“Again!” Brin orders.
“The wolf is me and I am the wolf!” I shout, and Nyx roars with me, so loud my bones shake.
Then it crashes—like a wave breaking. My chest heaves, but the burn eases. My wolf is there. I feel her. Bruised, weak, but awake.
Nyx’s voice breaks through, clear for the first time in years. ‘Finally. You let me breathe.’
Tears sting my eyes. I whisper back in thought, ‘Don’t leave me again.’
‘Not if you stop letting them muzzle us.’
Brin’s face softens. “Good. You’ll survive this.”
I collapse against the wall, panting. “What if I can’t keep her? What if she fades again?”
“You won’t,” he says. “But you need discipline. And strength. You’ve been too long without both.” He glances toward the door. “Tamsin’s waiting.”
???
The training yard reeks of dust and sweat. Morning light shines on the edge of blades hanging from racks. Tamsin stands at the center, her dark braid swinging as she paces, face and arms tanned from all her time under the sun. She’s one of Brin’s cousins, but fiercer than any soldier I’ve seen.
I remember standing in one of these yards as a girl, wooden staff in hand, sweating through drills meant more for form than for battle. Lunas are trained to defend, not to fight. To last long enough for the Alpha to reach them.
But it’s been years. And years are enough to dull a blade.
Tamsin circles me, sharp-eyed. “You’ve had training.”
“Some.” I shift into a stance I half-remember, knees bent, arms lifted. “Enough to look like I know what I’m doing.”
“Enough to get killed.” She lunges without warning. Instinct kicks in—I sidestep, pivot, just like I was taught. But she catches my wrist, twists, and has me pinned in a blink.
I grunt. “That was unfair.”
“Your enemies won’t warn you either.” She releases me, but her eyes remain sharp. “You’ve got the bones of a fighter. You’ve just buried them under years of silence.”
I roll my shoulders, the old movement patterns tugging at muscle memory. “Lunas aren’t meant to lead with claws.”
“No. But you’ll need them now.” She squares up again. “So—remember. Wolves don’t only fight with their bodies. They fight with dominance. Posture, breath, presence.”
I snort. “I know how to hold a gaze.”
“Then do it.”
Her wolf bristles under her skin, and mine rises to meet it. Nyx growls, urging me to bare my teeth, to show I’m not prey. Ilift my chin, meet Tamsin’s stare head-on, and let the sound roll from my throat.
She nods, the look on her face changing to something that resembles satisfaction. “Better.”
We move again. This time I parry her strike, roll with the momentum, and manage to lock her arm. My muscles protest because they’re too weak and slow, but the technique is there.
Tamsin grins through the strain. “There she is.”
I shove her back, panting. “Rusty. That’s all.”
“No.” She shakes her head. “Caged.”
The word reminds me of my crown—caged behind iron. It is time to set it free. Time to setmyselffree.
We drill until my arms shake, until my wolf’s growls weave with my own breath. Every time I stumble or slip, I remember what I’ve lost. But in flashes, I feel the old rhythm return. The crouch. The pivot. Thedominancein my stance.
