Betrayed and Claimed by the Lycan King Chapter 79

Isolde's POV

I stepped onto the mat. The training center hummed with unusual tension—everyone could sense this wasn't just another practice match.

"Begin," Orion called, signaling the start of our first round.

Evanthe moved with a speed that caught me completely off guard—nearly twice as fast as during our previous match. Her fist grazed my cheek before I could even raise my guard. I stumbled backward, stunned by her explosive movement.

"Too slow," she taunted, circling me with predatory grace.

This wasn't the same woman who'd fought me last time. Her reactions were unnaturally quick, her strikes precise and vicious. I barely survived the first round, already breathing hard while she looked completely fresh.

In the second round, I tried employing the same techniques that had won me our last match. I feinted left, then attempted my signature sweep. But Evanthe seemed to anticipate my every move. She not only avoided the sweep but countered with a strike that sent me sprawling across the mat.

By the third round, suspicion had begun forming in my mind. *She can't possibly have improved this much in such a short time.*

"Getting tired already?" Evanthe smirked as she landed another clean hit to my ribs.

By the seventh round, my custom Silver Moon training clothes clung to my skin, soaked with sweat. Every muscle in my body screamed in protest, and I could already feel bruises forming beneath my skin. Meanwhile, Evanthe still moved with the same frightening speed and precision as when we'd started.

The eighth round, I found myself on my knees, with Evanthe twisting my arm painfully behind my back, her other hand fisted tightly in my hair. The position was both humiliating and agonizing. I gritted my teeth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of hearing me cry out.

"Not so confident now, are you?" she hissed, her breath hot against my ear.

My lip was split, blood trickling down my chin. My right eye was swelling shut. But what hurt most was the burning humiliation of being dominated so completely in front of Silver Moon's elite Lycans.

"Stop!" I finally gasped. "I yield!"

But Evanthe didn't release me. Instead, she twisted my arm higher, sending fresh waves of agony through my shoulder.

"What's wrong, Isolde?" she taunted. "Can't handle a real fight?"

Only after several more seconds did she finally release me, shoving my head forward dismissively as she stood.

The gathered warriors applauded her victory, but I caught several experienced fighters exchanging troubled glances. They knew something wasn't right, yet no one dared question her.

Evanthe preened under the attention, turning in a slow circle to accept the accolades. Her pupils were so dilated that her blue eyes appeared almost black, with just a thin ring of color around the edges.

I struggled to my feet, determined to face the final two rounds despite my body's protest.

*She cheated!* Lyra snarled within me. *She couldn't possibly be this strong!*

The world tilted sideways momentarily, and I tasted copper in my mouth. I glanced toward where Orion and the other trainers stood, hoping someone would notice Evanthe's unnatural state, but none made a move to intervene.

I wiped sweat from my face with the back of my hand and tried to steady myself. I wouldn't show weakness—not here, not in front of Silver Moon's warriors.

Just as the ninth round was about to begin, Evanthe shoved me from behind—a blatant violation of match protocol. I tumbled forward onto the mat, barely breaking my fall with already-battered arms.

Before I could recover, Evanthe was on me, straddling my back. Her fist connected with the side of my face, and she yanked my chestnut curls with enough force that I felt strands tear from my scalp.

"Evanthe, stop!" I shouted, trying to block her punches with my forearms. "This is just training!"

But there was no recognition in her eyes—only rage and something else, something wild and uncontrolled. The gold flecks in her irises had expanded, consuming the blue until her eyes glowed like miniature suns.

"Die, bitch!" she snarled, her perfect PR Director image completely shattered. "I'll ruin that pretty face of yours!"

To my horror, her right hand began to transform, nails elongating into deadly claws—another serious violation of Silver Moon's training rules, which strictly prohibited partial shifts during matches.

She raised her clawed hand, poised to strike, her face twisted with feral hatred.

"I'll tear your fucking eyes out!" she screamed.

I braced myself for the attack, knowing her claws would leave permanent scars—if I survived at all.

Suddenly, Evanthe's weight disappeared from my back. A high-pitched shriek filled the air, and I opened my eyes to see Ezra standing over me, holding Evanthe aloft by her throat with one hand.

With a powerful motion, he hurled her toward the reinforced wall of the training center. She crashed against it with a sickening thud, then slid to the floor in a crumpled heap, her designer training clothes now covered in dust.

I lay frozen on the mat, too stunned to move.

"Isolde!" Two voices called my name simultaneously.

Ezra and Orion rushed toward me, their faces mirroring identical concern. They knelt on either side of me, eyes scanning my body for serious injuries.

Orion's hands moved with professional efficiency, checking my wrist, shoulder, and ribs for breaks. "Isolde, are you alright?" he asked, his amber eyes filled with worry.

"You're bleeding," Ezra stated, his usually cold expression replaced with something raw and protective. "Where else are you hurt? Tell me."

I stared between them, confused by their intensity. Why would Silver Moon's CEO and Security Director show such concern for a debt girl like me?

Something silent passed between them—some unspoken understanding. Orion's expression shifted, and he nodded slightly before standing and backing away.

"Come here," Ezra commanded softly, slipping one arm behind my back and the other beneath my knees.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Without answering, he lifted me effortlessly against his chest, cradling me like I weighed nothing.

The entire training center fell into shocked silence. Some warriors stared with open mouths, others with wide eyes. No one dared make a sound in the presence of the Lycan King.

Across the room, Evanthe sobbed in humiliation as Orion helped her to her feet, her face a mixture of pain and fury.

"Alpha Ezra," I whispered, mortified by the public display, "you don't have to do this. I'm completely fine."

"You are not qualified to make that assessment," he replied firmly. "I'm taking you to the medical center."

As he carried me toward the elevator, I buried my face against his chest, unable to bear the stares following us. His heartbeat thundered steadily beneath my ear, oddly comforting despite the chaos swirling around us.

For now, all I could do was surrender to the strange security of being in Ezra Silverwood's arms, and wonder what consequences today's events would bring tomorrow.