Pain came first.
Not the sharp kind that warned you to pull away, but the deep, dragging kind that settled into muscle and refused to leave. Artemis learned quickly that Ilyra preferred it that way.
The training grounds had been shifted to one that lay beyond the inner towers of Aethon, carved into a natural basin where black stone jutted from the earth like broken teeth. On the edges of the rock, frost could be seen glued so stubbornly even as the sun climbed, refusing warmth the way Lycans refused mercy. Tall iron posts ringed the clearing, some scarred with claw marks so deep they split stone. This place had seen blood and was a go-to place for the Lycans who wanted to remember the first war waged by the vampires on them.
Artemis stood barefoot in the dirt, sweat cooling against her
