[Lyra’s POV]
The training yards of the Blood Moon Pack were a chaotic symphony of clashing steel, heavy grunts, and the smell of sweat and ozone.
I stood in the center of the massive dirt arena, completely out of my element. Gone was the breathtaking crimson silk dress Queen Elara had given me. In its place, I wore a perfectly fitted set of dark, lightweight training leathers that allowed for maximum agility.
"Your grip is too tight, Lyra," Silas’s gruff voice barked from a few feet away. The massive, heavily scarred Beta walked around me in a slow, predatory circle, his yellow eyes evaluating every single muscle movement I made. "A sword is not a club. It is an extension of your arm. If you grip it like you are trying to strangle a snake, your wrists will snap upon the first heavy impa
