he deflected my strike, using my momentum to slide behind me.

I spun mid-air, sweeping a low leg kick to take his feet out, but he stepped inside my guard, his palm catching my shoulder and smoothly redirecting my center of gravity.

For ten intense, breathless minutes, the training hall echoed with the sharp crack of boots on metal and the rush of displaced air.

I threw every high-tier execution technique, joint lock, and pressure-point strike I possessed, but Zero parried each move with effortless, military perfection.

There was a reason he was a battle instructor at the Academy at such a young age. He wasn’t just strong—his technique, spatial awareness, and defense were virtually impenetrable.

With a final, decisive sweep, Zero caught my wrist, spun me around, and pinned my arms firmly behind my back, bringing my chest flush against his broad, solid frame before gently releasing me.

I stumbled forward half a step, catching my breath in short, sharp gasps as sweat beaded along my hairline.

"Your speed and instinct are exceptional," Zero said, his voice remarkably steady despite the intense sparring session.

He stepped up behind me, resting his large, warm hands lightly on my shoulders to adjust my stance. "But your form is dangerously inefficient. You’ve been training your body far too hard. This method... it wasn’t designed for a physical vessel like yours."

He could tell that just from one spar?

He pressed a thumb into the base of my shoulder blade, correcting my posture. "You’ve managed to force yourself to strengthen it through sheer willpower, but if you keep driving kinetic force through unconditioned joints, your muscles will tear during high-density combat."

I flinched, my entire body tensing rigid at his sudden touch.

Zero paused instantly, his hands hovering an inch off my skin. "Are you alright? Did I pull something?"

"I’m fine," I muttered, my voice tight as I stepped away from his reach and smoothed down my shirt.

"Let’s take a break," he said and I nodded.

Honestly, it wasn’t physical pain. It was simply that his overwhelming proximity—the heat radiating off his chest, the faint pine-and-ozone scent wafting off his skin—was deeply disturbing given our history.

Yet here he was, acting completely unfazed, treating me like just another nameless student in a line-up. A sudden, sharp irritation began to bubble in my chest. He harassed me during his rut, begged me he would take responsibility, devoured my breath... and now he’s standing there playing the stoic, noble instructor?

A dangerous, mischievous impulse took over.

Now that our official practice is paused, I slowly turned around, taking three slow, deliberate steps toward him until I was standing right in his personal space.

"Now that practice is on halt..." I murmured, tilting my head as I looked up into his piercing emerald eyes, "...shall we get to that other matter?"

Zero swallowed hard, an audible gulp echoing in his throat as his composure cracked instantly. "What...?"

"You were so honest, so sincere back in that shed when you said you would take responsibility for a student," I whispered softly, stepping even closer. "But the moment you get sober, you act as if nothing ever happened. That’s rather shameless, don’t you think?"

I raised my hand, pressing my small palm flat against the center of his broad chest. I could feel the sudden, wild spike in his pulse under my fingertips.

"What should I do?" I teased, letting a cold, dangerous glint flash in my eyes. "Should I just report you for—"

Before I could finish the sentence, Zero’s hand shot out like a lightning bolt, wrapping tight around my wrist.

His breathing turned harsh and uneven, a deep, feverish flush bursting across his golden cheeks as his chest heaved against my palm.

"You..." Zero gasped out, his voice dropping into a rough, strained register that shook with suppressed restraint. "I... I was going to apologize at an appropriate time! I was actively trying not to touch you!"

"Well," I said, raising an eyebrow at his grip on my wrist, "you touched me tons during practice just now."

"That’s different!" Zero groaned, his glowing emerald eyes locking onto mine with a dark, wild intensity that made my heart skip a beat. "I immerse myself in teaching so I do not think! And yet you... right now... you..."

His grip tightened on my wrist, pulling me just an inch closer as his hot, ragged breath brushed directly against my lips.

"Brianna Wells," Zero rasped, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, primal ember. "I am not sane. Please... do not provoke me."

I went dead still, completely taken aback by the sudden, suffocating wave of Alpha intensity rolling off him.