The cabin air hung heavy with unspoken tension, thick with the weight of a dozen different fears no one wanted to name. The bond in Ethan's chest pulsed like a notification he couldn't swipe away, tracking his connection to Julian with relentless intensity. For once, it felt less like a curse and more like an anchor.
Julian lay pale against the sheets, but his hands moved in weak signs, a ghost of his usual sass: "you look like death warmed up."
Milly stood in the doorway, her stance radiating the casual deadliness of a veteran hunter. Silver revolvers gleamed at her hips, and her eyes held the sharp edge of someone who'd seen too much to believe in second chances. Years of violence had left their mark in the way she moved, each gesture precise and economical, like she'd learned the hard way that wasted motion could get you killed.
"If you're planning to protect him," she said, voice hard as the bullets in her guns, "you'll need more than raw power. You need strategy, backup, and a hell of a lot of luck. The kind of luck that doesn't usually show up in our line of work."
"So this is what, a performance review?" Ethan asked, the fire in his blood humming like an overclocked gaming PC, ready to either save the day or crash spectacularly.
"Both." Milly's expression hardened, all business now. "I've seen what you can do. But raw power gets sloppy when lives are on the line. And we're past the point where sloppy gets forgiven. Past enemies have made sure of that." Her hand brushed unconsciously against a scar on her neck, a silvery line that disappeared beneath her collar.
"She's right." Luther's deep voice cut through the room with the authority of someone who'd earned every scar and gray hair the hard way. He moved with the careful grace of a predator, decades of survival written in the way he positioned himself to keep every exit in view. "You need training, and fast. We're up against rogues, hunters, and God knows what else. You need to be sharp. The kind of sharp that comes from experience, not just instinct."
Ethan bit back a comment about training arcs. "Fine. When do we start?"
"First," Milly said firmly, "you get some rest. You're running on empty, and contrary to what you might think, exhaustion isn't a sustainable aesthetic."
"I can't just—" Ethan glanced at Julian's pale face, the bond twinging sharply in his chest.
Julian's hands moved slowly: "go sleep. I'm not going anywhere."
"Young man," Meemaw interjected, her weathered voice carrying centuries of no-nonsense authority, "Julian's stable. But if you collapse, you won't be any good to anyone. And I've seen enough young hotheads burn themselves out to know where this road leads." Her eyes, sharp as cut glass despite her age, fixed on Ethan with uncomfortable intensity. "The grave, usually. And I've buried enough children to last several lifetimes."
Luna Elsa stepped forward with quiet authority, her presence filling the room like smoke. Power radiated from her in subtle waves, the kind of strength that didn't need to announce itself to be felt. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we begin. And Ethan?" Her lips curved in a rare smile. "Try not to set anything on fire in your sleep."
The night passed in a blur of fractured dreams, the bond a constant ache in his chest. Julian's presence flickered at the edges of his consciousness, weak but steady, like a pilot light refusing to go out.
The next morning arrived with brutal efficiency as Milly pounded on Ethan's door. The sound echoed through the small room like someone was testing the structural integrity of the wood with extreme prejudice.
Through the window, he caught sight of Julian watching from his cabin, hands moving in a quick sign: "don't die."
The training ground looked like medieval torture equipment had gotten a modern upgrade. Wooden dummies stood in regimented rows, their blank faces somehow managing to look judgmental. Luther stood among them like the world's most intimidating PE teacher, holding what appeared to be a stick.
"Hit the dummy," he commanded, handing Ethan the world's most underwhelming weapon. The morning sun caught the frost on the training ground, turning everything into a winter wonderland that was about to become a disaster zone.
"This is literally just a stick," Ethan said, staring at it like it had personally offended him. "What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Just. Hit. The. Dummy." Luther's patience was visibly evaporating.
Rogan, standing off to the side with his ever-present shotgun, spat onto the frozen ground. "Kid thinks everything's a joke. That'll change fast enough." His voice carried the gravel-rough edge of someone who'd watched too many young fighters die learning the hard way.
Ethan gripped the stick, feeling his inner fire spark to life. The power built in his chest like a bass drop, ready to either create something epic or crash spectacularly.
He swung.
The dummy didn't just break—it exploded into the next dimension. Splinters and embers rained down everywhere like the world's most hazardous confetti. The air filled with the scent of scorched wood and regrettable decisions.
"Well," Milly said dryly, "that was excessive. Do you always approach problem-solving with the subtlety of a demolition crew, or is this a special occasion?"
From his window, Julian's hands flashed quick signs that somehow managed to convey both approval and judgment.
