Morning came like a slap.
Layla groaned before her eyes even opened. Her head pounded—no, throbbed—like a bass drum had taken up residence inside her skull. Her mouth was dry, her stomach churned with every breath, and her body felt like it had been trampled by a herd of horses.
She was never drinking again. Ever.
Slowly, she forced one eye open. The sunlight streaming through the window hit her like a personal attack.
"Ugh," she croaked, rolling over—only to find Janet starfished across the other side of the bed, snoring softly, hair wild and one eyelash stuck to her cheek.
For a moment, Layla just stared at her.
Then it all came rushing back.
The club. The dancing. The stranger's hand on her waist.
The Alpha.
The Beta.
Her drunk, reckless self... touching Beta Cael's face like he was carved out of marble and calling Alpha Dorian a "sexy statue."
"Oh. My. God."
Layla buried her face in the pillow and screamed—well, whimpered. Her head hurt too much to scream properly.
Janet stirred beside her, letting out a dramatic sigh as she slowly cracked an eye open. "Why is the room spinning?" she mumbled.
Layla didn't answer. She was too busy trying to disappear into the mattress.
Janet rubbed her face and sat up halfway, squinting at her. "Why do you look like someone died?"
Layla peeked out from beneath the pillow. "Janet. We flirted with the Alpha. I touched Beta Cael's face."
Janet blinked.
Then blinked again.
"Oh."
They stared at each other in silence.
Then Janet groaned and dropped back into the bed. "Nope. Nope. That didn't happen, that was a dream. A weird, alcohol-fueled, totally made-up dream."
"It happened," Layla whispered. "I called Alpha Dorian mysterious... and symmetrical. I touched Beta Cael's face, Janet."
Janet groaned louder. "Okay, we're moving. New pack, new names, and new lives."
"Agreed."
They lay in silence, heads pounding, the weight of humiliation pressing down like a second hangover.
A knock came at the door.
They both froze.
Layla bolted upright, despite her headache. "If that's Beta Cael, I'm jumping out the window."
"Why would it be him?" Layla responded, confused because he has never came to her door before.
They both froze as the knock came again, sharper this time.
Layla's heart dropped straight to her stomach.
Janet groaned, rolling over and burying her face in the pillow. "Tell me that's not real. Tell me that's just inside my head."
Layla didn't respond. Her eyes had locked onto the wall clock across the room.
9:46 a.m.
Her breath caught.
"Janet," she whispered, already sitting up.
"What?"
"We missed training."
Janet sat up like someone had poured ice water down her back. "No."
"Yes."
Another knock came—louder, firmer.
They were four hours late.
Training started at 5:30 a.m. sharp, and Arwen was known for punishing even a two-minute delay. Layla had never missed a session. Not once.
Until now.
"I can't believe this is happening," Layla mumbled, dragging a hand down her face. Her mascara was smeared. Her stomach still felt like it was flipping over itself, and her brain was foggy with leftover alcohol.
"I can," Janet muttered, falling back into the bed. "We drank like idiots and now we die like idiots."
Another knock.
Then a voice—calm, even, unmistakable.
"Layla. Janet. You were expected at the field four hours ago."
Beta Cael.
Layla nearly choked on her breath.
Janet shot up, hair sticking out in wild directions. "That's Cael?"
"Yes."
They stared at each other like two fugitives caught red-handed.
"What do we do?" Janet whispered, eyes wide. "Lie? Pretend we're sick? Tell him we were attacked by shadow wolves?"
"We flirted with him and missed training," Layla groaned. "There's no excuse in the world that can fix this."
Cael's voice came again, firmer. "Open the door."
Layla turned to Janet.
Janet shook her head. "Nope. I'm not doing it. I'm staying here. They'll have to break the door down."
Layla was already sliding out of bed, legs wobbling beneath her.
"You're braver than me," Janet muttered. "Tell my story."
Layla opened the door with the grace of a condemned prisoner.
And there stood Beta Cael—fresh, awake, dressed in training clothes that had definitely not been worn to a club.
His sharp gaze swept over her—barefoot, hungover, hair a tangled mess, eyes red-rimmed with regret.
He didn't smile. He didn't frown.
He simply said, "You're late."
Layla nodded slowly, clutching the door like it might hold her up. "Yes, sir."
Behind her, Janet groaned from the bed, "We're sorry, sir."
Cael sighed.
"I expect both of you on the field tomorrow at 4:30," he said coolly. "Since clearly, 5:30 isn't early enough."
Layla swallowed hard. "Yes, sir."
Cael turned to leave, then paused and looked over his shoulder, looking directly at Layla. "Also…"
They both froze.
"You're lucky Arwen hasn't come herself."
Then he walked away.
The door clicked shut behind him, and the girls collapsed back into the bed.
"I am never drinking again," Layla whispered.
"Same," Janet replied.
They lay there in silence for a moment.
Then Janet added, "But we did look hot though."
Layla groaned into the pillow.
**************
The next few days were brutal—for Layla.
Arwen made sure of that.
While Janet somehow escaped with only stern glares and a few extra laps, Layla bore the full weight of Arwen's wrath. No one said why. No one needed to.
Layla was her trainee. The only one Arwen had taken on personally. And Layla had not only missed training—she'd embarrassed herself in front of the Alpha and Beta.
Arwen didn't yell. She didn't need to. Her silence was worse. Cold. Calculated. Every order was delivered with perfect clarity and not a drop of sympathy.
"Again."
Layla's arms trembled as she lifted herself into a push-up, sweat dripping from her chin onto the dirt.
"Again."
She gasped for breath, shoulders screaming, the ache deep in her bones now a constant companion.
Sparring became punishment. Drills were endless. Even after the other warriors had been dismissed, Layla was kept back. Alone with Arwen and the silence between them.
"You want to be strong?" Arwen said on the fourth day, circling her like a predator. "Then earn it."
Layla didn't answer. She couldn't. She was too busy dragging herself to her feet after being thrown to the ground—again.
She'd stopped keeping count of the bruises.
Back in her room, Janet would hand her water bottles and frozen cloths, sympathy written all over her face. "You need to rest."
"I don't get to rest," Layla muttered, wincing as she peeled her shirt off to reveal a spreading bruise along her ribs. "Not until she forgives me."
"Does she do forgiveness?" Janet asked, genuinely unsure.
Layla didn't know.
And as if the physical punishment wasn't enough, she was still playing a silent game of avoidance with both the Alpha and the Beta.
She learned to feel their presence before seeing them. Dorian's aura was quiet but heavy, like a storm cloud pressing into her spine. Cael's was sharp, steady. And every time they came near, she'd disappear into another hallway, behind a door, out into the woods if she had to.
She didn't know if they noticed.
She was praying they didn't.
But even with all of it, the exhaustion, the bruises, the shame, something was shifting inside her. A kind of fire she hadn't known was there. Every time she hit the ground and got back up, it grew stronger.
She wasn't just enduring the punishment.
She was becoming something else.
Something tougher.
Something closer to the wolf she was meant to be.