The humid air of the late summer day hung thick and heavy over the sun-drenched field. A dense line of deep-green oak trees formed a shady backdrop, their leaves rustling softly in a rare breeze. Far in the distance, the gentle, rolling hills of the moraine shimmered in the heat.
Thomas stood before his class, his hands clasped behind his back as he assessed the assembled students. They were back outside in their normal training area after spending a week reviewing combat footage. He knew this week would be harder on the defectives.
The focus was on hand-to-hand combat and fighting in wolf form—something the defectives couldn't do. Since he couldn't exclude them, they would have to learn to defend themselves while remaining in their human form. He was intrigued to see how the defectives would manage the task.
"Split into pairs," Thomas called out, his voice sharp and clear. "You will spar. Winners face winners, losers face losers." It was a simpler task than what they had been doing so far, which had focused on mental fortitude, physical endurance, and problem-solving. Now, he was back to instructing them in hand-to-hand combat.
He knew that as easy as the test sounded, it had a lot of nuance to it, especially with the heightened sense of danger for the defectives. A wolf could kill a defective with a single strike. For the wolves, this was a test of knowing their exact striking power.
As the pairings began to form, Thomas continued with his instructions, a new set of rules meant to protect the defectives in his class. "If you draw blood, you lose. This isn't about overpowering every opponent with deadly blows; it's about precision. Force your opponent into a corner where they have to surrender."
Timothy's heart raced with each step he took. He quickly marched over to Mona, gripping her forearm and pulling her to his side to indicate they would be partners. He didn't want to be pummeled by any of the wolves, and he had a feeling this would be the most painful week of training yet. He thought about being a gentleman and pairing up with Ryan, but given their last interaction, he wasn't so sure Ryan would go easy on him. If the footage was anything to go by, Ryan was an absolute powerhouse—something Timothy didn't want to test.
Mona wasn't sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. As much as she didn't want to go up against a wolf who could literally punch her to death, Timothy wasn't much better for her. He was stronger than she was. She was at an absolute loss, facing a day of being humbled by wolves who hated her, all while Thomas stood at the edges, critiquing her every move and telling her she was "learning so much." All she could imagine was seeing nothing but the blood pooling in her eyes.
Jess looked around and spotted Trinity standing next to Luca, who was doing his best to impress her. Although Trinity wasn't smiling or laughing, Jess knew her friend well and could see that for all of her protests about Luca, she wasn't exactly bothered.
"Should we pair up?" a voice from behind Jess asked. She turned and saw Ryan, his arms crossed over his chest, his usual kind smile on his lips.
"Why?" she asked. The question was far more loaded than a simple inquiry.
"Because I'll let you win," he told her earnestly.
Jess tried to fight the budding smile on her lips. She knew it was just reaffirming her not-so-dormant feelings for Ryan; he was a drug she could never detox from. Nodding her approval, they stood side by side.
"Partners?" Luca asked, leaning down to speak into Trinity's ear.
"You're like a mosquito," she groaned, pushing his face away.
Luca found her dismissal funny. If only she knew one word from his father, she would become his permanent bedmate. He was enjoying their game and was confident he was lowering her resistance to him.
"Everyone knows you can fight; you have to try harder than this," Jess said, her voice a low murmur against the steady hum of cicadas. Sweat beaded on her forehead and ran in small rivulets down her temples. She feinted to the left, her movements fluid and confident.
Ryan let out a slow breath, a good-natured chuckle slipping between his lips. "I'm trying plenty hard. It's just this heat that's slowing me down." He lied, bobbing and weaving with an easy, almost lazy grace that made her focused movements seem frantic. The truth was, he was exerting himself just to predict her moves and step into the path of her sloppy jabs. He tried not to hurt her, but to make it look realistic. He saw the flash of frustration in her eyes and knew the show was working.
Jess lunged, a right hook aimed at his jaw. It was a good, clean punch, but Ryan moved his head back just enough to let it breeze past. Her fist came so close that he felt the displacement of air. He let out a low groan, making it sound like she had barely missed. She followed up with a jab to his chest that he took squarely, absorbing the minimal force.
