From His Slave to Luna

Chapter 41:

Leon did not go easy on her.

Every session began before dawn, when the training field was still wet with dew and the wind sharp enough to sting her skin. Celine arrived with aching muscles and barely-healed bruises from the day before—and Leon never missed a single one.

"Again," he said, when she landed flat on her back after he knocked the wooden blade from her hands for the third time.

She gritted her teeth and rolled to her feet. “You could at least pretend I’m not a punching bag.”

Leon’s lip curled in a grin. “Then stop falling like one.”

He circled her like a predator, always just close enough to make her nerves spark. When he adjusted her grip on a sword, his hand wrapped fully around hers, rough palm brushing her knuckles, his chest so close she could feel the heat radiating off it. When he corrected her stance, he used his foot to nudge hers wider, then braced her hip with one large, infuriatingly steady hand.

She wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose—or if he noticed the way her breath always caught.

“You're hesitating again,” he murmured during a lock of blades, his face inches from hers, eyes dark and gleaming.

“I’m not,” she lied, and pushed back harder.

He didn’t yield. Their forearms strained, muscles locked. Her heart was thundering for a reason that had nothing to do with exertion.

Leon's gaze dipped to her mouth, then snapped back up. “Don’t fight me like you’re afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Then hit me like you mean it.”

So she did.

And when he stumbled a step back, wiping blood from his lip with a swipe of his thumb, he grinned like she’d just given him a gift.

“You’re learning.”

They kept going, until Celine's vision blurred, until her bones felt too heavy to lift. Then, as she collapsed onto the grass, gasping for breath, Leon only tossed her a water flask.

“You’re not finished yet,” he said, crouching beside her. “Not until you can put me on the ground.”

“You want me to fight you like I hate you,” she panted. “But I don’t.”

He looked at her a long moment. Then said quietly, “Good. But you still have to beat me.”

She would. One day. But before that day came—Lilith arrived.

The tension shifted the moment her boots crunched across the gravel. She wore no training gear, just her usual polished smugness, as if she’d wandered down from a throne she didn’t deserve.

“Still trying to be something you’re not?” she drawled, surveying Celine with the cold precision of someone about to step on a bug.

Leon didn’t so much as glance at her. “Are you challenging her?”

Lilith’s eyes glittered. “With pleasure.”

And the rest, Celine didn’t fight for approval. Not for Leon. Not for Luke. Not for the pack. She fought because she was done letting Lilith own the narrative. She is done shrinking.

Lilith struck first, her blade slicing through the air with lethal intent. Celine parried, the force jarring her arms, but she held firm.

Lilith came at her hard, each strike sharp and fast, aimed to break Celine’s defense. But Celine moved better now. Her training with Leon had changed her. She dodged a heavy swing and struck back, her blade cutting close enough that Lilith had to block at the last second.

A flash of frustration crossed Lilith’s face. She pushed harder, her attacks faster but less controlled. Celine kept her focus. Then she saw it—a small slip in Lilith’s footing. Without thinking, Celine drove her shoulder forward, slamming into Lilith’s chest.

Lilith hit the ground hard.

Gasps echoed around the training yard. Celine didn’t stop. She watched as Lilith scrambled back to her feet, her face twisted with rage. She charged again, but her anger made her careless. Celine stepped to the side and kicked, her boot landing solidly against Lilith’s knee.

Lilith dropped. Her sword hit the ground with a dull thud.

Leon stepped forward, his face unreadable. “Sloppy,” he said, voice calm but cold.

The yard went quiet. No one moved. Lilith stayed on her knees, dirt on her hands, her chest rising and falling fast. She looked up at Celine, eyes full of hate and disbelief.

She didn’t say a word.

And Leon?

He stood at the edge of the ring, arms crossed, a faint smirk on his face. Like he’d just watched something long overdue.

“That,” he said, loud and clear, “was satisfying.”