Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 78

Isolde's POV

I set my gym bag down at the edge of the Battle Arena, pulling out my hair tie while mentally preparing for another intense training session

My fingers fumbled with my chestnut curls, trying to gather them into a neat ponytail.

"Allow me."

The deep voice behind me made me freeze. I recognized it immediately—that distinctive blend of authority and controlled power that could only belong to one person. I turned slowly.

"Alpha Ezra," I gasped, my heart instantly accelerating to a dangerous speed.

He stood barely a foot away, his stormy gray eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my knees weak. He was dressed in custom athletic wear that showcased his powerful frame.

"Since you know it's me, turn around and give me your hair tie so I can get this done. My schedule is tight today," he commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I blinked rapidly, struggling to process what was happening. "You... you want to help me with my hair?"

"Isn't that obvious?" One eyebrow raised slightly.

"But... but..." My eyes darted across the room to where Evanthe stood watching us, her blue eyes narrowing dangerously. "But you just refused to help Evanthe with her hair."

"And?" His expression remained neutral.

"So..." Words failed me as I struggled to understand why the CEO of Silver Moon Group would refuse to help his rumored lover but offer to help me.

"Isolde. Turn. Now," he ordered, his voice dropping an octave.

I obeyed instinctively, my body responding to his Alpha command before my brain could catch up. I handed him my hair tie and stared straight ahead.

His fingers moved through my hair with surprising gentleness, gathering the chestnut strands with practiced ease. Each brush of his fingertips against my scalp sent electric shocks down my spine.

I closed my eyes, fighting to control my breathing as he worked. When he finished, he adjusted the ponytail slightly, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin at the nape of my neck.

"Done," he announced.

I turned to face him, my cheeks burning. "Thank you," I managed, my voice barely audible.

His eyes studied my face with unnerving intensity. "I prefer your hair down," he said unexpectedly. "Why don't you wear it that way during training?"

The question caught me off guard. "It gets in my way when I fight," I explained, surprised he'd even noticed how I wore my hair. "Loose hair can be grabbed by opponents or block my vision during crucial moments."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Practical thinking."

I glanced nervously toward Evanthe, who looked like she might spontaneously combust from rage. Her face had darkened to an alarming shade of red, her blue eyes flashing with murderous intent.

Orion approached his sister, offering to help with her hair instead, but she jerked away from him, gathering her golden locks into a hasty ponytail herself. Her gaze never left me, tracking my every movement like a predator stalking prey.

*I've just signed my own death warrant,* I thought grimly.

"Go join the others for warm-up," Ezra instructed, his voice unexpectedly gentle.

I nodded and moved away, my mind spinning with confusion. Why had Ezra chosen to help me in such a public manner? Was he deliberately antagonizing Evanthe?

During the three-hour training that followed, I did my best to stay as far from Evanthe as possible. Even during the slow jogging warm-up around the arena's perimeter, I made sure to position other warriors between us at all times.

The training itself was brutal but fascinating—Ezra and Orion demonstrated new combat techniques that blended traditional werewolf fighting styles with modern martial arts. Under different circumstances, I would have been completely absorbed in learning, but Evanthe's venomous stare kept me constantly on edge.

When it came time for sparring, Ezra and Orion took center mat for the first demonstration. The entire training center fell silent as the two men faced each other. Everyone knew this wasn't just any match—this was Silver Moon's CEO and the Security Director, two of the most elite fighters in the entire organization.

Ezra rolled his shoulders, his stormy eyes focused and deadly calm. Across from him, Orion settled into a defensive stance, amber eyes alert and watchful. The tension in the air was electric.

"Begin," Ezra commanded, and they exploded into motion.

Their fight was a masterclass in control and power—two elite werewolves in perfect command of their abilities. Orion moved with incredible speed, launching a series of precise strikes that would have incapacitated any normal opponent. Ezra, however, blocked each blow effortlessly, his movements fluid and economical.

In the second round, Orion changed tactics, attempting to use his slightly larger frame to his advantage with grappling techniques. For a moment, it seemed to work—he managed to lock Ezra in a hold that would have immobilized most fighters. But Ezra twisted with impossible flexibility, reversing the hold and slamming Orion to the mat with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs.

By the fifth round, sweat glistened on both men's bodies, but while Orion's breathing had grown heavy, Ezra appeared barely affected. His eyes occasionally flashed gold—his wolf, Prime, close to the surface as he dominated round after round.

Their movements were so fast they sometimes blurred before my eyes. One moment they'd be circling each other, the next Ezra would have Orion pinned or thrown across the mat. It wasn't just raw strength—it was strategy, timing, and an almost supernatural awareness of their surroundings.

In the final round, Orion unleashed everything he had, fighting with a ferocity that showed why he'd earned his position as Security Director. For a brief, thrilling moment, he actually gained the upper hand, landing a powerful strike to Ezra's side.

The victory was short-lived. Ezra recovered instantly, countering with a lightning-fast combination that ended with Orion flat on his back, Ezra's foot placed lightly but pointedly on his throat.

"Match to Alpha Ezra," someone announced unnecessarily. Ten rounds, ten victories.

Watching them, I realized just how vast the gap was between ordinary werewolves like me and high-ranking Lycans like them. Though I'd trained in combat for years, I'd never witnessed anything like what I'd just seen—it was power, precision, and primal grace combined in a way that left me breathless.

After the demonstration, other warriors paired off for practice matches. I was searching for Nyssa to partner with when a cold voice cut through the noise of the training center.

"Her," Evanthe declared, pointing in my direction. She stood at the edge of the central mat, her blue eyes cold as arctic ice.

"Isolde. I challenge her."

The Battle Arena went silent. I stared at her in disbelief. After being thoroughly defeated by Ezra and still recovering from our previous fight, she wanted to challenge me again?

"You already lost to her once," someone muttered from the crowd.

Evanthe ignored them, her focus locked solely on me. She radiated absolute confidence—as if she knew something I didn't.

I felt nervous but not truly afraid. I'd beaten her before and could do it again.

So why did she look so certain of victory this time?