Free Web NovelChapter 64: Just As Weak
The pool sat deep in the cave rock, fed by an underground spring. Steam rose off the surface in slow curls. Rodrigo sat with his arms submerged, half his body under the water and his eyes closed shut. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm.
Seven and Caleb stood at the other end. Every few minutes, one of them looked at the other, but neither said anything. He had been submerged since sunrise. It was almost noon and he had not moved, but they knew better than to say a word or interrupt him. They just waited.
Then, finally, his eyes opened.
Seven crossed to him immediately with a towel and folded clothes. Rodrigo took them, dried off, dressed, and turned toward the exit without a single word to either of them. The light at the cave mouth was bright; it was already past noon.
He stopped just outside, his eyes lifting as he stared into the distance. Seven was saying something behind him, but the words didn’t register. All Rodrigo could think about was last night—her breath against his mouth, her fingers in his hair, the softness of her body.
Rodrigo shook his head, as though the action could save him from the thoughts in his head. He had spent all morning trying to bury every image of her, but it seemed he had failed even before he started. He had marked her...
Rodrigo’s teeth clenched tightly.
"Alpha," Seven’s voice came from just behind him. "Your breakfast has been ready since morning. It is already past noon—"
Ignoring him, Rodrigo turned toward the training grounds. Seven went quiet, his eyes briefly meeting Caleb’s before they both followed, keeping a good distance behind their Alpha.
The grounds opened into a wide stretch of packed earth behind the ridge. A dozen lycans were already moving through drills. They stopped when they saw him, their heads dropping in greeting.
Rodrigo nodded once. "Get my sword."
Seven turned toward the Alpha’s tent.
"Bring yours, too," Rodrigo added. "We’re sparring."
Seven paused, looked back once, and then continued on. He returned with both weapons. Rodrigo took his without looking, pulling it free from the sheath. Seven watched his face for a moment before drawing his own.
They moved.
Rodrigo didn’t speak, nor did he pause for a second, as though afraid to let himself think. He continued attacking in rapid succession. His footwork was clean and hard, each strike coming fast, and his eyes stayed fixed in a flat, focused way that had nothing to do with the opponent in front of him. Seven was one of his best—sharp, fast, and well-trained—and he lasted longer than most would have. But within minutes, Seven’s breathing was ragged, his feet dragged, and his sword arm dropped by inches.
"Alpha," he called out, panting. But Rodrigo didn’t stop.
Finally, Seven’s knee hit the ground as he dropped his sword in concession. Rodrigo stared at him for a moment, then his gaze shifted, landing on Caleb.
"Caleb," he called. "Pick up the sword."
Caleb’s face turned white as a sheet as he took the weapon from Seven. Seven quickly moved away from the grounds, breathing heavily as he steadied himself.
Caleb lasted even less time than expected. With a clean swipe from Rodrigo, Caleb’s sword landed a meter away from where he stood.
Rodrigo glared at him and pointed at another lycan from the men who had gathered to watch. Then the next man, and the next. Rodrigo moved through them one after another without stopping. By the seventh opponent, his shirt was soaked through and sweat dripped down his face. The muscle in his jaw was tight enough to ache, but he did not stop.
"Brother."
The familiar voice echoed across the ground, and Rodrigo’s hand went still. He turned slowly toward the direction of the sound.
"Your men are weak," Dominic said from the edge of the grounds, his tone easy and amused. His footsteps were unhurried across the earth. "I’m starting to wonder what they’ll do if war actually comes—with such subpar skills."
Rodrigo blinked once, watching Dominic walk toward him with both hands loose at his sides, the corner of his mouth pulled up. Dominic looked at the line of winded lycans around Rodrigo and shook his head slowly.
Rodrigo just stared at him. The image of Nina’s bruised hand flashed in front of him, and he gritted his teeth, though his expression remained unreadable.
Dominic looked him up and down. The amusement hadn’t left his face, but something behind it shifted as he tilted his head. "Or," he lifted a brow, "maybe you’re just as weak as them."
The training grounds went dead silent. Rodrigo looked at his brother, and for a moment, nobody moved.
Then, Rodrigo smiled. "You must know a few things that I don’t, brother. Why don’t you teach me?" He glanced at Seven. "Get him a sword."
Seven picked one up off the ground and carried it over. Dominic looked down at it, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. He took it and turned it once in his palm.
"I oblige," Dominic said.
