The Alpha's Silent Bride: Seventh Time's The Charm

Chapter 79: 079: A SPAR WITH MARA

~ ROSELLE ~

My entire body is drenched in sweat as I bolt upright in bed, my breathing ragged and my heart hammering so violently against my ribs that it feels like it might crack them open.

It’s only been one night without Ronan in the pack, and my fucking nightmares have already returned with a vengeance.

What the hell is it with that beast?

I’ve had nightmares before — plenty of them. They usually revolve around the fire, the screams, the memories I can never seem to escape no matter how far I run or how much time passes. Those are familiar. Those I know how to survive.

But this? Monsters whispering filthy, degrading things to me? A massive, horned creature snarling about knotting me, breeding me, turning me into its personal cumdump? That’s new, and that’s never happened before.

The nightmares about that beast didn’t start until I stepped foot in this pack.

I press a trembling hand to my chest, trying to steady my breathing as the images from the dream flash behind my eyes, the creature’s glowing amber eyes, its thick, knotted cock twitching with need, the way it described pinning me down and ruining me until I was nothing but a dripping, broken mess.

Goddess, it was so weird... and so stupid. Who has dreams about monsters whispering filthy things to them? No one. Absolutely no one except me.

Then again, maybe there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation.

I remember reading somewhere that dreams are often influenced by the things we experience during the day. And yesterday, Ethan made those disgusting, crude comments about warming my bed, about having a "long, big dick" and wanting to hear my pretty moans. Maybe my brain just twisted that into something even more monstrous.

If not... then I honestly can’t think of any other explanation.

I force myself out of bed on shaky legs and head straight for the bathroom. The cold water from the shower helps wash away some of the sweat and the lingering horror of the dream, but it doesn’t erase the uneasy feeling in my chest.

By the time I’m dressed in the outfit Celeste and I picked out last night, tight black gym pants that hug my legs and hips, a supportive sports bra, and my hair rolled into a neat bun, I’m already trying to convince myself that today will be better. Pack training, and something new that might actually take my mind off Ronan, and off that disgusting dream.

I’m actually excited that I agreed to go with Celeste. Hopefully it’ll help.

Celeste is already waiting for me when I step out of the room, her usual bright smile in place, though her eyes soften with concern when she sees me.

"You look like you didn’t sleep well," she says gently, linking her arm with mine as we walk.

"I didn’t," I admit quietly. "But I’m okay. Let’s just go. I need the distraction."

She squeezes my arm supportively. "That’s why we’re doing this. Fresh air, movement, maybe a few bruises. It’ll be good for you, My Lady. And don’t worry, I’ll be right there with you."

The training grounds are already buzzing with activity when we arrive. Most of the pack is there, warriors stretching, pairs sparring lightly, the sound of fists hitting pads and laughter filling the air. Nikolai stands off to the side, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching everything with that calm, watchful intensity of his. His eyes narrows to me the moment I step onto the field, and he gives me a small, respectful nod.

I’m about to head toward Celeste when a familiar, venomous voice pierces through the noise.

"Well, well. Look who decided to grace us with her presence."

Mara.

She’s dressed in tight training clothes that show off every curve and muscle, her hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. Her smile is vicious, as she saunters toward me, drawing the attention of everyone nearby.

"I challenge you to a spar, little Roselle," she says loudly, her voice boomimg across the training grounds. "Unless you’re too scared to fight someone who actually has a wolf."

The entire field seems to go quiet.

Nikolai straightens immediately, his expression darkening. He takes a step forward. "No. That’s not happening."

Mara doesn’t even look at him. She keeps her eyes locked on me, that cruel smile never wavering.

"By pack law," she announces, loud enough for everyone to hear, "any member can challenge another to a sparring match. It’s within my rights."

She’s right. I know she’s right. Pack law is clear on this, challenges are allowed, especially in training. Refusing would make me look weak. Cowardly. And after everything that’s happened, after the way she’s been parading around like she already owns Ronan, I’m done letting her walk all over me.

I lift my chin, meeting her gaze even though my stomach is twisting with nerves. "Fine. I accept."

Nikolai’s head snaps toward me. "Roselle—"

"It’s okay," I say quietly, not taking my eyes off Mara. "I want to do this."

I need to do this. I need to prove, to her, to the pack, and to myself, that I’m not weak. That even without a wolf, I can hold my own. That I’m not just some broken, powerless girl Ronan felt sorry for.

The crowd forms a loose circle around us as we step onto the sparring mat. Mara circles me slowly, that vicious smile still in place.

"Try to remember what your precious Alpha taught you," she taunts. "If he even bothered teaching you anything useful."

I don’t answer. I focus on my breathing, on the things Ronan drilled into me during those quiet afternoons when he was teaching me basic self-defense. Keep your guard up, watch your opponent’s shoulders, use your speed and don’t let them corner you.

Round One starts.

Mara comes at me fast and strong, her punches powerful and precise. I dodge what I can, using the agility Ronan praised me for, slipping under her guard and landing a quick jab to her ribs. She grunts, more surprised than hurt, and swings back harder. We trade blows, evenly matched in a strange, tense way, her strength against my speed. The crowd watches with interest, some murmuring, some cheering quietly.

For a brief moment, I feel a small surge of pride.

Then Round Two begins, and everything changes. Mara changes tactics. She starts talking.

"You know he was moaning my name the night you were crying in your room?" she says sweetly, dodging one of my kicks. "Right before he came inside me. He said my name like a prayer. Like he’d been waiting for me his whole life."

The words hit harder than any punch. My focus wavers for a split second, just long enough for Mara to slam her fist into my side. Pain explodes through my ribs. I stagger back, gasping, but force myself to stay on my feet.

She laughs. "Aww. Did that hurt, little wolfless girl?"

Round Three is pure humiliation.

Mara is clearly winning now, and she knows it. She’s toying with me, landing hit after hit that’s more vicious than necessary. Each punch, each kick, is designed to humiliate. She’s proving a point in front of the entire pack, that she’s stronger, faster, better. That she’s the one who belongs at Ronan’s side.

"Great Pack Of Blackshadow, look at who wants to be your Luna!" she calls out mockingly between strikes. "She’s wolfless and powerless! A broken little princess who can’t even protect herself without hiding behind her Alpha!"

The crowd’s cheers immediately turn into mocking laughter, while a few people exchange uncomfortable glances. I keep fighting, even as bruises bloom across my skin and my lungs burn, but it’s getting harder. My movements are slowing. My guard is slipping.

Still, in Round Four, I manage one good hit, a solid uppercut that catches Mara off guard and sends her stumbling back. For a brief, shining moment, I have her pinned against the mat, the crowd gasping in surprise. I feel a spark of hope.

It doesn’t last.

Mara flips us with brutal strength, reversing our positions in seconds. She rains down multiple hits in quick succession, face, ribs, stomach — each one harder than the last. Pain whites out my vision. I taste blood.

Round Five is the final blow.

I’m on my knees, barely conscious, the world tilting dangerously around me. The pendant Ronan gave me is burning hot against my skin, almost searing.

Mara winds up for a massive, finishing strike, her face twisted with cruel satisfaction.

This is it. This is how it ends. But then time seems to slow.

A hand shoots out and catches Mara’s arm mid-swing, stopping the blow inches from my face.

Ethan.

He stands there, his expression unreadable, still gripping Mara’s wrist with enough force to make her wince. The entire training ground goes dead silent.

My world narrows to three things: Relief, shame and the strange, uncomfortable comfort of Ethan’s presence.