Chapter 121: Three Silver Fang Alphas

The Alpha on the floor groaned, clutching his throbbing knee as his two varsity buddies snapped out of their initial shock. Their eyes flared with aggressive amber rings—pure, instinctual Alpha indignation at seeing an Omega dare to bare her fangs.

"You crazy bitch!" the tallest one snarled, his broad shoulders bunching beneath his varsity leather as his fists clenched. "Do you have any idea who we are?! You... You’re that dead-weight Omega from the Grey Moon roster, aren’t you?"

"I’ll kill you—"

"Brianna, no!" Bradford gasped from behind me, his voice trembling in sheer panic as he scrambled to his feet, reaching out a wet, soapy hand to grab my blazer. "Sweetheart, don’t! They’re upperclassmen from the Silver Fang pack—please, just let it go!"

I didn’t step back. I didn’t even blink.

The tall one lunged, throwing a heavy, unrefined right cross aimed straight at my jaw. He relied on raw wolf mass, telegraphing the blow with the subtlety of a freight train.

I didn’t bother dodging backward. I slipped inside his guard, stepping right into his chest. My left hand deflected his wrist outward while my right palm drove upward like a pneumatic piston, driving the hard heel of my hand squarely into his sternum with condensed kinetic force.

THWACK!

The breath exploded out of his lungs in a ragged gasp. Before his larger frame could collapse, I hooked my foot behind his ankle, twisted my hips, and slammed his face into the ceramic tiled wall.

BANG!

The plaster cracked behind his skull. He slumped down into the berry juice, eyes rolling back into his head, out cold.

The third guy froze mid-stride, his jaw hanging open, the sneer on his face completely replaced by pure, paralyzing terror. He looked from his unconscious friend to the boy clutching a dislocated knee, and then up at me.

I took one slow, deliberate step forward, my uniform shoes clicking softly against the sticky floor.

This bunch... They were upperclassmen but they couldn’t even put up a proper fight. Was this the kind of people I was going to be facing in the tournament? They were embarrassingly weak.

"You three," I whispered, the icy quietness of my voice echoing off the narrow hallway walls. "Did someone send you to do this?"

"We—we were just—" the standing boy stammered, his boots squeaking frantically against the tiles as he backed up until his spine hit the lockers. "He’s just the janitor! It wasn’t personal!"

"He is my father," I said, my voice dropping into a deadly register. "Touch him again, look at him again, or spit in his direction again, and the next time we meet won’t be in a school hallway where teachers hand out detention. I will snap your collarbones into powder, drag you to the tournament ring, and feed you your own teeth. Am I clear?"

The boy nodded frantically, his face completely drained of color, his knees visibly knocking together.

"Drag your garbage out of my sight," I commanded, gesturing toward the two groaning bodies on the floor. "Now."

He scrambled forward like a terrified dog, grabbing the collars of his two friends’ jackets and practically heaving them down the corridor, their limp boots leaving dark, smeared streaks of red berry juice across the floor as they fled in pure panic.

The silence that settled over the hallway was deafening.

I stood there for a few seconds, taking a slow breath to reel in the lethal instinct coiling beneath my skin. I smoothed down the lapels of my blazer, turned around, and crouched down in front of Bradford.

His eyes were wide, his lower lip quivering as he stared at me like he was seeing a complete stranger.

"Brianna..." he breathed, his voice cracking with emotion. "What... where did you learn to fight like that? Those were senior Alphas... if the principal finds out, they’ll expel you on the spot!"

My cold expression softened, the hard lines around my eyes melting into a small, gentle smile as I took the wet cleaning rag from his shaking hands.

"They won’t say a single word," I said quietly, dunking the rag into the bucket and beginning to wipe away the sticky puddles. "High-born Alphas have far too much pride to run to the principal crying that a wolfless girl put them in the dirt."

Bradford grabbed my wrists, stopping me. "You shouldn’t be cleaning this, sweetheart. This is my job. You’re... you’re a competitor now. You need to focus on your safety."

"You’re my father," I replied, looking directly into his tired, honest eyes. "Nobody treats you like dirt while I have breath in my lungs."

Bradford looked away, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, but he didn’t argue. He simply took the spare rag, and together, in quiet rhythm, we finished wiping the corridor until the tiles gleamed clean.

After walking him safely to the maintenance annex and making sure he was settled, I checked the time on my beat up phone.

Four-fifteen.

I turned toward the eastern wing, where the private underground training facilities were located.

I’m late.

Well, after the circus in the classroom and the skirmish in the hallway, I was more than ready to let off some steam against a sparring partner who could actually take a hit.

I pushed through the double doors leading into the combat room.

The vaulted concrete chamber was dimly lit, the scent of pine and ozone hanging sharp in the cool, circulating air. Standing in the center of the padded ring, stripped down to a tight black tactical sleeveless shirt and combat trousers, was Zero Nightingale.

His emerald eyes locked onto me the second the metal door clicked shut, tracking the faint, lingering scent of adrenaline clinging to my uniform.

"You’re late, Miss Wells," Zero said, his deep voice echoing off the high stone ceiling, a subtle, razor-sharp edge sharpening his words. "And you smell like violence."

"I’d have smelled like death if those bastards went just a little further than they did," I said, my teeth clenched so tight my jaw ached. "They’re lucky."