An Alpha's Forbidden Mate-Chapter 38: Tom’s Will

Chapter Thirty Eight

Tom said nothing. He didn’t need to. The arrogance that had fueled his outbursts only hours ago had been ground into the dirt alongside the pulverized remains of the boulders. The zeal in his eyes hadn’t died; it had simply changed shape, hardening from the flickering flame of a boy into the cold, steady glow of a weapon. Pride was a luxury for those who hadn’t felt the shadow of a mountain looming over them.

He stood up, wiping the grime and dried blood from his face with the back of his hand. He didn’t ask for a break. He didn’t complain about the ache in his joints. He simply looked at John and nodded.

"Again," Tom said.

John didn’t offer a smile of approval. He merely reached into his pouch and pulled out a handful of smooth, grey pebbles. He began to throw.

The first few hours were a blur of motion. Tom caught the stones with his powers telekinesis as the white aura engulfed the stones, his reflexes sharpening until he was moving at an insane speed, his body a well-oiled machine of twitch-fiber muscle. When John increased the number, Tom stopped trying to catch them all. He began to use the stones he held to deflect the ones he couldn’t catch with his trait power, the clack-clack-clack of stone hitting stone sounding like a rhythmic percussion in the silent plain.

Days bled into a single, continuous cycle of exertion. Under John’s relentless scrutiny, Tom’s reaction time transcended human limits. His control over the faint white aura—his Will—grew more granular. He was no longer just pushing at the world; he was starting to feel the texture of the air around him.

Then came the turning point.

John stood twenty paces away, his silhouette dark against the afternoon sun. Without a word, he flicked his wrist. Thirteen pebbles shot toward Tom, moving with a velocity that broke the sound barrier—faster than a bullet, shrieking through the air.

Tom’s mind entered a state of hyper-focus. He saw the trajectory of six stones. He pivoted, his hands moving like a blur of silver light, plucking them from the air. But as he exhaled, thinking the volley was over, he felt a cold spike of dread.

A sneak attack.

John hadn’t just thrown thirteen stones; he had hidden the rest in the very shadows cast by the first six. From the darkness of the ground beneath Tom’s feet, the remaining pebbles erupted, shooting upward at his blind spots.

In that heartbeat, time didn’t just slow down—it curdled. Tom’s internal monologue was a frantic, jagged mess. Wait, what? His eyes tracked the stones, realizing they were inches from his throat and heart. Shit, I ain’t going to make it. No. No way. Move. Body, MOVE!

His veins bulged against his skin, mapping out the frantic path of his blood. He willed his muscles to snap, to jump, to do anything, but his body reaction time was too heavy, too slow for the disaster unfolding.

I said MOVE! he screamed in the silence of his mind.

In that instant, the barrier between mind and matter dissolved. A violent explosion of white aura didn’t just surround him; it surged into him, seizing his skeletal structure. His body moved with a terrifying, unnatural fluidity, twisting in mid-air in a way that should have snapped his spine. He danced through the hail of stones, his movements guided by pure intent rather than muscle memory.

He landed in a crouch, the dust settling around him. The pebbles thudded harmlessly into the earth behind him.

"Wow," Tom gasped, looking at his hands. They were trembling, but not from fear. "What... what was that?"

John stood perfectly still, his eyes wide with a rare, genuine shock. "You are one talented kid. You know that?"

"Thanks," Tom panted, trying to stabilize his breathing. "But what happened? My body... it didn’t feel natural."

John walked over, his expression turning solemn. "Normally, a werewolf who awakens the White trait can only influence external objects—things without life. They use their Will to move stones or blades. But what you just did... you used your Will to override your own biology. Your mind didn’t just wait for your nerves to fire. It simply dictated where your body needed to be."

John placed a heavy, grounding hand on Tom’s shoulder, his grip firm like an elder brother. "Tom, you have to be careful this path... it could either make you or break you."

"I don’t understand," Tom said, sensing the warning in John’s voice.

