Chapter 16 Roadside Rescue
ROADSIDE RESCUE
EVAN
The air bit sharp against my skin as I led the pack deeper into the forest, away from the house and the mill and anything that might resemble normal life.
Pine needles crunched under our boots, and the scent of damp earth and growing things filled my lungs with every breath.
This deep in the territory, civilization felt like a memory, something humans had invented to make themselves feel safer from the things that prowled in the shadows.
Perfect.
“Alright,” I called out, stopping in a natural depression between towering pines where the ground was level enough for what we needed to do. “Basic formation drills first. Jonah, take point. Alaric, you're flanking left. Sienna, right flank. Theo, you've got rear guard.”
They moved with the fluid efficiency of wolves who'd been training together for months, finding their positions without the fumbling confusion that marked newer pack members.
But there was something in their movements today, an edge of curiosity mixed with wariness that told me they'd picked up on my mood.
Smart. My wolf had been restless since Dad's conversation the other day, pacing beneath my skin like a caged animal that could smell smoke on the wind.
The knowledge of dead wolves scattered across the continent sat heavy in my chest, turning every training session from routine practice into something that felt like preparation for war.
Which, considering what Dad had told me, it probably was.
“Today we're focusing on coordinated attacks against multiple opponents,” I said, pulling out the stopwatch that had become my constant companion during these sessions.
“Assume you're outnumbered three to one, no backup coming, and your primary objective is keeping each other alive long enough to either win or retreat.”
“Cheerful,” Sienna muttered, but she was already dropping into the loose stance that meant business. “What brought on this particular dose of optimism?”
“Experience,” I said, which was true enough without being the whole truth. “The world's a dangerous place. Better to be over prepared than dead.”
Alaric's eyes sharpened with the kind of interest that meant he was reading between the lines of what I wasn't saying. “This about those council meetings your dad's been having? The ones where everyone looks like someone died when they come out?”
“This is about making sure you can handle yourselves when things go sideways,” I said, voice carrying enough Alpha authority to shut down further questions. “Now, Jonah, you're our primary target. Everyone else's job is to keep him breathing while he completes an objective. Ready?”
They shifted positions without argument, falling into formation like pieces of a puzzle that had learned to fit together through repetition and trust. Jonah moved to the center of our makeshift training ground, hands loose at his sides, while the others arranged themselves in a protective semicircle.
“Go.”
The drill erupted into controlled chaos.
I threw myself at Jonah from three different angles simultaneously, moving with supernatural speed that would have been impossible to track if they'd been fully human.
But pack bonds gave them coordination that went beyond normal teamwork, awareness of each other's movements that let them react to threats before conscious thought could interfere.
Sienna intercepted my first attack with a block that would have shattered human bones, redirecting my momentum into Alaric's waiting arms. He caught me, spun with the impact, and launched me toward Theo, who was already moving to complete the trap.
Good. They were thinking like a unit instead of individuals, using their bonds to anticipate and coordinate in ways that made them collectively stronger than the sum of their parts.
But not good enough.
I twisted in midair, letting my wolf surge just close enough to the surface to borrow its reflexes without actually shifting. My hand caught Theo's ankle as he moved to intercept, using his own momentum to send him sprawling while I rolled clear of Alaric's follow-up strike.
“Dead,” I announced, tapping Jonah's shoulder before he could react to the opening I'd created. “Theo's down, your formation's broken, and your primary objective just got his throat torn out. What went wrong?”
They regrouped slowly, breathing hard from the exertion of trying to match supernatural speed with purely human reflexes. Sweat beaded on foreheads despite the morning chill, and I could smell the sharp tang of adrenaline that came from dancing on the edge of real violence.
“I should have stayed closer to Jonah,” Theo said, wiping dirt from his palms. “Got drawn out of position trying to intercept instead of maintaining defensive spacing.”
“Partially correct. Sienna?”
“We reacted instead of anticipating,” she said, dark eyes thoughtful as she analyzed the failed drill. “By the time we saw your first attack, you were already setting up the second and third. We were playing catch-up from the beginning.”
