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Chapter thirty-one

Sofia

T he training room smelled clean, sharp, and clinical, like everything inside had been scrubbed within an inch of its existence. Smooth, gray mats covered the floor under the fluorescent lights, their muted color sucking in the glow and reflecting none of it back. Mirrors lined two of the walls, though, ready to catch everything.

In the corner, a weapons rack gleamed like a prize case. Daggers, throwing knives, staffs, training blades—all polished, all waiting.

Holy mother of the sharp and shiny!

My fingers itched as my eyes skimmed over the knives. The collection was like something out of my dreams—if my dreams involved drooling over deadly weapons, which, okay, fine, when they weren’t filled with Derek fucking Shaw, they totally did.

Each blade was a work of art, from slim throwing daggers that looked like they could slice through air itself to curved hunting knives that practically begged to be held. There were even a few pieces I didn’t recognize, their exotic shapes making my inner knife nerd do a happy dance. They weren’t just weapons; they were possibilities, representing a different way to fight back, to protect myself. These weren’t the practice blades I was used to—these were serious weapons for serious fighters.

I wondered if Darla would let me play with— I mean, train with them. My fingers twitched again, already thinking about the balanced weight of those throwing knives, the satisfying thunk they’d make hitting their target.

“You’re imagining naming them, aren’t you?” Darla stood dead center in the room, arms crossed, waiting with a predator’s stillness that made my wolf bristle. Even in workout clothes, she radiated that effortless lethality that reminded me she wasn’t just a skilled fighter—she was something else entirely, something ancient and dangerous. Darla didn’t flinch; Darla didn’t second-guess herself. She was power wrapped in silk and she owned it for all to see.

“No.” I shook my head vigorously. “Not at all. Though that silver one with the curved blade is definitely giving me strong Stabby McStabberson vibes.”

Darla’s lips quirked into a faint smile as our eyes met. “Really? I’ve been calling it Slice and Dice for years.” She uncrossed her arms. “But we’ll get to the fun toys later. First, I need to see what Lucian’s been teaching you. Lose the shoes.”

I complied without argument, kicking off my sneakers and leaving them near the doorway. Barefoot now, the cold mats felt fresh against my skin as I stepped forward.

She began circling me with quiet deliberation, her movements precise and fluid. Her pale blue eyes dragged over every inch of me—not out of scrutiny, but something more detached, clinical. It wasn’t disapproval, exactly, but neither was it approval. It was observation, the way a mountain lion considers the balance of weight and weakness before deciding if it’s worth the effort to strike.

“You trained with Lucian,” she said finally, her voice clipped and direct. It wasn’t a question.

I nodded.

“But fighting isn’t all about what someone else teaches you. It’s also about what you’re willing to let out. How much you’re willing to unleash. So…” She stopped in front of me. “Show me. Show me what you’ve learned.”

I hesitated for half a second, but she caught it.

Her smirk grew wider. “Come on. Show me those teeth.”

I bounced up and down on my feet, loosening my muscles. “Don’t worry, I’m not here to hold back.”

“Good.” Her tone was almost… pleased. Her sharp eyes swept over me one last time as she took a half-step back. “Because if you do, I’ll make you regret it.”

Before she could plant her feet, I struck with a quick jab aimed at her center. She batted it away like swatting a fly.

Okay, then.

I snapped a low front kick. Her leg glided back, avoiding impact, one eyebrow rising. “Not bad.”

I threw myself into the next set, striking harder, thinking less. Combinations Lucian had drilled into me until they lived in my muscles. Each movement flowed into the next, my fists cutting through the space between us. Darla deflected everything, her motions compact, effortless.

“You’re still playing.” Her voice cut with disappointment.

Narrowing my eyes, I didn’t respond. Words were distractions. Instead, I pushed forward again, refusing to slow down. Darla caught my wrist mid-strike, twisting just enough to make me stagger. I used the momentum, breaking free and spinning into a back-kick that grazed her ribs. She let out a sharp exhale.

“Better. Channel that rage. Make it work for you. But don’t let it control you.”

I clenched my teeth, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

Don’t play, but don’t get too angry?

Right. Like I had enough experience to know where that line was.

I rolled my shoulders, resetting, and adjusted my stance. More focus, more control; I could do this. I launched forward again, my movements sharper, like my body and mind were finally in sync. Every punch, every kick, every dodge came from a place of strategy, not chaos.

Darla’s eyes narrowed as I landed a solid palm strike to her shoulder that sent her skidding back a step. For the first time, Darla looked… engaged. The smirk melted into something more serious, something closer to satisfaction.

Sweat trickled down my back, my breath coming in short, sharp bursts. My legs burned, my arms ached, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. The more Darla pushed, the more I found something inside myself to keep going. I could feel something breaking free, a weight lifting as I fully sank into the rhythm of the fight.

“They underestimate you,” Darla said, her voice cutting through the haze in my mind. She blocked a strike aimed at her ribs and countered with a hook that barely missed my jaw. “Use that. Make them regret it.”

Her words hit something deep within me, igniting a spark I didn’t even know I carried. Images flashed in my mind—of Joey and Brad’s fight, of Derek tying me to that freaking bedpost, of every person who ever looked at me and saw nothing more than a cheerful barista or a girl too polite to fight back.

They were wrong. All of them.

I roared, my wolf rising to meet me in a seamless merge of strength and precision. My body was fire, and I was its master. I was faster now, sharper. Every punch, every kick, every move felt like a revelation, an unraveling of the girl I used to be.

I feinted left, drawing Darla forward, before spinning into a high kick that connected with her shoulder. She staggered—just for a heartbeat—but it was enough. Enough for me to see it. I wasn’t an opponent she could afford to underestimate anymore.

“Time!” she called. Darla straightened as she eyed the sweat trickling down the side of my face. “Lucian and I, we both saw this in you. The edge. The fire. The strength. We knew what you were capable of, even when you didn’t.”

I swallowed hard, something catching in the back of my throat.

“The question,” she continued, stepping even closer, “is what will you do with it?”

I swiped the sweat away with my hand. “Teach me everything. No more holding back.”

She grinned, her smile sharp and wild. “Finally.”