Two years later, far away, at the Alpha Training Camp.
The first punch landed hard against Marco's ribs, sending a sharp pain shooting through his side. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay on his feet. His opponent, a broad-shouldered warrior named Jarek, sneered at him, cracking his knuckles.
"Come on, prince," Jarek taunted. "Show us what you can do."
Laughter echoed around the training pit. The other trainees—young wolves from different packs—watched from the sidelines, some smirking, others shaking their heads. To them, Marco wasn't a warrior. He was just the spoiled heir of the rebellious and ruthless Alpha Sirus, a boy who had never needed to fight for anything.
Marco wiped the blood from his mouth and straightened.
He wasn't surprised they saw him as weak.
His father had made sure of it.
Back home, Sirus had ruled with brutality. Power meant dominance. Strength meant cruelty. And Marco had never been like him. He didn't take pleasure in breaking others. That was why, from the moment he arrived at Alpha training, the other wolves had marked him as prey.
"Don't just stand there," Jarek jeered. "Hit me."
Marco exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He could take the hits. He could let them laugh. None of this mattered.
At least, that's what he told himself.
Then he thought of Regina.
He thought of the way his father had threatened her life. The way she had curled in on herself after Sirus had struck her. The way she had looked at him the last time he saw her—like she was losing hope.
Something inside Marco snapped.
Jarek swung again, aiming for his face, but this time, Marco moved.
He ducked, twisting his body, and drove his elbow into Jarek's ribs. The warrior stumbled, caught off guard.
The crowd went silent.
Marco didn't stop.
He pivoted, sweeping Jarek's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the ground. Before Jarek could recover, Marco was on him, pinning him down with his knee.
He pressed his forearm against Jarek's throat, leaning in close.
"Still think I'm weak?" Marco growled.
Jarek struggled, his face turning red, but Marco didn't let up. He held him there, long enough for everyone watching to understand—he wasn't here to be mocked.
He wasn't here to be soft.
Finally, Marco pulled back, standing over Jarek as the warrior gasped for breath.
He turned to the others, his gray eyes cold. "Anyone else?"