I had never once in my entire life felt a more intense desire to murder my own brother—and two years ago, we’d had a blowout fight that had brought me dangerously close to wanting to rip his throat out.
Having him as a personal trainer, as it turned out, was infinitely worse.
"And here I was, thinking training with Custer was brutal," I groaned, leaning forward to stretch my aching hamstrings.
Custer, my dad’s former Gamma, had been the Lone Moon’s lead military strategist, as well as the trainer for all raw recruits and younglings: in a world where rogue attacks were an escalating reality, every member of the pack was required to be fit enough to bring their own skin home if the need arose, and Custer had been more than determined to push that survival mandate to its absolute limit. I
