The implications of Council involvement settled over them like cold water. Because Council business meant continental-level threats, situations that required coordinationbetween territorial leaders who normally maintained careful independence.
“Shit,” Theo said with feeling. “And here I was complaining about morning PT.”
“Morning PT just became survival training,” I said, pushing myself away from the tree. “Which means we run it again. And again. Until you can coordinate these drills in your sleep.”
They groaned but followed me back to the training ground, because that's what pack meant. When threats emerged that could destroy everything you'd built, you prepared together, fought together, and either survived together or died knowing you'd given everything to protect the people who mattered.
“Formation drills, then shift training,” I announced. “You need to be able to coordinate in human form and wolf form both. Enemies won't give you time to choose your preferred shape for fighting.”
“Shift training?” Sienna's eyebrows rose. “In the middle of combat drills?”
“Shift training because of combat drills. You need to be able to change forms without losing situational awareness, maintain pack coordination through the transition, and resume fighting immediately on the other side.”
The technical challenges of what I was asking were significant. Shifting required focus and control that was difficult to maintain under stress, and coordinating with pack mates during transformation took practice that most wolves never bothered to develop.
But if the reports Dad had shown me were accurate, normal training wouldn't be sufficient for the threats heading our way.
“Alright,” I said, settling into the stance that meant business. “Let's see how well you can follow orders when you're more wolf than human. Shift on my mark, maintain formation, and remember that the objective is still keeping each other alive.”
They spread out, finding positions that would give them room for transformation without interfering with each other's changes. The forest went quiet around us, as if the local wildlife could sense what was about to happen and decided they wanted no part of it.
“Mark.”
Four wolves emerged from the chaos of transformation, shaking themselves and adjusting to sensory input that was fundamentally different from their human perceptions.
But they held formation. Even in wolf form, they remembered their positions, their responsibilities, their objectives. Pack bonds hummed between them like visible light, coordination that transcended species and tapped into instincts that had kept wolves alive since before humans learned to make fire.
“Good,” I said, voice carrying through whatever psychic connection linked pack wolves. “Now let's see how you handle combat when you're running on four legs and instinct.”
I shifted without warning, letting my wolf surge to the surface in a transformation that was smoother and faster than anything they could manage. Alpha blood carried advantages that extended beyond authority, gifts of speed and power that made pack leadership something more than political convenience.
The fight that followed was chaos and coordination in equal measure. Wolf senses made everything sharper, more immediate, more visceral. I could taste their fear and determination on the air, could track their movements through scent and sound and the subtle pressure changes that came from large bodies moving through space.
But they adapted, learned, improved with each exchange. What had started as individual wolves trying to survive superior opposition gradually evolved into something that resembledpack tactics, coordinated attacks that used their bonds to anticipate and respond to threats.
By the time I called another halt, they were moving like a unit that had been training together for years instead of months. Still not perfect, still not ready for the level of violence that was spreading across the continent like plague, but functional enough to have a chance.
Maybe that would be enough. Maybe survival was just a matter of being slightly better prepared than the other guy, slightly faster to adapt, slightly more willing to do whatever it took to protect the people you loved.
“Shift back,” I ordered, already feeling my bones begin to reorganize themselves. “We need to talk about what just happened.”
The return to human form was easier than the initial change, muscle memory and practice making the transition feel almost natural. Almost. The truth was that shifting never stopped feeling like controlled violence, like tearing yourself apart and rebuilding from the pieces that remained.
“That was different,” Jonah said, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks that came from rapid transformation. “More intense. Like the wolf side was more... present.”
“Because it was,” I said. “Combat brings out primal instincts that civilian life keeps buried. You need to learn to work with those instincts instead of fighting them.”
“Is that what you were doing?” Alaric asked, studying me with those perceptive eyes that missed nothing. “Working with your instincts?”
“I was doing what needs to be done to keep you alive when the real threats arrive,” I said, voice carrying enough authority to shut down further questions. “Which is why we're going to run these drills every morning until you can execute them perfectly.”
“Every morning?” Theo's voice carried the exhaustion of someone who'd just been put through supernatural boot camp. “What about work? The mill?”
“The mill can wait. This can't.” I gathered my gear, movements sharp with the kind of energy that came from adrenaline and responsibility and the growing certainty that whatever was coming would test every skill we'd managed to develop.
“Evan,” Sienna said, voice gentle but persistent, “you're scaring us a little. This feels like preparation for war, not routine training.”
I stopped, gear half-packed, and looked at the four wolves who'd spent the morning learning to fight for their lives because I'd asked them to. They deserved honesty, deserved to understand why their Alpha heir was pushing them toward levels of violence that should have been theoretical.
