Salt to Her Sea ✔️

8. senses

THADAL

I was up before the Sun rose. Sitting on the edge of my bed, not wanting to leave her sleeping shape. I leaned back over and kissed her forehead, rubbing my cheek against her's leaving her with my scent. And then I was gone.

Training was most effective in the morning. Beginning with a five mile run in my fur that ended when I had some sort of animal in my mouth. I'd drag the carcass back and leave it at the back porch of the main house for a fresh meal. Then I'd run back out to the training fields, lit with some bright lights we turned on only before dawn and just after dusk.

Kennet and Owen were out there waiting for me by the time I got to the grounds. Shifting back to skin, I caught the shorts Owen threw to me and changed. My bare chest and arms caught the morning mist and pebbled my skin. In a few moments, I would be steaming with the heat I'd exude.

"Let's start with the bags." Kennet declared, making his way over to the set of thick canvas bags, hung and weighted with heavy sand from metal posts.

Hera joined us then, one of our lead fighters and a close friend since we were pups.

Grunts and thumps echoed in the meadow as we pummeled the bags. Knuckles working overtime until blood began to spray the canvas. Next moving to kicks, Hera coaching me on how to make my body more agile. How to get leverage from momentum, swinging my body around to hit the bag with my foot. A thunderous crack pierced the air as the bag flew from the latch.

"Every time." Hera muttered with a smirk, shaking her head.

"What can I say?" I tossed the broken bag aside, swapping it out with another 200-pound bag from the shed.

The warm-up is followed with sparring. I take on Kennet, he's a big male. A pumped-up protector, we're certain he has Beta blood, and that's how Kieran has groomed him his whole life. We're vicious as we go at each other; arms locking around necks, knuckles breaking ribs, an elbow to the mouth. We dance the dance of the fight, neither going easy. He's a tough fight, but my genes have something on him, and in the end, it shows.

His leg twitches, the left one, and I catch him low as he springs with 275 pounds of muscle carrying him forward. Using his momentum against him, I flip him over and land heavily on his back. Snarling, I flip him over and grab his throat. Just a little pressure, enough to let him know I won.

Swatting my hand away, Kennet growls lowly in annoyance. "Kinky," he mutters as I flash my teeth with pride and mischief. My mood was significantly higher than normal. "Good work, brother."

Helping him up, we clap each other on the back with good nature. Wiping blood from our faces. I've only just begun as my father lumbers onto the field smelling of my mother. My nose wrinkles. Always he expected me to be training earlier than him, harder than him, more than him. Claiming he's some old male that needs his sleep.

"Ready, pup?" He's always riling me up, trying to best me before we even collide. I give a single nod, smiling with all my teeth. Dad whips his shirt over his head, revealing just how huge his physique is. This male was a true beast. But we were close in height then, he was only slightly bulkier than me. Weathered with his age, seasoned in his battles.

We circled each other; two predators. Our eyes narrowing, calculating each and every movement. Colliding at the same time, we are a tangle of skin. Punches raining down, grabbing, releasing waves of adrenaline. I love the fight, the challenge, the taste of blood. It's wild and it drives me forward. When I'm fighting, I have full control.

My father grasps me by the neck, sending a kick towards my stomach that I deflect just in time. My elbow slams down on top of his, dislocating his arm from his shoulder. He winces, using his foot to kick me away. He catches me right below the hip, returning the favor to my left leg. My body buckles, only one leg supporting, I'm unbalanced and put down hard on my back.