Nicholas’s POV
I sensed someone behind me and stopped mid-strike.
The night air was still, but I could feel the presence before I turned. My sharp gaze landed on the figure standing a few feet away, sword in hand. A woman.
She straightened and bowed slightly in greeting, her grip firm on the hilt of her sword. My eyes flicked from the blade back to her face. Something about her felt familiar, yet I couldn’t place it.
I narrowed my eyes, studying her like a predator assessing its prey. Tall for a woman. Strong stance. The way she held herself spoke of experience, not just training. This was no ordinary she-wolf.
Interesting.
Without a word, I lifted my chin and motioned for her to step forward. A silent challenge.
She hesitated—only for a moment—before stepping onto the training ground.
I smirked. Good.
We circled each other, the air between us charged with unspoken tension. She didn’t wait for an invitation, gripping her sword tighter before lunging first. I deflected with ease, our blades clashing with a sharp clang.
She was quick and strong.
Strike. Block. Counter.
I tested her reflexes, increasing the intensity of my attacks, but she met me strike for strike. Not bad. Not bad at all.
I pivoted, swinging my blade in a low arc. She dodged, rolling to the side before springing to her feet. A lesser opponent would’ve stumbled.
I raised a brow. "Impressive."
She didn't reply, only adjusted her grip. Her focus was unwavering.
I smirked. "You fight well."
Still nothing.
Fine. I’d get her to talk.
I struck again, faster this time, forcing her on the defensive. She parried skillfully, but I could see the slight tension in her shoulders. She’s expecting another attack.
Instead, I stepped back. "Shouldn't you be at the mating ceremony?"
She stiffened, her jaw tightening.
I tilted my head, waiting.
Then, finally, she answered. "I don’t believe in fated mates."
Interesting.
"That so?" I mused, stepping toward her. "And why is that?"
She didn't waver. "Because I don’t need a mate."
I chuckled, the sound low and deep. "Strong words."
She met my gaze, her expression unreadable. "I mean them."
I watched her carefully. No hesitation. No doubt. Only certainty.
I swung my sword again without warning. She barely had time to react, blocking at the last second. Our blades locked, inches from her face.
I could see it now—the fire in her eyes. She wasn’t just strong. She was determined. Fierce.
Most she-wolves craved a mate, sought protection, and longed for destiny to decide their future, but not this one.
She fought like a warrior, stood like an equal, spoke like she had nothing to fear.
I smirked. "You're strong. For a woman."
Her lips twitched, not in amusement, but irritation. "Really?"
I laughed. A real, full-chested laugh. Bold. I like that.
She used my distraction to strike. Clever. But I was faster.
In a swift movement, I knocked the sword from her hand, sending it clattering to the ground. Before she could retrieve it, I moved, closing the distance between us in an instant.
She gasped softly as I grabbed her, her body slamming into mine. For a moment, we were frozen. Our eyes locked, hers a storm of defiance, mine filled with something unreadable. I could feel her breathing, hear the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. She didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away.
Still fearless.
I tilted my head slightly. "What’s your name?"
She hesitated for the first time, her lips parting slightly before she finally spoke.
"Danica William. I’m a warrior."