Luther pinched the bridge of his nose, looking like he was mentally calculating the cost of dummy replacement and questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. "Again. With control this time. Unless you're planning to solve every problem by turning it into kindling."
The training continued with relentless intensity, each round getting progressively more challenging. Luther introduced moving targets, multiple dummies, and increasingly complex patterns. By mid-morning, Ethan had at least mastered the art of not immediately setting everything on fire, which felt like progress.
"You're improving," Luther acknowledged, watching Ethan navigate a complex drill without any unscheduled combustion events. "Still rough, but better. Like watching a hurricane learn table manners."
Julian's hands moved in the window: "iconic."
Rogan, who'd been silently judging from the sidelines, finally spoke. His voice carried the weight of decades in the field, each word measured and grave. "Kid's got power, I'll give him that. But power without control—"
"—is like trying to perform surgery with a chainsaw," Milly finished. "We get it."
A small crowd had gathered to watch the training, other pack members drawn by curiosity or concern. Their whispers carried on the cold morning air, a mix of awe and apprehension. Some wore the haunted looks of those who'd seen the earlier battle, who'd witnessed firsthand what Ethan could do when pushed.
The relative peace lasted until the alert bell started ringing, its tone cutting through the morning like a knife. The sound sent the crowd scattering to defensive positions with practiced efficiency.
"Patrols spotted movement in the forest," Luther announced grimly, his hand already on his weapon. Years of experience had taught him that "movement" usually meant "trouble," and trouble usually meant blood. "Could be scouts. Could be worse."
"Perfect timing," Ethan muttered, the fire in his chest going from zero to hundred in seconds. "Right in the middle of training—"
"Focus," Luther cut him off sharply, his voice carrying the weight of someone who'd buried too many overconfident young warriors. The lines in his face deepened, shadows of old battles and lost friends. "We do this smart, or we don't do it at all."
Milly checked her weapons with practiced efficiency, each movement precise and deadly. Years of combat had turned the routine into muscle memory, as natural as breathing. "Time to move. And try not to set the forest on fire. Some of us like having oxygen."
The pack mobilized with military precision, warriors taking up defensive positions along the perimeter. Some shifted forms, fur rippling over skin as they dropped to all fours. Others checked weapons, the metallic clicks of safeties and magazines creating a deadly percussion.
As they took their positions, Ethan felt the bond pulse steadily in his chest, simultaneously a comfort and a responsibility. The fire in his blood rose to meet it, no longer chaotic but focused—like finally getting the hang of something deadly and impossible.
"Ready?" Luther asked, scanning the tree line with predatory focus.
"Born ready," Ethan replied, flames dancing between his fingers.
Milly took position on his left, her revolvers catching the morning light. The silver gleamed like stars, deadly and beautiful. "Remember your training. And try not to improvise too much. Your improvisations tend to end in property damage."
The forest waited, dark and silent, like nature itself was holding its breath. Morning mist clung to the ground, turning the woods into something from a gothic painting—all shadows and suggestions of movement.
Through the window of his cabin, Julian's hands moved in one last message: "make them regret it."
The wind picked up, carrying the scent of approaching trouble. Milly's fingers tightened on her revolvers, the metal singing softly against her leather holsters. Luther's expression darkened like storm clouds gathering. And Ethan's fire responded like it had something to prove.
The time for training was over. Now it was time to show whatever was coming exactly why they'd made a terrible mistake.
Through the trees, shadows began to move. The darkness shifted and writhed, taking on forms that seemed to defy natural law. The temperature dropped sharply, frost crystallizing on the ground in unnatural patterns.
"Multiple targets," Rogan reported, his voice tight with tension. "At least a dozen. Maybe more."
Milly's lips curved in a predator's smile. "Good odds."
"For them or us?" Luther asked dryly.
"Depends on how much property damage we're willing to accept," she replied.
Ethan flexed his hands, watching flames dance between his fingers. The fire in his blood sang with deadly promise, no longer a wild force but a focused weapon. He could feel Julian's presence through the bond, weak but steady, and that was all the motivation he needed.
The shadows at the tree line solidified into forms—some human, some decidedly not. Eyes gleamed in the darkness, reflecting the morning light like mirrors. The air crackled with tension and power.
Ethan took a deep breath, centering himself the way Luther had taught him. The fire responded instantly, ready to prove that sometimes the best solution to a problem really was just burning it all down.
Time to show these uninvited guests exactly why attacking a supernatural compound full of wolves and one very tired pyrokinetic was going to be the last bad decision they ever made.
The battle was about to begin.