The agreement settles into place without ceremony.
It is not trust. It is leverage.
8
ALDEN
The clearing smells of churned earth, sweat, and pine sap warming under the sun.
Two of my warriors circle each other, teeth bared, boots grinding into packed soil as they test distance and balance. The younger males line the perimeter, shoulders squared and restless, waiting for their turn to step in. I pace slowly around the practice ring, correcting footwork with a glance and posture with a word.
“Again,” I say.
Darren lunges first, driving forward with controlled aggression. Micah pivots, blocks the strike, and counters with a sharp elbow aimed at the ribs. The impact lands solid enough to draw a grunt, and dust rises in a thin cloud around their feet.
“Guard your flank,” I add evenly.
Micah adjusts without protest and regains position. Darren resets, breath steady, eyes focused on his opponent rather than the ridge beyond the trees. They collide again, fists landing in disciplined rhythm rather than reckless fury.
I track more than their movements.
Lavender and clean sweat drift faintly from the southern ridge, mixed with the metallic trace of healing skin. Cassidy remains within the lower boundary where Ciaran took her to review patrol logs. I chose this clearing for proximity, though I did not say that aloud.
Every time one of the males shifts too close to the southern edge, my wolf stirs hard against my restraint.
The instinct rises fast and territorial, ready to bare teeth at any man who moves within her radius. I force it back with measured breath and rigid control, keeping my expression neutral and my voice steady. They are training, and she is not claimed.
“Switch partners,” I command.
The group reshuffles with efficient obedience. I step into the ring briefly to correct a stance, pressing a palm against a shoulder and shifting a foot an inch to the left.
“Your center is exposed,” I tell Micah. “Fix it.”
He nods once and adjusts.
Boots crunch over gravel just outside the clearing, and Gideon does not bother to soften his approach.
“Productive morning,” he says mildly.
I do not turn immediately, allowing the words to settle over the ring before I respond.
“It will be,” I reply.
He steps into the clearing fully, hands clasped behind his back, dark hair pulled neatly away from his face. His expression carries polite interest, but his gaze moves toward the southern ridge with calculated precision.
“Training so near human territory is unusual,” he continues. “You rarely shift drills this close to the boundary.”
“We train where terrain demands,” I say.
“Or where other priorities demand,” he counters.
Several of the warriors glance between us, sensing the shift in tone. I face him fully now, maintaining deliberate calm.
“State your concern clearly,” I say.
“My concern is leadership focus,” Gideon replies. “You invoke Temporary Alpha Protection for a human witness, then position yourself within scent range at every opportunity.”
The clearing grows quiet around us.
