They regrouped slowly, breathing hard from the exertion of trying to match supernatural speed with purely human reflexes. Sweat beaded on foreheads despite the morning chill, and I could smell the sharp tang of adrenaline that came from dancing on the edge of real violence.
“I should have stayed closer to Jonah,” Theo said, wiping dirt from his palms. “Got drawn out of position trying to intercept instead of maintaining defensive spacing.”
“Partially correct. Sienna?”
“We reacted instead of anticipating,” she said, dark eyes thoughtful as she analyzed the failed drill. “By the time we saw your first attack, you were already setting up the second and third. We were playing catch-up from the beginning.”
“Better. Alaric?”
Alaric was quiet for a moment, studying me with the kind of attention that made my skin crawl. When he finally spoke, his voice carried undertones of suspicion that I really didn't need right now.
“You're holding back,” he said. “Moving fast enough to challenge us, but not fast enough to actually hurt anyone. Real enemies won't be so considerate.”
I was pulling my punches, tempering speed and strength to levels that would push them without causing serious injury. Real combat wouldn't come with those limitations, and training that didn't prepare them for actual violence was worse than useless.
“Then maybe we should fix that,” I said, and let more of my wolf bleed through into human form.
The change was subtle but unmistakable. My senses sharpened until I could hear individual heartbeats, track the flow of adrenaline through their systems by scent alone. Muscle and bone aligned themselves according to older blueprints, lending grace and power that belonged to creatures designed for hunting.
“Again,” I said, and this time there was no mercy in it.
The second round lasted maybe thirty seconds. I moved like liquid violence, flowing around their defenses with the kind of speed that made human reflexes look like they were moving through molasses. Jonah went down hard when I took his legsout from under him. Sienna managed to get her hands on me, but I slipped her grip like smoke and put her on the ground with a touch that would leave bruises. Theo and Alaric tried to coordinate a pincer movement that might have worked against a normal opponent.
I wasn't normal.
When the dust settled, all four of them were sprawled on the forest floor, breathing hard and staring at me with expressions that ranged from awe to genuine concern.
“That,” I said, offering Jonah a hand up, “is what we're training for. Opponents who move faster than you can track, hit harder than you can block, and don't care if you survive the encounter.”
“What the hell was that?” Theo muttered, accepting help to his feet.
“That was me being gentle,” I said, which was true and terrifying in equal measure. “Real enemies won't pull their punches. They won't give you time to regroup or second chances when you make mistakes. They'll kill you and move on to the next target without losing sleep over it.”
The sobering reality of what I was telling them settled over the group like a heavy blanket. Because this wasn't theoretical anymore, wasn't preparation for distant possibilities. This was training for immediate threats, for violence that was already spreading across the continent like wildfire.
“Again,” I said. “But this time, assume I'm trying to kill you. Because next time, I might be.”
We ran the drill six more times, each iteration pushing them harder, forcing them to adapt to speed and savagery that stretched human limitations to their breaking points. By the time I called a break, they were moving with coordination that bordered on supernatural, anticipating attacks through packbonds and responding with efficiency that would have been impossible without months of training.
Still not enough, but better. Survival-level competent instead of merely adequate.
“Water break,” I announced, settling against a pine trunk while they caught their breath.
The forest around us was quiet except for the distant sound of wind through branches and the occasional bird call. Normal sounds, peaceful sounds, the kind of backdrop that made it easy to forget that somewhere out there, wolves were dying in ways designed to send messages about power and territory and the price of resistance.
“Evan,” Sienna said, settling beside me with the careful movements of someone who'd been thoroughly beaten up by her Alpha heir, “want to tell us what's really going on?”
They deserved to know, deserved to understand why their peaceful pack life was being transformed into military exercises that left them bruised and exhausted.
“There've been some incidents,” I said finally, choosing words that conveyed urgency without revealing the full scope of what we were facing. “Attacks on pack members across the region. Dad wants us ready in case the violence spreads this direction.”
“What kind of attacks?” Alaric asked.
“The kind that leave bodies,” I said bluntly. “The kind that suggest whoever's responsible has studied pack tactics and knows exactly how to break our defenses.”
“How many packs?” Jonah asked quietly.
“Enough that the Council's involved. Enough that we're taking it seriously.”