"The mind has no limit," John explained, his voice low and urgent. "But the body does. If you push your Will too hard, you’ll could tear your muscles right off the bone. You’ll shatter your own frame before the enemy even touches you. Never push the vessel beyond what the spirit can carry."

John gave a long sigh of relief, the tension leaving his frame as the sun finally dipped below the horizon. "Now, that was intense. Training is over for the day. Let’s head back."

John reached out, and as they stepped into the long shadow of an ancient, twisted tree, he whispered, "Shadow Walk." They melted into the darkness. To Tom, it still felt like being dragged through a freezing, pressurized vortex, his senses compressed into a single point of non-existence until the world snapped back into place.

They appeared in the center of Tom’s room. The familiar scent of lavender and old stone hit him, a stark contrast to the dusty plain.

"Later," John said, turning toward the window.

"Wait!" Tom called out. "I’ve been meaning to ask... the man in the suit. I saw you with him in the arena during my trial. Was he the one who put that slave collar on you?. Besides how the hell are you even here, John? Did he free you?"

John paused, his back to Tom. The shadows in the corner of the room seemed to deepen, drawing toward him like a cloak. "Rest well, Tom," he said softly. Then, he was gone, leaving only the faint scent of rain.

" Who is he?" Tom muttered to the empty room.

He sat on his bed, the silence of the palace pressing in on him. He replayed the moment he dodged the pebbles over and over. He remembered the feeling of weightlessness, the sensation that his body was no longer an anchor but a tool of his mind.

If I can control my body through Will... he thought, his eyes sharpening. What if I could control my very weight? 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

He stood up, trying to replicate the feeling, but the mundane walls of his bedroom felt too small, too restrictive. He needed space. He needed a place where the air moved freely.

Sneaking past the palace guards was trivial now. He moved through the corridors like a ghost, his heightened senses mapping the rhythm of their patrols. Within minutes, he reached the grand arena. It was empty, a vast bowl of sand and stone bathed in the silver light of the moon.

He stood in the center, the silence absolute.

"If I can relive it," he whispered. "The fight with the beast... the breaking of my bones... the rage."

He closed his eyes, plunging back into the darkness of his subconscious. He felt the phantom pain of the beast’s claws, the roar of the crowd, the desperate, white-hot need to survive. Little by little, the silver power in his blood began to hum. His veins shimmered with a pale, ethereal light.

He didn’t have full control—not yet. He could feel the vast ocean of power within him, but he could only open the tap a fraction. One-tenth. But even that tenth felt like a hurricane.

"With this," Tom breathed, a dark smirk tugging at his lips. "I’ll have one more means of protection from the King after the Battle of Saints."

He laughed, a low, dangerous sound that echoed off the high walls of the arena. Then, a bold, reckless idea took hold. If I can control my body’s Will, why can’t i control the wind and my body at the same time?

He cleared his mind, silencing the inner noise until he could hear the faint, whistling breeze passing through the stone tiers of the arena. He focused on the air, on the lightness of the silver aura.

Slowly, his boots left the sand.

Tom’s eyes snapped open. He was levitating, hovering a few feet off the ground, his body bobbing gently as if he were submerged in water.

"I guess this is my limit for now," he whispered, a thrill of pure power coursing through him. "But if I can harness more... I’ll be able to fly. I’ll be able to strike from the heavens. That cunning bastard won’t see what hit him. He expects a wolf on a leash; he doesn’t expect a god in training."

"Tom?"

The voice was soft, surprised, and far too close.

The shock shattered his concentration. The silver aura vanished, and Tom plummeted back to earth, landing hard on the sand. He rolled to his feet, his hand instinctively reaching for a blade that wasn’t there.

"If anyone saw that," he hissed to himself, his eyes glowing with a predatory silver light, "I’ll have to kill them."

He turned, ready to strike, only to freeze.

Standing at the edge of the arena, her face pale in the moonlight and her eyes wide with wonder, was Caroline.