From Ashes to Alpha

We both moved forward, stepping into the moonlight that flooded the arena. The vial Amelia had given me was already working through my system—I'd consumed it exactly thirty minutes ago as instructed. 

My mind felt clear, my senses sharp despite the intoxicating pull of the full moon.

Morgan descended from his platform to stand at the edge of the circle. In his hand, he held a ceremonial knife, its blade gleaming silver.

"The rules are simple," he announced. "The fight continues until submission or incapacitation. Death is not the objective, but..." he paused, his expression somber, "accidents happen in the heat of battle. Should either combatant leave the circle, they forfeit immediately."

He looked between us, ensuring we both understood. Then, with deliberate movements, he used the knife to cut his own palm, allowing several drops of blood to fall onto the edge of the circle.

"By blood and moon, by fang and claw, let the Honor Duel commence." Morgan stepped back, and the crowd fell completely silent.

Killian and I circled each other slowly, neither rushing to attack. His eyes never left mine, already beginning to gleam with golden light as he allowed his wolf nature to surface.

"Ready to be torn apart, pup?" he taunted, rolling his shoulders as if loosening up. "I've ended better wolves than you."

I didn't respond, conserving energy and focusing on his movements, looking for patterns, weaknesses, tells. Amelia's training echoed in my mind: Observe before engaging. Let them reveal themselves first.

Killian's patience expired before mine. With a growl that vibrated through the warehouse, he surged forward, his transformation beginning mid-lunge. His fingers elongated into claws, face contorting as fangs descended. 

The speed of his partial shift was impressive—a testament to decades of experience.

I sidestepped his initial charge, using one of the defensive maneuvers Amelia had drilled into me. My dodge was clean, but Killian recovered faster than I anticipated, changing direction with predatory grace to slash at my midsection.

I felt the sting as his claws caught me, tearing through my shirt and grazing the skin beneath. Not deep, but a warning of what would come if I underestimated him again.

"You'll never be one of us," Killian snarled, pressing his advantage as I retreated a step. "A castoff runt adopted as Daniel's pet project. You think a few months of training makes you worthy?"I maintained my focus, using his aggression to gauge his fighting style. 

Killian was powerful but predictable, relying on intimidation as much as skill. He fought like someone accustomed to overwhelming opponents quickly.

"Nothing to say?" he taunted as we circled again. "Maybe Morgan's right to question your place among us."

This time when he charged, I was ready. Instead of dodging completely, I turned sideways, using Killian's momentum against him while landing a solid strike to his kidney as he passed. 

The blow connected perfectly, drawing a surprised grunt of pain.

Killian spun back, eyes widening slightly. "So the puppy has learned some tricks."

The fight escalated quickly from there. Killian abandoned his testing approach, coming at me with his full experience and ferocity. 

His claws slashed through the air with deadly precision, forcing me into a defensive pattern as I struggled to find openings.

A particularly vicious swipe caught my shoulder, spinning me around. Before I could recover my stance, Killian's foot swept my legs from under me, sending me crashing to the hard concrete.

The impact knocked the wind from my lungs. Through blurred vision, I saw Killian stalking toward me, partial transformation progressing further—his face elongating slightly, muscles bulging beneath his clothes.

"Pathetic," he spat. "This is what happens when we lower our standards. When we allow the weak to rise above their station."

I scrambled backward, buying seconds to catch my breath. The crowd had become a blur of faces, their excited murmurs creating a backdrop of white noise to our combat. 

But as I struggled to my feet, my gaze caught Amelia's. Unlike the bloodthirsty excitement on other faces, hers remained intensely focused, almost willing something toward me.

Remember why you fight.

The thought surfaced from our training, clear as if she'd spoken it aloud. In that moment, with the moon's light streaming down and Killian advancing for what he clearly believed would be a finishing sequence, everything crystallized.

I stopped retreating.

"Control your breath," I whispered to myself, feeling the rhythm Amelia had taught me. "Guide the energy."

Killian lunged forward, claws extended for my throat. But something had changed in me—the world seemed to slow down, each of his movements telegraphed clearly to my enhanced senses.

I didn't just dodge his attack; I countered with unexpected precision, my hand shooting out to grip his extended wrist, twisting it at an angle that used his own momentum to throw him off balance.

The move was perfect—one of the advanced techniques Amelia had demonstrated during our training. Killian's surprise was evident as he staggered, momentarily vulnerable.

I pressed the advantage, feeling power surge through my limbs as I finally allowed my own partial transformation to begin. 

The sensation was different from previous experiences—not a battle for control, but a harmonious merging of human strategy and wolf strength.

My fingers lengthened into claws, muscles coiling with newfound power. When I struck, it was with a precision that belied my relatively brief training. Three rapid blows—ribs, solar plexus, knee—each targeting vulnerabilities Amelia had identified.

Killian howled in pain and rage, his attacks becoming more desperate, less controlled. The crowd's energy shifted palpably, surprise and newfound respect replacing the dismissive anticipation from earlier.

"How?" Killian gasped after a particularly effective counter left him winded. "Who taught you our family's sacred forms?"

I didn't answer, pressing my advantage instead. Each move flowed into the next, the training with Amelia guiding my body as if she stood beside me. 

My transformation progressed further than I'd ever managed while maintaining control—eyes fully golden, fangs extended, muscles and sinews reconfigured for optimal power.

Killian, sensing the tide turning against him, abandoned all pretense of technique. With a roar that shook dust from the rafters, he launched himself at me in a berserker charge, partially shifted body becoming a missile of claw and fang.

Time seemed to slow as I watched him approach. In my pocket, Mia's hairpin seemed to warm—perhaps just my imagination, or perhaps something more, given what she'd told me about its origins.

Instead of meeting Killian's charge directly, I waited until the last possible moment before dropping low and pivoting. 

My clawed hand shot out, catching his ankle mid-stride and applying precise pressure to tendons and nerves. The move—one Amelia had stressed was reserved for Jones family defenders—worked perfectly. Killian's momentum carried him forward while his leg collapsed beneath him, sending him crashing to the concrete with bone-jarring force.

Before he could recover, I was on him, one knee pressed into his spine, my transformed hand wrapping around the back of his neck. My claws rested against his skin, not breaking it but making the threat clear.

"Submit," I growled, my voice deeper with transformation.