The Wolfstrom Heir

The absolute sheer hostility radiating from the black-haired man was a palpable, suffocating force. He aggressively stomped straight toward me across the rubber gym floor, his boots hitting the mat with heavy, menacing thuds. Every single survival instinct I possessed—the deeply ingrained urge to flee from a predator—screamed at me to crumble, to tuck my tail and sprint back out those imposing double doors. But I dug my heels firmly into the rubber matting and stubbornly held my ground. I was not going to let this arrogant jerk intimidate me on my very first day.

His friend, a smug-looking guy named Jian who had just been spotting him on the bench press, stepped up right beside him. Jian crossed his thick arms, casually looking me up and down like I was a piece of trash that had blown in off the street.

“Yo,” Jian called out to the man steaming in front of me. “This the bitch, Ari?”

My blood instantly caught fire. The sheer audacity was unbelievable.

“Excuse me?” I bristled, glaring sharply at Jian. “I don’t even know you!”

“He knows all he needs to know,” the taller, black-haired man, Ari, hissed loudly. He purposely projected, ensuring his deep, rumbling voice carried over the harsh clanking of the metal weight plates. “That you’re a weak little wolfless girl who somehow managed to swindle her way into the Academy.”

His blatant disrespect set my nerves on edge. I refused to be a victim, especially not to someone who thought muscle and fangs gave him a free pass to be a tyrant. I shot back with venom, refusing to break eye contact.

“And I know everything I need to know about you,” I threw back at him, my voice steady despite the adrenaline racing through my veins. “You’re a big bully who, clearly, is insecure in his own place so much so that he has to put other people down just to feel relevant.” I forced my lips into a mocking smirk. “And definitely not someone I’d like to spend my time giving a shit about.”

A sudden, deathly silence crashed over the entire gym. The rhythmic pounding of feet on the track ceased. The heavy barbells were slowly lowered to the floor. The surrounding wolves stopped dead in their tracks, staring at me with absolute terror. They looked completely shocked, their jaws practically hitting the floor, that anyone would dare speak to this man this way.

Emboldened by their stunned reactions, I stood up perfectly straight. I tilted my chin up defiantly, refusing to let my small stature put me at a disadvantage.

“So, what is your deal?” I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest. “Do you think you are some sort of privileged prince around here?”

His massive, muscular body completely dwarfed my smaller frame as he leaned down. The sheer size of his shoulders blocked out the harsh gym lighting. He leaned so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. He practically spit the words right in my face, his golden eyes blazing with fury.

“I’m Ares Wolfstrom. The heir to the Wolfstrom line.”

The name *Wolfstrom* hit me like a brutal, physical blow to the stomach.

The puzzle pieces rapidly clicked into place inside my head. I mentally added it to my horrifying tally of recent, world-shattering realizations. This towering, arrogant, infuriating man was explicitly one of the hand-picked potential suitors my mother had placed on that glossy list for me. He was the heir to the next greatest wolf house in the entire kingdom. He was supposed to be a candidate for my hand.

And right now, he was looking down at me as if I were absolute scum scraped from the bottom of his shoe.

Showing his utter disdain for my existence, he roughly shoved past me to get back to his weights. The exact moment his broad shoulder collided heavily with mine, the exact same sudden, violent jolt of agonizing electricity from yesterday ripped straight through my body. The shock traveled down my spine, leaving me gasping for air as my muscles briefly seized.

“I meant what I said yesterday, human,” Ares threw over his massive shoulder, his voice laced with pure venom. “Stay out of my fucking way.”

The suffocating, heavy tension in the room was abruptly interrupted by the shrill, ear-piercing blast of a whistle.

“Quiet, quiet, quiet!” a booming voice echoed across the massive facility. Coach Braddock, a man who looked as tough and weathered as old leather, emerged from a side office adjacent to the gym floor. He loudly called everyone to line up at the pristine red indoor track. With a bored, exhausted sigh, he tapped his clipboard against his thigh and announced our morning task.

“We’re timing the run today for you first-years,” Coach Braddock stated flatly, sounding like he’d rather be anywhere else. “Twenty laps around the track. To be completed in under forty-five minutes.”

My stomach violently churned with pure dread. Twenty laps? That was a grueling ten miles. Back in high school, I was exclusively a short-distance runner. The one-mile sprint was my absolute bread and butter, the only event where I truly shined. My fragile human-like body had absolutely never run ten miles in one go, let alone at a competitive pace.

Catching the rising panic on the faces of several students—though the vast majority of the towering wolves looked entirely unfazed by the insane distance—Coach Braddock clarified his brutal rules.

“Now, if you don’t hit twenty, you won’t get kicked out of the Academy,” he grunted, scanning the crowd. “But you will be tossed into supplementary training until you can pass. The ideal is twenty laps, but merely hitting fifteen laps will spare you from the grueling supplementary sessions. Shoot for twenty. Be fine with above fifteen. Got it?”

I desperately did the math in my frantic head. *Fifteen laps. Seven and a half miles. I can do fifteen.* I have to do fifteen. It was only two and a half miles more than my absolute maximum training distance. I could push through the pain. I had to. I couldn't be the weakest link on day one.

