The Lycan King's Wrong Obsession novel Sorin Carter (by Circeleari) novel Chapter 79

Chapter 79

The training hall is already loud when I step onto the mats.

Leather slaps. Bone thuds. Someone grunts hard enough that it echoes off the mirrored walls. The air smells. like sweat, resin, and that sharp metallic tang that always follows people pushing past comfort. I’m barefoot, toes curling against the rubberized floor, grounding myself before my body remembers how badly it hurts to exist this early.

Alaric stands in front of me, holding the padded kick shield like it weighs nothing.

He’s in black training pants, shirt discarded somewhere behind him, skin already slick with sweat. The silver streaks at his temples catch the overhead lights when he tilts his head, amber eyes locked on me like this is the only thing in the world worth watching.

“Again,” he says.

I pivot and drive my heel into the pad.

The impact rattles up my leg, through my hip, into my spine. He absorbs it without flinching.

“Harder.”

I kick again.

“Don’t slow.”

Again.

My lungs burn. Sweat slides between my shoulder blades, trickling down into the waistband of my shorts. My hair’s pulled into a messy braid, strands sticking to my temples, and I can feel my old wrist scars tug every time I reset my stance.

I count under my breath.

Seven.

Eight.

Nine.

“Your hips,” Alaric says, stepping in, adjusting my angle with a hand at my waist. Casual. Intimate. I’m sure he’s done this a hundred times before. “Snap through. Don’t pull the strike.”

I grit my teeth and obey.

Ten.

The pad smacks into his forearms, the sound sharp enough to turn a few heads. He doesn’t praise me. He doesn’t need to. His attention is constant, focused, heavy. The kind that makes my spine straighten whether I

Chapter 79

want it to or not.

“Again.”

I go.

Behind us, someone laughs.

It’s an Omega–young, careless, too loud. Not even trying to whisper.

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“Doesn’t matter how hard she trains,” he says. “Everyone knows how this ends.” Another voice joins in. “Yeah. Must be nice, having the King hand you the throne.”

The words land clean straight through the ribs.

My foot comes down wrong. My rhythm breaks. The next kick hits the pad late, sloppy, and Alaric feels it immediately.

“Hey,” he says, lowering the shield. “What-”

I step back, chest heaving, sweat cooling too fast against my skin. The room hasn’t gone quiet, but it feels like it has. It’s as though everything narrowed down to the buzzing in my ears and that ugly, sinking realization crawling up my throat.

If I win, they’ll say it’s because of him.

Not my endurance. Not all these training, or the fact that I’m still standing when I should’ve broken down in that arena where Camilla and I would be fighting in.

They’ll say it was Alaric.

That I didn’t earn shit.

My jaw tightens.

Alaric follows my gaze, his expression darkening as he catches the Omega’s grin. His shoulders square, power rolling off him in waves. I know that look. He’s about to end someone’s entire life with a sentence–or a heartbeat.

I can’t let him.

“Stop,” I say.

He looks back at me, confused. “Sorin-”

I don’t explain. I just turn and walk.

Straight past him. Straight toward the doorway.

Beta Cole is leaning against the frame as he’s been there the whole time. Arms crossed. Expression unreadable. Watching–not interfering, not judging. Just cataloging.

(78)

11:12 Mon, Jan 19

Chapter 79

I grab his wrist and pull.

Hard.

“What the hell” Alaric snaps.

“I changed my mind,” I say, not slowing. “Beta Cole’s training me.”

The words hit the floor between us and shatter.

Cole looks down at my hand on his wrist, then up at me. He doesn’t pull away nor does he ask why. He just waits.

Alaric steps forward, voice low and dangerous. “You don’t get to make that call without-”

“I do,” I cut in, finally turning to face him. “Because it’s my fight.”

His eyes flash gold. “This is about what that omega said?”

“Yes,” I say. Honest. “And she’s not wrong.”

Alaric laughs once, sharp. “That’s bullshit.”

“It’s politics,” I fire back. “You of all people should understand that.”

His jaw clenches. “So what, you think removing me makes this fair?”

“I think,” I say carefully, because if I don’t I’ll scream, “that if I win with you training me, they’ll say I didn’t earn it. And if I lose, they’ll say you failed. Either way, I’m fucked.”

Silence stretches. Cole shifts slightly. A neutral presence. Exactly what I need.

Alaric looks at me like I just shoved a blade between his ribs.

“You think this is about optics?” he says quietly.

“I know it is.”

He drops the kick shield. It hits the mat with a heavy thud.

“Fine,” he mutters. “Do whatever you want.”

Then he turns and walks out.

He doesn’t look back.

The door slams hard enough to rattle the mirrored wall. My chest aches in a way that has nothing to do with training. I turn to Cole before I can think too hard about that.

“You okay with this?” I ask. He nods once. “Get back on the mat.”

11:12 Mon, Jan 19

Chapter 79

No encouragement. No warmth.

Just work.

Training under Cole is different.

It’s cleaner and colder. He doesn’t yell. He doesn’t praise. He adjusts my stance with two fingers, taps my knee when it drops, tells me to reset when my breathing goes uneven. Every correction is precise, almost clinical.

It’s effective.

It’s fucking exhausting.

At one point, I pause, hands braced on my thighs, sweat dripping off my nose. My muscles tremble with that fine, dangerous fatigue where you either get stronger or get stupid.

Through the glass separating the halls, I see movement.

Camilla.

She’s in white training gear, spotless, hair braided tight like she hasn’t broken a sweat yet. She pivots and drives her kick into a wooden board. Crack.

The board splits clean in half.

Someone claps. Well, fuck. My stomach twists.

