แล
46
The air smells of sweat, leather, and something metallic I can’t quite identify, blood, I realize with a start. Not fresh blood, but the
lingering scent of countless training sessions where someone pushed too hard, got hit too solidly.
Training equipment fills every corner of the underground space, but this isn’t your typical gym setup. Heavy punching bags hang in neat rows, some traditional leather, others shaped like human torsos with vital points marked in red ink.
Speed bags attached to adjustable platforms bounce rhythmically as women with wrapped hands work them with combinations so fast
their movements blur.
Along one wall stands a series of weight stations, but not the chrome and cushioned equipment you’d find in a regular gym.
These are raw, functional pieces, thick climbing ropes that disappear into the shadowy ceiling, kettlebells of various sizes arranged like iron soldiers, pull–up bars that look like they could support a truck. Everything is built for real strength, real punishment, not show.
But what truly amazes me are the women using all this equipment. Girls who look smaller than me, more delicate, are lifting weights that
should be impossible for their size.
A petite blonde who can’t weigh more than a hundred and ten pounds is deadlifting what looks like twice her body weight, her form
perfect, not even breathing hard. Sweat beads on her forehead, but her expression is one of fierce concentration, not strain.
Another woman, this one with intricate tattoos covering her arms in what looks like Celtic knotwork, works a wooden training dummy
with moves I’ve only seen in martial arts movies.
Her fists and feet move in a blur, striking pressure points with surgical precision. Each hit makes a sharp crack that echoes through the space like gunshots. The dummy shudders with each impact but somehow doesn’t fall.
In the center of the room is a large mat area where pairs of women spar with protective gear. But this isn’t gentle self–defense practice,
these women are fighting with real intensity, real skill.
Kicks that would drop a grown man, grappling techniques that look like they could break bones if applied with full force. I watch one woman execute a throw that sends her opponent flying through the air, only to have that same opponent roll gracefully to her feet and
immediately counter–attack.
Beneath the scent of sweat and leather is something else, something wild and earthy that makes Claire stir restlessly in the back of my
mind for the first time in days.
Wolf scent. Multiple wolves, their musk distinctive and primal. But there are humans here too, their scent different, lacking that wild
undertone but no less determined.
“How is this possible?” I whisper, watching a girl who looks barely eighteen flip a much larger opponent with what seems like effortless
grace.
1/2
18:36 Fri, Jan 2 d
Chapter 35
🙂
46
But now I understand, they aren’t using supernatural strength. They’re deliberately restraining it, learning to fight with only their human
capabilities.
Leah smiles, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she looks dangerous. Not just physically capable, but truly lethal. “We’re
werewolves who live among humans, Athena.
We don’t just learn to eat and act like them, we have to learn to fight like them too. What happens if you’re caught in human form during the day? What if you’re in a crowded place where you can’t shift? What if silver bullets or wolfsbane have weakened your wolf?”
Her questions hit me like physical blows because I know she’s right. I’ve been so focused on learning to control my supernatural abilities
that I’ve never considered what would happen if I couldn’t access them.
She gestures around the room with obvious pride. “Every werewolf woman here has learned that relying solely on our supernatural
strength is a luxury we can’t always afford.
So we train our human bodies, our human reflexes, our human endurance. We learn to be deadly even when we’re at our most vulnerable.”
“See that woman over there?” I follow her gaze to see a woman wrestling, she’s probably in her early twenties, with short–cropped black hair and the kind of lean muscle that speaks of years of dedicated training.
She’s winning against another woman twice her size, using technique and leverage to overcome the obvious disadvantage.
“That’s Kiara, She’s human.” I look up, stunned, but she’s not finished. “Her opponent is Daisy. She’s a werewolf.”
Now I’m completely speechless. How is that possible? How is a human not just competing with a werewolf, but actually winning?
*In here, we’re equals. We aren’t werewolves or humans, we’re warriors.”
As we walk deeper into the training area, conversations stop. Women pause their workouts to look at us, or rather, to look at me.
I feel like a specimen under a microscope, being evaluated and found wanting. Some faces show curiosity, others skepticism
“Ladies,” Leah calls out, her voice carrying easily across the space. “I want you to meet someone special. This is Athena, and she’s going to
be training with us.”
Comments
✩ 9
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