The words were not even fully out before he moved. A hard, diagonal slash cut toward Rodrigo without warning, fast enough that two of the men at the edge flinched. Rodrigo stepped aside and the blade cut empty air, but Dominic was already swinging again before the first strike finished. He drove forward hard and quick, each clash of metal loud enough to carry across the entire grounds. The watching men pulled back instinctively, opening up the space around them.
Rodrigo kept moving back and sideways, giving ground easily. He didn’t rush, letting each strike miss him. His eyes weren’t on the sword—they were on Dominic’s hands, his shoulders, and the way his left elbow dropped a little between swings just before his weight shifted forward. Dominic read the retreat as an opening and pressed harder and faster. For a stretch, it looked like it was working, as if Rodrigo were merely surviving.
Then, Dominic’s strikes slowed. Not much—just enough.
Rodrigo attacked. freēwēbnovel.com
The first strike knocked Dominic’s sword wide. The second went low, forcing him to overextend to cover it, leaving his footing wrong for just a second. The third came in clean and opened a slash across Dominic’s arm. That arm. The exact one Nina had been bruised on.
A sharp, collective intake of breath came from the men as they watched the scene unfold with wide eyes.
Dominic looked down. Blood welled up quickly, staining his white shirt crimson and running the length of his forearm. He stood there a moment, just staring at it, before his eyes snapped up to meet Rodrigo’s. They darkened completely.
Rodrigo steadied his sword and said nothing as he watched him, his eyes unblinking.
Dominic surged forward in a rage, his strikes heavier, sloppier, and faster. Rodrigo let two blades pass close enough to feel the air move, noted the pattern, and stepped inside the third. He split the wound back open in the exact same place. The flesh that had just barely started to heal tore open again, blood running past Dominic’s wrist and dripping off his fingers into the dirt.
Several of the men gasped, wondering what was going on. Only Seven stood with his arms crossed, a smirk forming on his face.
Dominic stood there panting, his sword arm dropping as blood fell from his fingers in a slow drip. He looked at Rodrigo, and Rodrigo looked back, empty-faced, his sword held loose at his side. Just watching.
Dominic lunged again.
Rodrigo opened the same wound a third time, and then he stepped back. His eyes took in Dominic from head to toe, and then he tilted his head and cast his sword to the side. It landed flat on the dirt. He rolled his wrist once, slowly.
"Seems you are the one who needs teaching, brother," Rodrigo said, already walking away.
The entire field filled with murmurs, and a few men laughed.
Four steps. Rodrigo had only taken four steps when he heard the sound of boots scraping hard and fast behind him. He frowned and turned, and in that exact instant, Dominic was upon him, driving the sword forward.
The blade came forward swiftly, but before it could reach Rodrigo, he dodged to the side. His hand closed around the hilt of the sword in Dominic’s grip and he twisted it sharply. The weapon came free.
The sound of Dominic’s knuckles cracking carried across the whole field as he stumbled to the side, his injured hand hanging uselessly.
Rodrigo held the captured sword for a moment, staring at his brother. Then, he threw it. It skidded flat across the sand and stopped. The entire field grew quiet, everyone watching with wide eyes.
Rodrigo crossed over to his brother and stopped just a breath away. His eyes darkened as he glared down at him. "You can’t even win a sword fight," he whispered, his voice dangerously low as a scoff escaped his lips, "and you think you can take a pack from me."
Dominic’s shoulder trembled under his shirt, but his eyes didn’t give an inch. His chest rose and fell heavily, blood still dripping from his fingers onto the dirt between them.
Rodrigo held his gaze for a final, tense second, then turned around. Seven and Caleb ran through the field to follow behind him.
"Alpha," Seven stepped up to his side, offering him a fresh towel.
Rodrigo took it, wiped his hands, and tossed it back to Seven as he continued forward. Seven glanced at him, the corners of his lips curving upward as the tight frown on his forehead eased a little.
Dominic stood entirely still as he watched Rodrigo walk away, his glare burning into his brother’s back. A trembling started in his hands and moved up through his shoulders, forcing him to clench his hands into fists. A dark, slow laugh rumbled from somewhere low in his chest as he pressed his hand against the wound, which was already beginning to close.
He scoffed. Let’s see how long Rodrigo would be able to keep that smile on his face.
A slow smirk stretched the side of Dominic’s mouth, his eyes turning pitch black.