I look down at my hands, flexing my fingers, feeling the ache in my wrists, the pull of old scars reminding me exactly how many years behind I am.

Get up, Sorin. Train harder. Prove them wrong.

The alarm cuts through the hall before I can spiral further.

I roll off the mat, chest heaving, sweat glued to my spine like a second skin.

“Fuck,” I mutter, slapping at my wristband until it shuts up.

The training hall is already buzzing–boots squeaking, bodies hitting mats, someone laughing too loud because they haven’t been humbled yet today. Cole gives me one look and jerks his chin toward the door.

“Etiquette class?” he says.

“Yeah. The other battlefield,” I mutter, grabbing my towel.

He almost smiles. Almost.

That Beta is one hard nutcracker.

***

11:12 Mon, Jan 19

Chapter 79

I make it to etiquette class with thirty seconds to spare, hair still damp, pulse still punching behind my eyes. The room smells like old parchment and lemon polish. Everything here is pale, Walls. Curtains. The people judging me.

I take my place at the long table just as the instructor–Mrs. Halloway, spine straight as a rod shoved up her ass–claps her hands.

“Today,” she says, “we refine.”

I want to ask what the hell we’ve been doing the past weeks if not refining, but I keep my mouth shut. Growth. Maturity. Don’t get exiled again.

Tea service is set in front of me. Porcelain so thin it looks fragile just breathing near it. My hands ache when I lift the pot–training fatigue still screaming in my muscles–but I keep them steady.

Pour. Stop. No spill.

I do it clean. Perfect, even.

Halloway hums. “Acceptable.”

I exhale through my nose.

“Of course,” she adds, eyes flicking to the empty chair across from me, “Camilla mastered this by age ten.”

There it is.

My jaw tightens. I correct my grip without meaning to, overthinking it, and the teacup rattles softly against the saucer.

Too loud. Halloway’s eyebrow lifts.

I swear under my breath and reset. I finish without spilling a drop, but the damage is done. I can feel it–that itch under my skin, the one that says I was fine until someone reminded me I’m behind.

Always fucking behind.

***

By afternoon, my brain is mush.

Political texts blur together. Councils. Precedents. Votes that mattered and votes that were rigged so cleanly they looked holy. I read the same paragraph three times and still couldn’t tell you what it says.

My head drops back against the chair.

You wanted this, Sorin. I wanted survival. Somewhere along the way, it turned into a fucking gauntlet.

When they finally dismiss us, I don’t even bother pretending I’m composed. I drag myself back to my quarters and collapse flat on my back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

Chapter 79

The stone up there has a crack shaped like a crooked moon.

Figures.

Am I actually going to survive this?

The question isn’t dramatic. It’s quiet. Honest. It scares me more than panic ever did.

Water runs in the bathroom. I push myself upright just as the door opens.

Alaric steps out, towel slung low around his hips, skin still damp, steam clinging to him like he owns the air. His hair is loose, dark, dripping down his neck. There’s a faint line of red along his collarbone–my teeth from last night.

Great. Even my memories are inconveniently horny.

“Hey,” I say, softer than I mean to. “How was your-”

He

stops short when he sees me.

The air shifts. Pulls tight.

“Long,” he says. Flat.

I stand and cross the room anyway. Old habit. Muscle memory. I reach for him, aiming for his waist, his solid warmth.

He steps back.

“I need to shower,” he says.

“You just-”

“I need another one.”

The words land harder than if he’d yelled. I let my hands drop. “Okay.”

He turns toward the bathroom again.

“Alaric,” I say, before I can chicken out. “I’m sorry. About earlier. About replacing you with Cole.”

He pauses, back to me.

“It needed to be done,” I add, rushing now. “Politically. Strategically. I wasn’t—”

“It’s as if you kicked me out.” he says quietly.

I wince. “I didn’t kick you out.”

“You replaced me.”

Chapter 79

I swallow. “I needed neutrality.”

He turns then, eyes sharp gold even without his wolf anywhere near the surface. “You needed distance.”

“That’s not-”

“You think they’ll say you didn’t earn it if I help,” he says. “So you cut me out.”

I clench my fists. “I was trying to protect us.”

“I don’t need protecting from whispers.”

“I do,” I snap, then immediately regret the bite in my tone. “I’m the one they want to tear apart.”

He laughs once. There’s no humor in it. “Then don’t give them the chance.”

“I don’t get to opt out,” I say. “Not like you.”

His jaw tightens. “You don’t have to do this at all.”

That stops me cold. “What?”

“I can put you on the throne,” he says, like he’s talking about moving a piece on a board. “No challenge. No battle. No fucking spectacle. You’d be the Queen int he snap of my fingers. End of discussion.”

The room goes very still.

My stomach drops.

“That’s not winning,” I say slowly.

“That’s surviving,” he shoots back. “You’re exhausted. You’re bleeding for a system that doesn’t involve competing for it like you did in that hellish Woodridge Pack!”

“I know,” I say, voice shaking now. “But if I let you do that, it won’t ever be mine.”

He steps closer, towering, heat rolling off him. “Why does it have to be?”

“Because I need to know I can stand on my own,” I say. “Because if I don’t fight, I’ll always wonder if I’m just here because you wanted me here.”

His eyes flash. Hurt, sharp and immediate.

“I want you safe,” he says.

“And I don’t need your fucking help!” I snap.

The word comes out harsher than I intend. Ugly. Loaded.

The second it leaves my mouth, I want to shove it back in.

11:13 Mon, Jan 19

Chapter 79

Alaric goes still.

Not angry. Not raging. Just… still.

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Silence stretches between us, thick and awful. I can hear my own heartbeat. The drip of water from his hair hitting the tile.