As we all anxiously lined up at the starting mark on the rubber track, the space felt impossibly tight. A striking white-blonde-haired girl standing directly in front of me suddenly turned around. Her shimmering purple eyes held no malice, only warmth. She offered a genuine, half-smile and quickly whispered a soft, “Good luck,” under her breath.

I was completely shocked by this incredibly rare, unexpected display of kindness in a room full of hostile predators. Before I could even form the words to thank her, the coach's whistle furiously blew.

Instantly, every single wolf student sprinted ahead at a terrifying, breakneck, supernatural pace. The sheer physical force of their collective takeoff kicked up a gust of wind that rustled my clothes, leaving me utterly in the dust within the first three seconds.

I refused to panic. I forced myself to ignore the blurring bodies lapping me and settled into my old, familiar high school rhythm. *Right, left, right, left.* The red rubber track used to be my sole escape from the grim reality of the orphanage. It was a sacred place where orphans and parentless kids were measured exclusively by their speed and endurance, not by their broken bloodlines, lack of wealth, or absent parents. Here, the track didn't care who you were. It only cared how hard you could push.

As the minutes painfully ticked by, the agony truly set in. Hot sweat violently dripped down the back of my neck, completely soaking my gym shirt and stinging my eyes. I pushed my burning legs harder and harder, silently chanting a desperate mantra in my head. *Prove it. Prove it. Prove to every single giant in this room that you are worthy of being here.*

I fiercely pushed through the agonizing burn, my calves screaming in protest with every single stride. I was peeling around my tenth lap when Coach Braddock’s voice echoed over the track, announcing there were only ten minutes left. My lungs felt like they were filled with crushed glass. I dug incredibly deep, forcing my exhausted body to keep moving.

I finally hit the sharp corner of my fourteenth lap. I had no idea exactly how much time was left on the clock, but I knew it was agonizingly close. I broke into a desperate, lung-busting sprint to secure the fifteenth lap. I pumped my arms wildly, flying past a large crowd of wolves who had already finished and were casually drinking water. Just a little further.

But right as I crossed the midway point of the final lap, the sharp, echoing blast of Coach's whistle burned violently into my ears, shattering my hopes.

“Time up!” Coach Braddock shouted across the facility, his voice booming with finality. “Clark! You’re in supplementary!”

The harsh words crushed what little spirit I had left. I immediately collapsed, violently choking on my burning lungs. I grabbed my trembling knees, desperately gasping for oxygen, before slumping heavily off the track side to get out of the way of the lingering students. My entire body felt like lead.

The blonde girl with the purple eyes approached my pathetic form. She looked down at me and gave me a highly sympathetic, sad smile.

“That was really impressive,” she said genuinely, her tone incredibly soft and devoid of any mockery. “Normally wolfless don’t make it past ten laps.”

“Thanks,” I choked out between heavy, desperate gasps for air. I wiped the stinging sweat from my forehead with a shaking hand. I glanced around the gym, taking in the sight of the resting wolves. “Did anyone else miss the fifteen-lap mark?”

Her sudden silence was deafening. She anxiously bit her bottom lip, her eyes darting away from mine. The deeply uncomfortable gesture gave me the devastating answer without her needing to speak a single syllable.

I was the absolute only one who failed.

Groaning in sheer frustration and utter defeat, I dropped completely to the hard rubber ground to rest my screaming muscles. I just needed a single minute to close my eyes and breathe. But out of nowhere, a heavy boot suddenly swiped hard against my heel, violently toppling me over onto the floor.

I hit the ground with a painful thud and immediately glared up. My furious eyes met Ares's smug, arrogant face.

“Only one this year to not finish the run,” he taunted cruelly, looking down his nose at me like I was the most pathetic creature he had ever encountered. “And she’s wolfless. You can’t tell me it isn’t because of that.”

Ignoring my burning muscles and the deep, throbbing ache in my chest, I fiercely pushed myself up off the floor. I refused to let him see me stay down. I stood as tall as my frame allowed, keeping my chest proud and my gaze defiant as I faced the heir.

“I’m wolfless, but I still was close enough to almost beat your stupid run,” I snapped, my voice laced with venom despite my heavy breathing.

“Almost,” Ares repeated slowly, drawing out the word. A smug, infuriating smirk spread across his lips. “As in didn’t.”

He chuckled darkly, utterly unimpressed by my fiery defiance, and turned his broad back to walk away, swaggering back to his group of friends.

“God,” I hissed through clenched teeth, my hands balled into tight fists at my sides. “I hate him.”

The blonde girl, who was still standing quietly nearby, softly mused, “He certainly doesn’t like you.”

I let out a heavy groan, deeply running a trembling hand over my sweaty, exhausted face. I was utterly drained.

*Maybe it’s because he somehow knows you’re the Luna heir?* a tiny, paranoid voice in the deepest back of my head whispered, planting a terrifying seed of doubt that sent a fresh chill racing down my spine.