Chapter 7 Zero Prospects

• Lilieth
• This morning, the sun is hiding behind the clouds, causing uneasiness to bubble in my chest before spreading through me like a slow, numbing poison.
• Had it risen, I would've felt the inevitable force of a new dawn upon me, filling me with optimism while clearing away the pessimism, the same way the rays of the sun clear the darkness in the sky after a long night. Instead, the sky is gray. The color of death, disease, and shattered hopes.
• According to my mother.
• I sigh, knowing that it's time for me to go. Instructor Wylde warned me not to be late, and thinking of it now, he said those words in a way that suggested that he didn't think I'd be on time for the first class. Maybe it was just to provoke me, or maybe push me to be there early because he expects the opposite.
• Either way, it worked. I'm on my way to the place they call The Grounds right now, walking as quickly as I can, every step fueled with an anxiety that runs bone deep. My breath comes out in puffs as I make my way outside. My room—which happens to be in the administration building—is pretty close to The Grounds, so that's a bonus.
• Last night, my uniform arrived. I didn't think we'd have them, but I guess it was pretty foolish of me to assume that we would be training in dresses. Then again, I was expecting them when they arrived, and they fit pretty well.
• As Instructor Wylde mentioned, the pamphlet contained every essential bit of information regarding the 'classes'. This first quarter will focus on physical training, and I feel as ill at ease now as I did yesterday, after I finished perusing the pamphlet.
• But I have too face this. I don't have another option, unless it has to do with quitting.
• As soon as I step outside, my body is covered in goosebumps. It's pretty chilly for a regular autumnal morning, and for some reason, that doesn't make me feel any better. This is all so surreal. Sometimes, I catch myself wondering if I'm truly here. If I'm actually doing this.
• Maybe this is all a dream I'll wake up from at any minute, and if I do, I'll celebrate. I've ever felt this anxious in all my life. My existence was relatively calm compared to this.
• I shake my head as I walk, forcing myself to focus. I spot Instructor Wylde standing in the middle of a giant muddy courtyard several feet away, his hands clasped behind his back. He's completely alone, and pleasure shoots through me when I realize that I'm the first one here.
• He settles his cold gaze on me as I approach, and I stare right back at him, refusing to show my unease. If I appear confident and sure of myself, there's no reason why anyone would assume that I'm feeling any nervousness.
• "Good morning, Instructor Wylde," I greet formally once I'm close enough to him. I make sure to keep a safe distance between us, though.
• He gives me a once-over. "I see you're good at following instructions."
• For some reason, his words sting more than I ever thought they could because I immediately read the meaning behind them. To add more salt to my wound, he says, "Then again, I'm not sure why I expected anything more from you. You are omega, after all. It's what you do. Why you're so valuable to any pack."
• I'm so stunned that I don't come up with an answer right away, and when I do, it's too late because the other girls are walking toward us—they just left the building directly across from us. It's safe to assume that that's where their dormitory is.
• I clench my jaw, anger coursing through me. Once more, I force myself to remember my mother's wise words. They always make me feel calmer. At the same time, I can't help but wonder how she knew all this. I mean, it's easy to assume what will happen to an omega amidst a group of highly privileged shifters, but without her preparation, I don't think I would've handled things as way as I am now.
• Knowing that they all expect me to break and succumb to the pressure makes me want to prove them wrong.
• "Welcome to your first class," Instructor Wylde says once their group has neared the muddy part of the courtyard, which is where I'm also standing. I meet their eyes steadily, all eleven of them. They're standing directly across from me, clustered together. I'm alone.
• This should be interesting.
• "As some of you are aware, we'll begin training with the real thing," he says pointedly, knowing fully well that I had no clue about this. "Most of you have done this before, so there's no mystery there. To the rest who don't know, it's all about fighting until one of you is on the ground. We won't focus on shift-training—that you've done as pups. Training in this form is what counts here at Noctem Lunae."
• He quickly divides us into groups of two, and I'm the last one he places. "Grimwylde, you're with Donshaw. You'll start. Three rounds."
• Anxiety shoots through me like an arrow piercing my heart, but I try not to let it show. The girl I've been partnered with is fairly confident. She even smooths her pale blonde hair back and away from her face. It's loose about her shoulders, like she's sure she won't touch the ground.
• She moves closer to the center while the others spread out, watching us with smiles and gleaming eyes. Instructor Wylde moves close. "Remember," he says to me in a voice so low that even I can barely hear it, "everyone will be watching you."
• I'm not sure if this is a warning or a taunt. Either way, I push it to the back of my mind and grit my teeth as I focus on what I'm about to do next. I step closer to my opponent, this female named Donshaw, and brace myself.
• Her upper lip is almost curled when she swings at me, her fist hitting me shoulder hard. The sharpness of the pain leaves me disoriented, and I stagger while staring back at her pathetically. She doesn't waste a single second. Her next blow hits the same place, again and again, until the pain leaves me weak in the knees. Even bringing my arms up doesn't help.
• As a finishing blow, she sends a kick to the side of my leg and I go crashing down, the sound of the group's snickers filling my ears.
• "First round goes to Donshaw," Instructor Wylde announces. He doesn't sound or look disappointed. "Up, Grimwylde. We don't have all day."
• I stand up, pain shooting down the leg she just kicked. How is it that she doesn't even look tired? Experience, I realize, which is something I don't have. I've worked in farms and sold sausages for the entirety of my teenage years while she was probably preparing for this moment.
• This isn't a fair fight. Then again, nothing about this place is.
• The second round begins, marked by Donshaw punching my forearm, which in turn hits my face. The blow causes tingles to spread through my nose. I ignore it and duck the second time she tries to punch, my nerves keeping me on the tips of my toes. I watch her. She punches with her left arm, then her right. Then, she does it again. When she tries to kick me, this time, on my good leg, I bend it and her foot hits my knee instead.
• Irritated, she steps back, anger flashing in her jade eyes. This time, she doesn't throw a punch. Instead, she barrels into me, and I fall on my ass.
• "Second round, Donshaw," Wylde says. I can't see his face. I'm too focused on my opponent, furious that I'm making this an easy win for her. I stand up, balling my fists. Now that the newness of the situation has worn off, I'm mad at myself for not trying harder. I haven't punched her once.
• She tries to swing, moving silently. I duck, raise my arm, and throw a punch at the side of her head that sends shocks all along my arm. However, she falls, her hand flying to the spot I hit, her eyes wide as she looks at me.
• Triumph fills me up, inflating me, and that's when I realize that the crowd has gone preternaturally still.
• Even Instructor Wylde doesn't announce my win.