Chapter 8: Strength and Sweat

The property was equipped with a training ground, a flat, hard-packed circle of dirt and gravel near the tree line, maybe fifty feet across. Weapon racks stood at one end, bo staves, weighted training blades, padded gloves, all left out in the elements and none of it too dangerous to be worth worrying about. The sun was low, golden and slanting, turning everything warm and long-shadowed. The safe house was on beautiful land, Cass admits.

Cass was already sweating, shirt soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead, and not from being pinned by Roan in bed. He’d been at it for almost an hour, dodging Kiran’s quick strikes, blocking Zariel’s slower but heavier swings, trying to land even one clean hit on Roan. The anthros were panting too, but none of them looked half as wrecked as Cass felt. Their strength and stamina was out of reach for most humans.

Roan stepped into the center, rolling his shoulders. “Again. All of you. Come at me.”

Kiran grinned, tail flicking. Zariel cracked his knuckles. Cass wiped sweat from his eyes and nodded.

They moved together, Kiran darting low, Zariel coming in high, Cass circling for an opening. Roan flowed between them like smoke. He caught Kiran’s wrist, twisted, sent the fox spinning. Blocked Zariel’s haymaker with a forearm, then drove a palm into the big wolf’s chest hard enough to make him stagger. Cass lunged and Roan sidestepped, hooked an arm around Cass’s waist, and flipped him gently onto the dirt.

Cass landed and got the wind knocked from him, but he was grinning despite the ache in his ribs.

Roan offered a paw. “Better. You’re getting faster, pup.”

Kiran dusted himself off, laughing. “We’re lucky you don’t use the real thing during training, Alpha.”

Cass was surprised to find that the others called Roan Alpha as well.

Cass blinked up at him. “The real thing?”

Kiran’s ears perked. “You don’t know?” He looked at Roan, then back at Cass. “You really don’t know.”

Roan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Later.”

Kiran wasn’t having it. He jogged to the weapon rack, grabbed a metal bo staff, solid steel, about five feet long, and held it out horizontally in both paws. “Here. Bend it.”

Cass took it, braced, pulled. Nothing. His arms shook, veins standing out. The bar didn’t flex at all.

Kiran handed it to Zariel, the most ‘jacked’ among them. The big wolf grunted, muscles bulging under bright white fur. The staff bowed, barely, an inch in the middle before Zariel let go, breathing hard.