“Better. Alaric?”
Alaric was quiet for a moment, studying me with the kind of attention that made my skin crawl. When he finally spoke, his voice carried undertones of suspicion that I really didn't need right now.
“You're holding back,” he said. “Moving fast enough to challenge us, but not fast enough to actually hurt anyone. Real enemies won't be so considerate.”
I was pulling my punches, tempering speed and strength to levels that would push them without causing serious injury. Real combat wouldn't come with those limitations, and training that didn't prepare them for actual violence was worse than useless.
“Then maybe we should fix that,” I said, and let more of my wolf bleed through into human form.
The change was subtle but unmistakable. My senses sharpened until I could hear individual heartbeats, track the flow of adrenaline through their systems by scent alone.
Muscle and bone aligned themselves according to older blueprints, lending grace and power that belonged to creatures designed for hunting.
“Again,” I said, and this time there was no mercy in it.
The second round lasted maybe thirty seconds.
I moved like liquid violence, flowing around their defenses with the kind of speed that made human reflexes look like they were moving through molasses.
Jonah went down hard when I took his legs out from under him.
Sienna managed to get her hands on me, but I slipped her grip like smoke and put her on the ground with a touch that would leave bruises.
Theo and Alaric tried to coordinate a pincer movement that might have worked against a normal opponent.
I wasn't normal.
When the dust settled, all four of them were sprawled on the forest floor, breathing hard and staring at me with expressions that ranged from awe to genuine concern.
“That,” I said, offering Jonah a hand up, “is what we're training for. Opponents who move faster than you can track, hit harder than you can block, and don't care if you survive the encounter.”
“What the hell was that?” Theo muttered, accepting help to his feet.
“That was me being gentle,” I said, which was true and terrifying in equal measure. “Real enemies won't pull their punches. They won't give you time to regroup or second chances when you make mistakes. They'll kill you and move on to the next target without losing sleep over it.”
The sobering reality of what I was telling them settled over the group like a heavy blanket. Because this wasn't theoretical anymore, wasn't preparation for distant possibilities. This was training for immediate threats, for violence that was already spreading across the continent like wildfire.
“Again,” I said. “But this time, assume I'm trying to kill you. Because next time, I might be.”
We ran the drill six more times, each iteration pushing them harder, forcing them to adapt to speed and savagery that stretched human limitations to their breaking points.
By the time I called a break, they were moving with coordination that bordered on supernatural, anticipating attacks through pack bonds and responding with efficiency that would have been impossible without months of training.
Still not enough, but better. Survival-level competent instead of merely adequate.
“Water break,” I announced, settling against a pine trunk while they caught their breath.
The forest around us was quiet except for the distant sound of wind through branches and the occasional bird call.
Normal sounds, peaceful sounds, the kind of backdrop that made it easy to forget that somewhere out there, wolves were dying in ways designed to send messages about power and territory and the price of resistance.
“Evan,” Sienna said, settling beside me with the careful movements of someone who'd been thoroughly beaten up by her Alpha heir, “want to tell us what's really going on?”
They deserved to know, deserved to understand why their peaceful pack life was being transformed into military exercises that left them bruised and exhausted.
“There've been some incidents,” I said finally, choosing words that conveyed urgency without revealing the full scope of what we were facing. “Attacks on pack members across the region. Dad wants us ready in case the violence spreads this direction.”
“What kind of attacks?” Alaric asked.
“The kind that leave bodies,” I said bluntly. “The kind that suggest whoever's responsible has studied pack tactics and knows exactly how to break our defenses.”
“How many packs?” Jonah asked quietly.
“Enough that the Council's involved. Enough that we're taking it seriously.”
The implications of Council involvement settled over them like cold water. Because Council business meant continental-level threats, situations that required coordination between territorial leaders who normally maintained careful independence.
“Shit,” Theo said with feeling. “And here I was complaining about morning PT.”