Eighth-Born Luna (Emily and Nathan) novel Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Emily’s POV

“What are we watching?” Poppy muttered beside me.

I tilted my head, tracking every movement in front of us. “Jessie trying to defeat Kane. Under Head Warrior Wayne’s instructions.”

Poppy tilted her head too.

Jessie was currently trapped under one of Kane’s muscular arms, kicking furiously while trying to escape his hold. It looked deeply unfair. Kane was almost twice her size, and Jessie looked like an angry cat caught by a very patient giant.

“Use your elbows and knees!” Head Warrior Wayne barked. “If a man grabs you, you don’t freeze. You hurt him.”

Jessie tried. She really did. She slammed her elbow back, but Kane shifted just enough to avoid most of the hit. Then he tightened his hold, and Jessie let out a furious little growl.

Poppy winced. “That looks painful.”

“It looks impossible,” I muttered.

A few seconds later, Wayne raised his hand and said, “Enough.”

Kane released Jessie at once and helped her straighten. Her hair was a mess, her cheeks were red, and her pride looked badly injured.

“That was interesting,” Kane said, trying not to smile.

Jessie glared at him. “Say one more word and I’ll bite you.”

Kane’s smile widened. “Noted.”

Wayne stepped in front of us, hands clasped behind his back. The Head Warrior was a strong, broad-shouldered man who looked to be in his fifties, with sharp eyes and a voice that made everyone stand straighter.

“Jessie,” he said, “you missed three chances to hurt him.”

Jessie blinked. “Three?”

“His knee. His ribs. His balance.” Wayne pointed to Kane like he was a training dummy. “Your opponent will always have a pattern. Watch for it. Kane favored his right side. Two strikes with the right hand, then one with the left. If you had paid attention, you could have used that.”

Jessie frowned, replaying the fight in her head.

“And stop warning your opponent with your eyes,” Wayne added. “Your face tells everyone where you’re going before your body moves.”

He looked around at the rest of us.

“You girls have spent too much time relying on pretty eyes and fluttering lashes for making the males do your chores. Here, those eyes will just get you killed.”

A few girls cleared their throats, looking away, while Kane let out a low, muffled chuckle.

Wayne turned to the rest of us. “If you are fighting a male, do not waste your strength hitting the hardest parts of him. Chest, shoulders, arms—useless unless you are stronger. You are not.”

A few girls looked offended. Wayne ignored them.

“Go for the weak points. Stomach. Throat. Nose. Knees. Eyes, if you must. And if you can reach low enough—”

Several girls gasped. Wayne’s face stayed completely serious. “Yes. Exactly there.”

Kane coughed into his fist. Jessie grinned.

“If you are fighting a female,” Wayne continued, “the rules are the same. Face. Legs. Stomach. Hair, if it gives you control.”

Poppy whispered, “That sounds dirty.”

Wayne’s eyes snapped toward us.

“Good,” he said. “Dirty keeps you alive.”

No one laughed after that.

He walked slowly in front of our line, his gaze cutting across each of us.

“The rogues will not fight politely. They will not wait until you are ready. They will not care if you are scared, smaller, tired, injured, or crying.” The Head Warrior’s voice dropped lower. “So if you ever have to fight for your life, show no mercy.”

Before any of us could react, Wayne suddenly swept Kane’s legs out from under him. Kane hit the ground hard. A few girls screamed. Wayne moved fast, dropping one knee beside Kane’s ribs and pressing clawed fingers lightly against his throat.

Wayne looked back at us. “Attack when they do not expect it. Use surprise. Use fear. Use anything you have.”

Then he released Kane and stood. Kane lay there for a second, staring up at the sky.

Jessie clapped once. “I enjoyed that demonstration.”

Kane slowly turned his head and glared at her.

Wayne helped him up, then looked at us again. “We’ll finish with a run.”

A low groan moved through our group. Wayne’s expression didn’t change. “Five laps.”

Five laps nearly killed us.

By the third, my lungs burned. By the fourth, my side cramped so badly I thought I might fold in half. By the fifth, half of us were barely running at all. Poppy looked like she was praying for death. Jessie was muttering threats under her breath. Tessa, somehow, still looked calm, though her face had gone pale.

When Wayne finally let us stop, most of us bent over, gasping for air. He looked disgusted.

“This is terrible,” he said. “But we’ll fix that. Soon, you’ll fly across this field instead of crawling through it.”

Poppy whispered, “I would rather crawl into a grave.”

“Tomorrow,” Wayne barked. “Dawn.”

That was how our new life began. Training in the morning. Kitchen work during the day. More running in the evening. Sometimes we helped in the gardens.

Recently, the girls and I had started an initiative group to prep for the upcoming Remembrance Day. We spent our spare hours crafting decorations, throwing ourselves into the work along with the rest of the pack, who seemed entirely focused on the event.

Poppy explained that Remembrance Day was one of the most important nights of the year. It was a night to honor the wolves who had died—family members, warriors, children, and anyone else the pack had lost. There would be food, candles, flowers, and a ceremony near the edge of the forest, beside an ancient tree called the Memory Tree that had stood there longer than anyone could remember.

I helped decorate the clearing the night before. Tiny lanterns hung from branches. White flowers circled the roots of the old tree. A small open tent had been built nearby, with long tables waiting to be filled. It looked peaceful.

Almost sacred.

By the time I finally went to bed, I was exhausted. Which was why, when Jessie ripped the blanket off me the next morning, I screamed.

“Sorry, Emily,” she said, sounding not sorry at all. “Training starts in fifteen minutes.”

Cold air hit my legs. I curled into a ball. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Jessie held up a mug of water. “But if you’re not downstairs in five minutes, I’m pouring this on you.”

I opened one eye. She looked completely serious.

“I’m up,” I mumbled.

Poppy sat up in her bed, hair sticking up in every direction. “Why does dawn exist?”

Jessie smiled. “To make us stronger.”

“To make us suffer,” Poppy muttered.

Still half asleep, I washed my face, pulled on training clothes, tied my white-blonde hair back, and ran downstairs with the others.

The training field was already full. The male warriors were in the center, practicing with brutal speed. Punches cracked through the air. Feet slammed into the ground. Growls rose and faded under the morning sun.

Our female group gathered near the side mats. Head Warrior Wayne stood in front of us.

“Today,” he announced, “we spar.”

Every girl went silent. Poppy leaned closer to me. “I changed my mind. I miss running.”

Wayne paced in front of us. “You have learned the basics. Now you need to learn how it feels when someone actually hits back. Fighting hurts. Pain is part of it. But pain is not the question. The question is what you do with it. Do you break? Or do you use it?”

A strange chill moved through me. I knew pain. Pain had followed me for years. But I had always used it to survive quietly. Not to fight.

“Count off,” Wayne ordered.

“One. Two.”

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