The Snow Wolf's Mate

Earned Respect:

[POV: Aria]

I wasn’t ready.

I told myself I was, but the moment I stepped onto the training field with the other young wolves, all I could feel was heat rising under my skin and my pulse pounding at my throat.

This wasn’t fear. It was something heavier. Because he was watching.

Hayden.

He stood on the slope near the far edge of the field, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His gaze swept across the trainees like he was evaluating prey—but I felt it every time it lingered on me.

My back burned under the weight of his stare. My hands clenched harder around the practice staff Theo had handed me.

I hated that I noticed him. And I hated even more that Yoka noticed too.

My wolf stirred again, brushing the edge of my consciousness with a low growl—not angry, not afraid… just awake. Alert. Craving.

“You’re late to care,” I snapped inwardly.

She didn’t respond. But she never really did—at least not with words. Yoka had always been more presence than voice. Silent during the worst years of my life, vanishing when I needed her most.

And now she was here? Now she chose to stir? For him? I shoved the thought aside and focused on the field.

Theo, grinning like the troublemaker he was born to be, strolled to the center of the sparring ring.

“Alright, pups,” he called. “Pair up. Two-minute bouts. No claws, no teeth, no bruises that’ll keep you from cleaning latrines after.”

A few groans and laughs rippled through the group.

I didn’t laugh. I didn’t speak. I stepped into the ring when he called my name and took my stance.

My opponent was a cocky, broad-shouldered wolf named Bren. I could see the way he sized me up—lazy, unimpressed, like this was going to be easy.

It wouldn’t be. The match began, and I let instinct guide me.

My body moved before thought caught up—ducking, weaving, striking with precision I hadn’t let them see before. My training back in Midnight Crest had been brutal, designed to break weakness out of you, even if it meant breaking bones too.

Compared to that, this? This was breathing.

Bren underestimated me. He didn’t get the chance to do it twice. I spun, landed a clean sweep to the back of his knees, and dropped him hard onto the ground.

Gasps echoed around the ring.

Theo let out a low whistle. “Damn, Rogue. Where’d you learn that?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. I helped Bren up, nodded once, and stepped out of the circle before anyone could ask more questions.

But as I passed the edge of the field, I felt his gaze again.

Hayden. Watching. Still. Always.

And Yoka—traitor that she was—huffed softly in my mind like she was pleased. Her energy buzzed under my skin, not aggressive, not angry… curious.

I gritted my teeth. “You don’t get to act like this now. Not after everything.”

I remembered nights in the cell, whispering into the dark for her. Bleeding in the training yards, begging for strength. Freezing in the swamp water, praying for a shift—any shift—that might let me survive.

She was silent then. She abandoned me then. And now she purred whenever Hayden looked at me like we shared a secret?

No. I wouldn’t let her distract me.

I threw myself into the next match. And the next.

Theo had me cycle through three more sparring partners before the session ended. Each one came at me with more intent, more force. They wanted to test me now. They’d seen what I could do.

And I didn’t disappoint them. By the end of it, I was slick with sweat, heart pounding, bruises already forming across my forearms—but I stood taller than I had in weeks.

Because they were looking at me.

Not with suspicion. Not with scorn. But with something like respect.

Even Theo gave me a wide grin as I walked past. “You keep this up, Aria, and I might have to stop calling you ‘Rogue.’”

I just nodded and kept walking, the edge of my exhaustion softened by something strange and unfamiliar.

Belonging. A spark. Small. Flickering. But it was there.