Chapter 122: Come At Me Like You Mean To Kill Me

I took a sharp breath, rolling my shoulders back and forcing the lingering bloodlust to recede behind a cold, controlled wall.

Zero’s gaze tracked every subtle twitch of my posture. The easy, instructor-neutral mask he usually wore slipped, his emerald eyes sharpening with genuine, heavy concern.

"What happened?" he asked, taking a single, measured step off the sparring canvas toward me.

I looked up at him and let out an exhausted, irritated sigh.

"I’m an Omega, and so is my father, who works here as a janitor in this school," I muttered, tossing my gym bag onto the wooden bench near the rack. "I’m currently getting a mountain of unwanted attention thanks to that damn roster. Now take a wild guess what happened afterwards."

Zero went dead still.

The circulating air inside the chamber grew abruptly colder, the faint scent of crushed pine needles and electric ozone flaring sharp and heavy across the room. An Alpha’s protective instinct was written in every taut line of his broad shoulders, his combat-taped knuckles tightening into hard, rigid fists at his sides.

"Did someone touch you?" he asked, his voice dropping into a dark, gravelly register that scraped against the concrete walls.

"Not me," I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest, my eyes narrowing into two icy slits. "They tried to kick my father while he was on his knees cleaning up a mess they made on purpose. Varsity jackets. Silver Fang cowards."

Zero’s jaw ticked violently, a deep, silent snarl rippling behind his throat.

"Where are they?" he demanded, his military cadence turning lethal. "Are they still on school grounds?"

"They’re probably in the infirmary crying over their fractured bones," I cut in flatly, killing his sudden urge to go hunt them down. "I handled it. Put two in the floor and sent the third running like a frightened stray. But that’s not the point."

I walked over to the weapon rack, grabbing a pair of sparring wraps and tossing them lightly between my palms.

"The point is that this school thinks my family is disposable target practice, and I don’t like it." I said, meeting his intense emerald gaze with an unyielding, predatory focus.

I’m always worried for them, especially my father who works here. He could get beaten and he’d lie that he fell down the stairs while cleaning. They could do all sorts of things to him and I wouldn’t be able to help him.

I just need to make a public example out of one of them. Just one, so the rest can stay clear.

But that example can only be effective after they’ve all seen what I can do, probably in the tournament. Then, they’ll know, crossing me means death!

"Stop standing there looking like a brooding executioner, Instructor," I repeated, my voice cutting through the heavy scent of pine and ozone filling the underground ring. "Wrap your hands so we can get started. I don’t really care for explanations. Results speak the loudest, after all."

Zero’s emerald eyes flickered, the dark, protective fury in them slowly condensing into something sharp, focused, and deeply respectful. The tension in his broad shoulders didn’t leave, but it shifted from wild Alpha indignation into the rigid discipline of an elite combatant.

"Results," Zero echoed quietly, stepping back toward the equipment rack.

He picked up a roll of thick black athletic tape, winding it methodically around his palms, weaving it between his knuckles with practiced, military precision. Each tug of the fabric made a tight, crisp sound in the quiet chamber.

"You’re right, Miss Wells," he said, biting the end of the tape and smoothing it flat against his wrist. "In the arena, nobody cares about your lineage, your grievances, or why you were backed into a corner. They only care about who walks out of the cage on their own two feet."

He stepped up onto the reinforced rubber matting of the sparring ring, his bare feet settling into a loose, perfectly balanced stance.

Despite wearing only a tactical sleeveless shirt, his presence filled the room—a tall, lethal predator who had completely put aside the flustered admirer from the terrace to become the warrior who had survived the northern borders.

"No restraints today," Zero instructed, his voice dropping into the steady, commanding cadence of a battlefield commander. "You proved your speed against standard Academy bullies. Now show me how you plan to bring down an Alpha who knows how to use his mass."

He raised his guard, beckoning with two taped fingers.

"Come at me like you mean to kill me."

A cold, familiar thrill sparked along my spine.

I didn’t waste breath answering. I kicked off the edge of the mat, my body dropping low, moving with the terrifying, silent velocity of an assassin breaking from cover.

I closed the distance in a fraction of a second, feinting a high palm strike to force his guard upward before dropping my weight instantly, driving a hard, kinetic heel kick straight toward his left knee joint—the exact same angle that had folded the varsity bully in the corridor.

Smack!

Zero didn’t buckle. He read the trajectory before the blow even landed, shifting his weight by half an inch and checking the strike with the outer edge of his shin. The impact reverberated up my leg like kicking solid iron, but I didn’t stop to nurse the sting.

I spun on the ball of my left foot, using the recoil to whip my elbow in a vicious arc aimed at his temple.

Zero’s right forearm snapped up, intercepting the elbow with a dull thud. The sheer displacement of air rustled my hair, but instead of pushing me away, Zero’s left hand shot out like an iron vise, wrapping around my bicep to lock me in place.

"Good instinct, but too much rotational telegraph," Zero murmured, his face inches from mine, his warm breath fanning across my forehead. "An Apex Alpha won’t just block that—he’ll catch the joint and snap it."

He twisted his grip, using his superior mass to heave me off balance and pin my arm behind my back.

I didn’t fight his strength; I fed into it.

The moment my center of gravity tipped backward, I kicked both feet off his chest, flipping entirely over his shoulder in mid-air. The sudden torque forced his grip to break, and I landed in a crouch behind him, sweeping my leg in a low scythe to take out his supporting ankle.

Zero leaped straight up, clearing the sweep effortlessly, and came down with a heavy, downward hammer fist that cracked the reinforced mat where my head had been a microsecond earlier.

He’s fast, I thought, sliding backward across the canvas to reset my stance, my chest heaving slightly as adrenaline surged through my veins. Faster than last time. And as for his strength... Could he be stronger than Edgar? I wondered. So, this is what a real military-trained wolf moves like.

Zero straightened up, brushing a stray lock of golden hair out of his eyes. There was no mockery on his face, no condescending sneer. Only a blazing, hungry intensity in his emerald gaze that acknowledged me not as an unawakened Omega, but as an equal predator in the ring.

"Again," Zero ordered, raising his fists once more. "Faster this time. Make me bleed, Brianna."

A feral, sharp grin split across my face as I lowered my stance, letting the cold killer instinct take complete control.

"Don’t cry when I do, Instructor."