"You have to keep your guard up," she panted, pushing forward. "I'm getting you." She laughed, even though she knew there was almost no chance. She almost wished she could hit him for real after his excessive and harsh cold shoulder.
"Yeah, you got me," he agreed, letting his left arm drop just enough for her to land another glancing blow on his shoulder. He stumbled back a step for show and held a hand up as if to signal a pause. He really was giving this the performance of a lifetime.
"You're being dramatic," Jess said, her eyes flicking to their teacher, who was walking slowly along the perimeter of the field, calling out mistakes and warning people to watch their strength.
Ryan took a deep, theatrical breath. The conversation shifted to a different kind of sparring, a silent, more painful one. He dodged another punch, his movements becoming more exaggerated for Thomas's benefit. He saw the moment Jess decided to change her tactics. She threw a kick that was too high, but instead of avoiding it entirely, he let her connect with his forearm, creating a loud slap that echoed in the quiet field.
"Careful, he said no blood," he asked, his voice low and serious, not about the fight at all.
"I would stab you right now," she responded, liking that they could be goofy and stupid together again. It was better than the cold indifference he had shown before. She threw a sloppy right punch that he easily blocked.
He let out a loud groan and clutched his stomach as if the punch had actually connected with force. She took the bait, throwing a left hook that he let land, her knuckles brushing against his ribs. He winced and stumbled back, feigning a loss of balance.
Thomas stood to the side, watching the two spar. As ridiculous as the fight was, it also allowed him to see Ryan's abilities. He was definitely not trying to win, but in his own way, he was displaying perfect control over his strength. A man of his stature was over ten times stronger than Jess. From what he had seen, Ryan was a very skilled fighter. To have the ability to look like you're fighting, to allow someone to strike you so close that it almost makes contact, and to throw lethal blows that look real but always miss was an impressive feat.
Jess pressed her advantage, her left hand shooting out to push him in the chest. He fell backward onto the parched grass with a loud thud, landing with a heavy sigh. He lay there, pretending to be winded, the sun hot on his face. Jess stood over him, her chest heaving, a triumphant look on her face.
Jess reached out a hand to help Ryan up. He took it, their hands clasped together for a fleeting moment. With Thomas so close, Ryan didn't risk saying anything, only winking at her, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips. She squeezed his hand and then let go, her gaze flicking away. "Good fight," she said to him like a humble winner.
Ryan stood straight, waiting for Thomas to say a single word. "Ryan wins."
"But I lost," Ryan said, scratching his head awkwardly.
"Did you?" Thomas challenged.
Ryan could only shrug. "He won, expertly. He showed perfect control over his strength and maneuverability. Ten laps at the end of class for this spectacle."
Moving on, Thomas watched a pair of wolves battle, both holding back too much, afraid of drawing blood and losing. "Learn your strength," he said as he continued walking around, only to stop before another defective pair.
Trinity stood in a fighting stance, her brow furrowed in concentration. "Alright, Luca, let's go," she said, her voice sharp with a mix of impatience and determination.
Luca just smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. He moved with a languid, predatory grace, his brown eyes never leaving hers. "Patience."
Trinity swung a jab, a little too wide, a little too telegraphed. Luca didn't block it. Instead, he simply caught her fist in his open palm. His thumb brushed over her knuckles, a light, almost caressing touch. "See," he gently pulled her arm back, his body brushing against hers as he subtly repositioned her elbow. "Tighten here," he murmured, his breath warm against her ear. "And then, snap."
Trinity pulled her arm away, her face flushing with irritation. "We're supposed to be sparring, oh wise one."
Luca chuckled, a deep, rich sound that seemed to rumble from his core. "It's all a dance, oh dangerous one." He feigned a slow, almost lazy strike, leaving an opening he knew she'd see. Trinity, steeling herself, went for it, a direct hit aimed at his chin. But just as her fist connected, Luca moved, not away, but closer. He caught her hand, then slid his fingers up her arm, his touch light, almost playful. He moved her arm into a blocking position, his body pressing against hers as he subtly repositioned her stance.
"You're so lucky I'm being helpful," he murmured, his lips brushing her temple.
