IRIS
The days following the disastrous morning in the bath were a tense, fragile truce. Kaelen kept his distance, not out of anger, but out of a wary, almost reverent respect that was more disarming than any command. He didn't order me to his bed or to his training yard. He simply appeared in the mornings, a silent, imposing figure, and waited. It was an unspoken invitation, a test I knew I had to accept. Elara’s words echoed in my mind, a constant, haunting refrain: *To master this power, you will have to master yourself. You will have to face the parts of you that crave him.* The training yard was the crucible where I would either be forged or shattered.
So I went. Every day, as the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and violet, I would find him in the clearing behind the stronghold. It was a wide, flat space of packed earth, surrounded by the dense, ancient forest of the Lycan lands. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, a wild, primal energy that seemed to hum in time with the blood in my veins. We didn't speak. He would demonstrate a block, a hold, a way to use an opponent's weight against them, and I would mirror him. Our bodies would meet in a controlled clash of muscle and bone, a silent, violent dance. It was exhausting, humiliating, and absolutely necessary. He was breaking me down, forcing my body to learn what my mind refused to accept: that I was not helpless.
But it was at night, under the light of the rising moon, that the real battle began. The moon was different here. It wasn't just a celestial body; it was a presence, a tangible force that seemed to press down on my skin, to seep into my bones. Elara's words about being a Moon Witch were no longer a terrifying theory; they were a lived, breathing reality. I could feel the moonlight as a physical energy, a cool, silver current that flowed through me, seeking an outlet. And it found one in my magic.
Tonight, the moon was full, a perfect, silver orb in the inky black sky, so bright it cast sharp, distinct shadows that danced like wraiths on the edge of the clearing. Kaelen had pushed me harder than usual, his movements faster, his holds more punishing. I was gasping for air, my muscles screaming in protest, my body slick with a sweat that felt like a second skin. He had me pinned, my back against the cool, rough bark of a massive oak tree, one of his forearms pressed like a steel bar across my throat, not cutting off my air, but a clear, undeniable threat. His body was a cage of heat and power, his scent—a dizzying mix of pine, sweat, and the raw, dominant musk of his Lycan nature—overwhelming my senses.
"You're thinking too much," he growled, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through my chest where his body pressed against mine. "You hesitate. Your body knows the move, but your mind second-guesses it. In a real fight, that hesitation will get you killed."
"Maybe I want to be killed," I choked out, the words a defiant, desperate gasp. "It would be preferable to this… humiliation."
A low, frustrated sound rumbled in his chest. "This isn't humiliation, Iris. It's survival. And you're surviving. You're still on your feet. You're still fighting me."
He was right. A week ago, I would have been a broken, sobbing mess on the ground by now. Now, I was just… tired. And angry. The anger was a hot, familiar fire, a fuel I knew how to burn. With a surge of pure, spiteful adrenaline, I did exactly what he had been trying to teach me. I stopped fighting his forearm. I went limp, letting my body sag, and at the same time, I drove my elbow back and up, aiming for the soft, vulnerable spot just below his ribs. It was a dirty, unexpected move, and it connected.
He grunted, a sharp, surprised sound of pain, and his hold on my throat loosened for a fraction of a second. It was all the opening I needed. I twisted, shoving away from the tree with all my might, using his momentary imbalance to break his grip entirely. I scrambled away, putting a few feet of precious, moonlit space between us, my chest heaving, my heart hammering with a wild, triumphant rhythm.
I expected him to be angry. I expected him to punish me for my defiance, for using a move he hadn't explicitly taught me. But he wasn't angry. He was… smiling. It was a faint, almost imperceptible curve of his lips, but it was there. A look of raw, unadulterated pride that was far more potent than any command.
"Better," he said, his voice a low, appreciative rumble. "Much better. You used my strength against me. You didn't think. You just acted."
The pride in his voice was a balm on my bruised ego, a dangerous, addictive drug. I wanted to hear it again. I wanted to see that look on his face again. And that want was more terrifying than any of his threats.
"Don't get used to it," I retorted, but the words lacked their usual bite. I was breathing too hard, my body thrumming with a new, unfamiliar energy. It wasn't just adrenaline. It was something else. Something… more.
He started toward me, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator testing the perimeter of his prey. "Again," he said, his voice dropping to a lower, more intense register. "This time, don't hold back."
I didn't have time to wonder what he meant. He was on me, a blur of motion in the silver light. But this time, I didn't just react. I moved with him, my body flowing with the lessons he had drilled into me. We were a whirlwind of motion, a clash of limbs and breath under the watchful eye of the moon. I blocked a strike, my forearm connecting with his in a sharp, jarring impact. I spun away, my bare feet silent on the packed earth. He lunged, and I dropped, sweeping my leg out in a move designed to take him down at the knees.
He was too fast. He leaped over my leg, a powerful, graceful motion, and landed behind me. Before I could even process the shift, his arms were around me, one banding across my waist, the other hooking around my throat. It was a classic Lycan hold, a way to subdue without killing, a display of absolute dominance. He pulled me back against his chest, my body flush against his, my back to his front. I was trapped. Completely.
