Kyra’s POV
The morning air was sharp and biting, carrying the tang of sweat, earth, and anticipation. The training grounds sprawled before me, uneven earth marked with footprints, splintered wood, and the occasional scorch from past drills. Warriors of the pack and allied packs gathered, waiting for the orders that would turn practice into survival.
I stepped onto the field, boots crunching over loose gravel, and the chatter fell away like mist. All eyes turned to me—Kyra de la Muerte, Angel of Death, silent wolfless hunter whose reputation alone could strike fear into the bravest of warriors. I let my gaze sweep over the group, silently assessing, calculating, and already planning.
“Listen up!” I barked, voice carrying, sharp enough to slice through the morning hum. “This isn’t a displ
