She doesn’t tell me any of this in words or images—or even feelings.
I just…know.
The practice scenario Stark gives us today is focused on defensive maneuvers. Several Rawbond pairs are chosen to play “injured” pack mates while others are “attackers.” The rest, including Anassa and me, are instructed to protect the injured pack mates.
I can tell the moment my fighting instincts align with Anassa’s battle experience, clicking together like gears in a machine. I don’t need to direct her like I tried to before; all I have to do is adjust my swordwork to fit her natural hunting patterns.
It’s almost like a dance.
When she lunges into an attack, my sword is there to strike in the opening she leaves behind. When she leaps away again, I swing to defend her exposed flank.
Trust builds slowly between us with each maneuver, and an unexpected giddiness bubbles in my chest. Gone is the awkward cooperation, the sense of grudging teamwork. We move together with lethal precision—if not with the fluid unity of Stark and his wolf.
Their coordination carries a predatory oneness, like two killers who share a single mind, a single goal:
Hunt. Kill. Triumph.
The thought that Anassa and I might actually one day achieve that kind of unity fills me with unexpected eagerness. It feelsgoodto work together instead of being so at odds with each other.
It feelspowerful.
With Anassa’s help, I might actually have a chance of finding my sister.
But that’s a ways off. We’re still finding our rhythm.
Through it all, Stark circles on his massive black wolf, watching like a hawk. I try to ignore him, but I catch sight of his face again and again. Each time, his expression is darker and more vicious than before.
His bellowed orders drive our “attackers” into a killing frenzy. In a flurry of movement and clanging metal, Anassa and I successfully defend against three simultaneous assaults.
“Again!” he barks. “Harder this time!”
Suddenly we’re surrounded. Three attackers on one side, two on the other.
What the hell? Nobody else is getting this treatment! Why is he always singling us out?
What a sadistic asshole.
But I grit my teeth and focus in, trusting that Anassa knows what to do.
She darts and leaps with incredible speed, attacking and defending at turns. I don’t even know how I manage to stay on her back, but I do. It almost feels like I’m fused directly to her spine. My sword arm flies without thought, following her lead with choreographed precision.
Miraculously, the session ends with both of us breathless and spattered in blood, but undefeated.
I’m actually a bit disappointed it’s over, much to my surprise. I look up at Anassa as I dismount and smile without thinking.
“That felt good,” I direct at her.
Anassa doesn’t return my sentiment—she just turns and walks away, as usual. But I catch the waft of her satisfaction.
And for once, the bruises on my body warm and heal. She’s finally using her healing powers on me again.
Then I notice the strange quiet that’s fallen over the training field. The other Rawbond pairs are staring at us like they’ve never seen us before. A few of them whisper to each other in tones of astonishment.
Huh. I guess we impressed them.
Sensing his gaze, I glance over at Stark as everyone starts leaving the training field. I want to see some sign of approval in his stormy eyes, as much as I hate to admit it.
What the fuck is wrong with me that I’d seek praise from someone who very recently threatened to make an “accident” happen to me?