His breath was hot against my ear, his heart a heavy, steady drumbeat against my back. "You're getting stronger," he murmured, his voice a low, intimate rumble that sent a shiver straight through me, a shiver that had nothing to do with fear. "Your magic… it's different tonight."
He was right. I could feel it. It wasn't just a chaotic, uncontrolled storm anymore. It was a coiled serpent of power at the base of my spine, humming with a cool, silver energy that felt… alive. It was the moonlight. I was absorbing it, channeling it, and my body was responding in ways I didn't understand.
"Let me go," I gasped, but the words were a lie. I didn't want him to let go. The feeling of his strong body around mine, of his arms holding me, was a terrifyingly secure cage. It was the first time all day that I felt truly… safe.
"No," he growled, the word a soft, possessive rumble against my ear. "Not until you understand. You can't just fight me with your body, Iris. You have to fight with everything you are. With your magic. Stop being afraid of it."
"I'm not afraid," I lied, my voice a breathless whisper.
"Yes, you are," he countered, his tone soft, but unyielding. "You see it as a weakness, something out of control. It's not. It's a part of you. As much a part of you as my Lycan nature is a part of me. You have to embrace it. Or it will destroy you."
His words were a mirror to Elara's, a terrifying confirmation of my new reality. As if on cue, a fresh wave of moonlight washed over the clearing, brighter, more intense than before. And the power in me responded. It wasn't a gradual awakening. It was an explosion.
The coiled serpent of energy at the base of my spine uncoiled in a single, violent surge. It was a silver, blinding light that erupted from me, a pure, unadulterated blast of raw power. It wasn't a focused spell. It was a primal scream of magic, a force of nature. It slammed into Kaelen, lifting him off his feet and throwing him back as if he weighed nothing. He flew through the air, a tangle of limbs and surprise, and crashed into the undergrowth at the edge of the clearing with a heavy, sickening thud.
Silence. The only sound was my own ragged, panicked breathing. I stood frozen in the center of the clearing, my hands trembling, my body buzzing with the electric aftershocks of the power I had unleashed. The silver light faded, leaving the clearing once again bathed only in the cool, gentle glow of the moon. I looked at the dark, still shape in the bushes.
"Kaelen?" I whispered, my voice a thin, terrified thread.
For a heart-stopping moment, there was no response. Then, a low groan. He pushed himself up from the bushes, his movements slow, stiff. He was covered in dirt and leaves, but he was on his feet. He was alive.
Relief, so potent it made my knees weak, washed over me. I took an instinctive step toward him, then stopped, my hand flying to my mouth. What had I done? I had attacked him. I had used my magic on him.
He looked at me, and the expression on his face was not anger. It was not fear. It was… awe. A raw, undisguised, and utterly terrifying look of awe. His silver eyes, usually so guarded and cold, were wide, fixed on me as if he were seeing me for the very first time.
"Elara was right," he said, his voice a low, rough rasp. He took a step toward me, his movements cautious, as if approaching a wild, unpredictable creature. "You're not just a witch."
"I… I didn't mean to," I stammered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "It just… happened."
"No," he said, shaking his head slowly. He was closer now, only a few feet away. "That wasn't an accident, Iris. That was a response. A defense. You felt threatened, and your power answered. It answered with the force of the moon itself."
He stopped in front of me, his gaze intense, searching. He reached out, not to grab me or to restrain me, but to gently brush a stray leaf from my hair. His fingers were rough, calloused, but the touch was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to the violence of our training and the raw power I had just unleashed.
"This is what Marius fears," he murmured, his voice a low, intense whisper. "This is why he wants you dead. Not because you're my bond-mate. But because you're this. A Moon Witch. A power he can't control or comprehend."
He knew. He knew what I was. The realization was a cold shock. How? How could he possibly know?
"How… how did you know that term?" I asked, my voice trembling.
He looked down at me, a flicker of something ancient and knowing in his silver eyes. "The Lycan history is older than the Accords, Iris. We have legends of the Moon Witches. Women who could walk in the dreams of wolves, who could heal with a touch, who could fight with the light of the moon itself. We thought they were all gone. Wiped out in the Witch Wars a thousand years ago."
The world tilted on its axis. I wasn't just a rare anomaly. I was the last of a line, a living legend. The weight of that knowledge, the crushing responsibility of it, was a physical pressure on my chest.
"I… I can't control it," I whispered, the confession a raw admission of weakness. "It's… too big."
"I know," he said, his voice soft, understanding. "But you can. And I will teach you. We will learn together." He looked down at me, his expression a complex mix of possessiveness, pride, and a new, dawning respect. "You are not just a weapon to be wielded, Iris. You are a force of nature. And you are bound to me. Do you know what that means?"
I could only shake my head, my mind a chaotic, overwhelmed mess.
"It means," he said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate rumble, "that I am no longer just your captor. I am your anchor. And you… you are my storm."