"Always be ready to move." He straightened, but his hand lingered on her arm, his thumb tracing a path along her bicep.
Trinity finally broke away, stepping back with a frustrated huff. "This isn't going to work, I don't like you!"
Luca's smile was unwavering. "I'm practicing how to get closer to you," he said in a way that sounded believable, like it was a practical plan.
He moved in again, and this time, Trinity was ready for the feint. She dodged his fake jab, then delivered a quick, sharp hook to his side. It landed, and for a fleeting moment, she felt a sense of triumph. But then, his hand was on her waist, his grip firm as he pulled her to him. She gasped in shock and frustration as he pulled her front flush against his own.
"Good," he said, his voice a low purr. "But your hips… they're not rotating enough." He demonstrated the subtle twist of the torso, his own hips brushing against hers.
Thomas let out a deep sigh as he watched Luca spar with Trinity. "Luca, get off my field. Wait for your next match. Trinity, you lose. Luca, you win." Pointing at Luca's disgruntled face, Thomas continued, "You owe me a hundred laps after class, Luca. This isn't JDate."
"You ready for this?" Timothy asked, his voice low and uncertain. He stood with his feet planted wide, his arms held up in a stiff, defensive crouch that looked more like he was bracing for an impact than preparing to fight.
Across from him, Mona bounced on the balls of her feet, her small frame a bundle of kinetic energy. "Born ready," she chirped, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Just waiting for you, big guy." Mona had a plan: blind, uncontested confidence and maybe a little flirtation.
Timothy let out a nervous laugh. "I won't hit hard. I don't want to hurt you."
Mona scoffed, her feisty nature bubbling to the surface. "Honey, you couldn't hurt a fly." She moved in, not with the grace of a trained fighter, but with a sudden, lurching motion.
Before Timothy could react, she lunged forward, her hand a blur as she delivered a wild, flailing slap to his arm.
"Ow! What was that?" he yelled, rubbing the spot. "What's with the wild hand movements?"
"It was a street-fight move!" she said with a triumphant grin, already dancing away. She circled him, her movements jerky and unpredictable, trying to remember how boxers moved, only to end up skipping around in a far more playful fashion.
Timothy groaned, his fighting stance completely forgotten. "It's like you're having a seizure. Why are you skipping?"
"It's how I fight," she shot back, a mischievous glint in her eye. She feigned a lunge to his right, and when he instinctively shuffled that way, she used the moment to sweep her leg out, trying to trip him. He stumbled, arms windmilling for balance, and she took the opportunity to land a quick, sharp jab to his ribs.
"Hey! Ribs! That's a vital organ!" he protested, wincing. It was more shock than pain; he couldn't believe how silly she was acting, but he was almost positive she wasn't kidding.
"It's called a cheap shot!" she laughed, her voice full of triumph. "You gotta be ready for anything!"
She continued her assault, a whirlwind of unexpected moves and distracting chatter, her limbs swinging as if they were barely attached to her body. A flurry of awkward, jittery movements.
"Mona!" he whined, genuinely frustrated now. "I don't even know what you're doing." He didn't want to throw a punch in case he hurt her, and with her wild movements, he didn't know what to do. She really had control of the flow of the fight.
"Then look!" she countered, still laughing. "You have to be aware of your surroundings, Timmy." With another wild swing, he held his arms up to protect his face, only to feel a hard flick on his ear.
He finally gave up. His arms dropped to his sides, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Before he could say a word, Mona spoke. "I give up, you win." She had seen in the way his arms had stilled at his sides that he was going to give up, and she couldn't let him be first. Mona's laughter died down, replaced by a sudden, sober stillness. She looked at him, then at her own hands, her feisty energy draining away. "I quit," she said, her voice sure. She looked at him with an expression of sympathy, her eyes darting past him to the other, more skilled fighters. A look of horror crossed her face as she realized he'd now have to face them. "You should have quit first."
A piercing howl cut through the noise of the training field. The sounds of skin hitting skin stopped. The low grunting of battle. Everything went to pure silence as the loud, piercing howl cut through the newly found stillness.
"Grab your weapons and report to the front of the house. Go now! A rogue's been spotted."
"Thank God," Timothy muttered to himself.