Moonlight Betrayal-Chapter 86

Chapter 86

Kaeleen’s POV

The morning air was still, holding the promise of the day’s heat. Across the dirt floor of the sparring ring, Astrid stood poised and ready. The rising sun cast a golden halo around her, but there was nothing soft about her stance. Her weight was balanced perfectly on the balls of her feet, her hands held loosely at her sides, her entire body radiating a calm, focused energy.

The handful of pack warriors going through their own routines in the surrounding area had started to notice. Their movements slowed, their glances towards the central ring becoming more frequent. Intrigue was written all over their faces. I couldn’t blame them though, it wasn’t every day their Alpha trained personally with someone, and it was certainly the first time any of them had seen their Luna on the training grounds.

"We’ll start with the basics," I said, my voice cutting through the quiet. "I need to see your foundation."

I led her through a series of warm-ups, stretches, footwork drills, and basic blocking maneuvers. I watched her with a critical eye, analyzing every detail. Her flexibility was impressive, there was this grace in the way she moved. But it was her footwork that first gave me pause. She didn’t move like a pack warrior, who were taught to root themselves to the ground to draw power. Astrid moved like a whisper. Her steps were light, economical, and almost completely silent, designed not for power, but for speed and stealth. Her body remembered.

She thought she didn’t remember but she did. Her body was in tune with the training she had received years ago.

After about twenty minutes of drills, I stopped. Sweat was beginning to gather on her forehead, but her breathing was even, controlled. She watched me, waiting for the next instruction, her eyes sharp and intelligent.

"Your form is good," I stated, the words an understatement. "It’s clean. Efficient. Now, I need to see the rest of it."

I moved to the center of the ring, beckoning her forward. "I’m going to come at you. I won’t use my full strength, but I won’t go easy on you either. Your only job is to defend yourself. Show me what they taught you."

A flicker of something not fear, but a dark memory,passed through her eyes before being replaced by solid determination. She gave me a single, sharp nod and settled into a defensive stance that was subtly different from before. Her posture was lower, her body coiled like a spring, ready to react in any direction.

I moved first. I lunged forward, my hand striking out in a swift, open-palmed jab aimed for her shoulder. It was a standard opening move, easy to block. But she didn’t block it. Not in the traditional sense.

Instead of meeting my force with her own, she flowed away from it. At the last possible second, she pivoted on her back foot, her body twisting. My hand slid past her shoulder, meeting only empty air. As I moved past her, she used my own momentum, her hand lightly tapping my back, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to unbalance me for a split second. It was a subtle, brilliant redirection.

I corrected my footing instantly, turning to face her again, a flicker of surprise running through me. That wasn’t a pack technique. That was the move of someone who was used to fighting bigger, stronger opponents, where a direct confrontation meant certain defeat.

I came at her again, this time with a series of faster, more complex strikes, a combination of punches and feints. She was a ghost. She moved with a liquid grace that was both beautiful and terrifying to watch. She deflected my blows with the edge of her hands and forearms, never absorbing the full impact, always redirecting the force away from her body. Her eyes were constantly moving, not just watching my hands, but my shoulders, my hips, my feet reading my intent before I even acted on it.

This was not the Astrid who flinched anytime she heard the name ’Leon.’. This was not the woman who hid from him and was at his mercy. This person before me was different. This was a survivor. And as much as it filled me with a white-hot rage at the nameless, faceless assassins who had forced this knowledge upon her, I couldn’t suppress the wave of profound respect and pride that washed over me. She was magnificent.

The sounds of our sparring, the soft thud of her hands deflecting my arms, the scuff of our bare feet on the ground had drawn a crowd. The other warriors had completely abandoned their own training. They now stood in a wide, silent circle around the ring, their faces a mixture of shock and awe. They were seeing what I was seeing. Their Luna was not who they thought she was.

I decided to press her, to see how she handled pressure. I increased my speed, my movements becoming more aggressive, forcing her to retreat. She moved backwards fluidly, never losing her balance, never taking her eyes off me. Her expression remained calm, but I could see the concentration etched on her face. I saw her mind working, calculating, looking for a mistake, an opening.

I gave her one.

I threw a high punch, deliberately overextending myself by a fraction of an inch, leaving my ribs exposed for a heartbeat. It was a trap, a test to see if she would take the bait.

She did.

The moment the opening appeared, she exploded into motion. She didn’t try to counter my punch. She ducked under my arm, her body a blur. She was no longer defending; she was attacking. Her speed was breathtaking. In the space of a single breath, she was inside my guard, too close for me to bring my arms around to defend myself.

I saw her target. She wasn’t aiming for a knockout blow to my head or a powerful strike to my chest. Her hand, angled like a blade, was driving straight for the cluster of nerves just below my ribcage. It was not a move designed to win a sparring match. It was a move designed to incapacitate, to drop an opponent to their knees, gasping in agony. A move taught by killers.

My own instincts, honed by a lifetime of combat, took over. I twisted my torso violently, sucking in my breath. Her strike missed its intended target by less than an inch, the edge of her hand glancing off my side with a force that sent a jolt of tingling numbness through my body.

A collective gasp went through the crowd of warriors watching us. They had all seen it. They had seen how fast she was, how precise her attack was, and how close she had come to landing a debilitating blow on their Alpha.

I grabbed her wrist, my fingers wrapping around her arm, stopping her follow-through. We stood frozen like that for a long second, chest to chest, both of us breathing heavily. Her skin was slick with sweat, her muscles taut under my grip. I looked down into her face. Her eyes were wide, not with fear, but with the adrenaline of the fight. They were bright, alive, and utterly fierce.

Slowly, I released her wrist. I took a step back, raising a hand to signal the end of the spar. The tension in the ring broke.

I looked at Astrid, who was watching me, her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. The warrior was still there, shining in her eyes, but I could also see a question, a vulnerability. She was waiting for my judgment.

In front of the silent, watching eyes of my pack, I gave her a slow, deliberate nod. It was a gesture of deep, profound respect.

"You have not forgotten," I said, my voice quiet but carrying to every member of the crowd.

A visible wave of relief washed over her. She straightened up, her shoulders squaring, and gave me a small nod in return. A silent acknowledgment passed between us. An understanding.

I turned my gaze to the warriors encircling us. "Training is over for the morning," I announced, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Go."

They dispersed immediately, though I could feel their curious and newfound respectful glances on Astrid as they left. They moved off in small groups, their voices low as they undoubtedly began to discuss what they had just witnessed.

When we were alone, I turned back to Astrid.

"Your instincts are sharp," I told her, my tone professional now, that of a trainer. "Your defense is incredible. You were taught to survive against opponents you couldn’t overpower. To use their strength against them. To be patient and wait for one perfect opportunity."

She simply nodded, listening.

"But your body is not at the level your mind and instincts are," I continued. "Your stamina needs work. We need to build your strength, your endurance. The muscle memory is there, but we need to make the muscles themselves stronger, more resilient."

"Okay," she said, her voice a little hoarse. "What do we do?"

"We start from the ground up," I said. "Every morning. We run. We work on strength conditioning. And we spar. I will push you harder than you’ve ever been pushed. I will break you down and build you back up, stronger than you were before. Are you ready for that?"

She looked at me, and the fire I had seen earlier was back in her eyes, burning brighter than ever. There was no doubt in her expression, no hesitation.

"I’m ready," she said.

I looked at this woman, this incredible survivor who was my mate, and I knew that this was the beginning of something powerful. I was not just training a fighter. I was helping to unleash a queen.

I smiled. "But baby, I need to get to work."

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