Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 45

**Isolde's POV**

 

My muscles tensed as Orion's deep voice cut through the hushed conversations of the training center.

 

"Today we'll be conducting combat assessment sessions," he announced, his amber eyes scanning the gathered warriors. "Real-world application of the techniques we've been practicing."

 

A collective murmur of excitement rippled through the group. I, however, felt my blood pressure spike. Combat assessment meant sparring with warriors who'd been training here for years.

 

Evanthe stood off to the side, her pristine white training gear making her look like some avenging angel rather than the devil I knew her to be. Her cold blue eyes found mine, her perfect lips curving into a predatory smile.

 

"I'd very much like to be paired with Isolde," she called out, her honeyed voice carrying easily through the suddenly silent space. "I've heard so much about her combat abilities. I'd love to experience them firsthand."

 

My stomach dropped. This wasn't a coincidence—this was the next step in her campaign against me. After threatening me in my room and attempting to humiliate me during yesterday's training, now she wanted to physically hurt me under the guise of legitimate combat training.

 

Orion's expression remained neutral. "Evanthe, you haven't participated in training sessions for months."

 

"All the more reason to start now," she replied smoothly. "What better opportunity to assess where my skills stand than against Silver Moon's newest combat prodigy?"

 

The sarcasm in her voice was subtle but unmistakable. Orion hesitated, his amber eyes briefly meeting mine. I tried to silently communicate my panic, but his face revealed nothing.

 

"Evanthe, Isolde—center mat. Now," he finally ordered.

 

My wolf growled anxiously within me as I moved toward the training area. The other warriors formed a loose circle around the combat zone, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and anticipation.

 

Evanthe stepped onto the mat with practiced grace. "Why won't you look at me, Isolde? Afraid?"

 

I raised my eyes to meet hers, keeping my face carefully blank despite the fear churning in my gut. I'd faced enemies before, but never one with both the physical ability and social power to destroy me.

 

*She wants to intimidate you,* Lyra whispered inside me. *Don't let her.*

 

"Combatants ready?" Orion asked, stepping between us.

 

"I've never been more ready for anything," Evanthe purred, sliding into a perfect fighting stance.

 

I nodded stiffly. "Ready."

 

"Begin!"

 

Evanthe struck like lightning, her right fist aiming straight for my face. I barely managed to dodge, feeling the air displacement as her knuckles missed my cheek by millimeters.

 

*Stop retreating!* Lyra snarled. *Find an opening!*

 

As Evanthe pressed forward with another strike, I spotted a momentary gap in her defense. Before she could reset, I ducked under her extended arm and drove my shoulder into her midsection, knocking her off balance. I followed with a kick to her back that sent her stumbling forward.

 

A surprised murmur rippled through the gathered warriors. The beautiful, deadly PR Director had just been caught off guard by an Alliance Program girl.

 

"First point to Isolde," Orion announced.

 

Evanthe's perfect features hardened into a mask of cold fury. "Lucky strike," she said, her voice dripping acid.

 

The second round began with me feeling a surge of confidence. I launched my own attack, aiming a strike at her midsection. My mistake. Evanthe caught my arm with terrifying speed, twisting it at an angle that sent shooting pain through my shoulder.

 

Before I could counter, she pivoted, using my own momentum to lift me completely off my feet. I caught a glimpse of her triumphant smile before my back slammed into the mat with enough force to drive the air from my lungs.

 

"Point to Evanthe," Orion announced as spots danced across my vision.

 

The next rounds passed in a blur of strikes, blocks, and takedowns. For every success I managed, she answered with devastating techniques that left me gasping and bruised.

 

By the eighth round, my body screamed in protest. My lip was split, and I was certain several ribs were at least bruised. Evanthe wasn't unscathed—a bruise was forming along her jawline, and her perfect ponytail had come partially undone—but she remained far more composed than I felt.

 

"The score stands at four to four," Orion announced.

 

Something in Evanthe's eyes changed—a dangerous glint that made my survival instincts flare in warning. She abandoned all pretense of formal technique and lunged at me with raw aggression.

 

I barely sidestepped her attack, but she recovered instantly, her leg sweeping toward my ankles. I jumped to avoid the sweep, using the momentum to land a solid kick to her side. She grabbed my leg before I could fully withdraw, yanking me off balance.

 

We both hit the mat hard, grappling for dominance. Her nails dug into my arm, drawing blood as she maneuvered for a submission hold.

 

*Use your legs!* Lyra commanded.

 

I twisted my hips, hooking my leg around her neck and pulling her into a triangle choke. Evanthe's eyes widened in shock. She struggled, but I tightened my hold until she was forced to tap my leg in surrender.

 

"Point and advantage to Isolde," Orion called.

 

The final round began with Evanthe abandoning all restraint. She fought with desperate fury, and I knew she couldn't bear the thought of losing to someone she considered beneath her.

 

In the end, it came down to stamina. Years of rigorous combat training had given me an edge in endurance that even Evanthe's superior werewolf strength couldn't overcome. When she overextended on a punch, I caught her arm and used a judo throw to send her crashing to the mat for the final time.

 

"Match to Isolde, six points to four," Orion announced.

 

A stunned silence fell over the training center before several warriors began to clap. Alex and Nyssa were actually cheering, their faces split with grins of disbelief and admiration.

 

Evanthe pushed herself up from the mat, her expression a mask of shock and fury. Her perfect appearance was completely undone—hair disheveled, training gear stained with sweat, a smear of blood at the corner of her mouth.

 

"Excellent performance," Orion said, approaching us. "Both of you showed impressive skills."

 

Evanthe's face contorted with barely contained rage. "This was a fluke. Nothing more."

 

"I don't understand why you're so upset," Orion replied, his voice calm but carrying an edge I hadn't heard before. "There's no shame in losing to a talented fighter."

 

"She's just a—"

 

"You lost," Orion cut her off, his tone hardening. "And that should be a wake-up call. For someone of your rank and position, losing six rounds out of ten against an ordinary werewolf is unacceptable. You should have won every round, or at least eight."

 

Evanthe flinched as if he'd struck her, her blue eyes widening in shock at this public rebuke.

 

"You haven't been attending training regularly, so your skills have grown rusty," Orion continued, his voice level but firm. "It's time you recommitted to your training. You're a warrior, not just a well-dressed Harem princess."