The Beta's Heart

12. Helping Hand

Tyler

Fighter practice was always fun. It was one of those few times I could blow off steam and no one got hurt ... much.

Today, Landry and I managed to get Reuben out on the field, where we stretched and warmed up, the sun beating down on us and filling the air with the scent of sweat and fresh-cut grass.

"Ready to get your ass handed to you, bro?" Landry teased, bouncing on his toes.

"In your dreams, man," I shot back, giving him a playful shove.

"Let's see if what the betas have been teaching you holds up to what we gammas do on the daily."

Reuben wasn't so talkative or playful, which we'd expected. We wanted to get him out of his house, though, and into the sunshine. We weren't deltas or witches, but we reckoned that getting him back into his normal routine couldn't hurt his recovery any.

We got to it, grappling and sparring, the sounds of grunts and laughter mixing with the rhythmic thud of fists against pads. As we paused for a water break, I noticed Misha Popov standing around on the edge of the practice field not too far from us.

I'd only gotten to know him recently, but he was a good guy, solid and reliable, which was probably why he was the carpentry supervisor of the pack's construction crew. It was steady work and paid well, and he was always one of the first to volunteer if we needed an emergency sub on a border patrol.

Looking at him now, I felt a surge of sympathy for the guy. Dark circles underscored his eyes, his shoulders slumped, and he was moving like he carried the weight of the world on his back.

"You guys care if I call Misha over?" I asked Lan and Rube. "Dude looks like he could use a friend right now."

"I was about to ask that same thing," Lan said, and Rube nodded.

"Hey, Misha!" I called out, waving him over. "Come join us today!"

He hesitated, but jogged over, and we welcomed him into our little group with fist bumps. The four of us moved into running laps, the steady pounding of our feet on the track almost like music, and Misha kept pace with us, which was not an easy feat, but his breathing had turned to pants by the time we took a break, and I chuckled as he fell on the grass like all of his bones had dissolved.

"I didn't know you were such a drama queen, Misha," Lan teased as we soughed down water.

"I am not a ranked wolf," he said in his thick Russian accent as he wiped sweat from his forehead. "I think I am doing quite well, keeping up with gammas and beta."

Rube and I agreed with grins, and Lan slapped him in the shoulder.

We switched to wrestling, taking turns grappling with each other and keeping an eye on Misha to make sure we weren't going past his limits. Yeah, he was strong and had a good bit of moon power for a regular shifter, but we were all far stronger and more powerful, not to mention our wolves were more aggressive.

After a particularly intense match, we all collapsed on the grass again, panting and laughing under the summer sun.

"I needed this," Misha admitted, staring up at the fast-moving clouds. "My soul is weary."

"You want to talk about it?" I asked, sitting up and looking at him.

"It is six years since I lost Jeannie. Some days, it seems to be getting harder, not easier." He sighed, closing his eyes. "I feel as if my life is over at twenty-nine."

A heavy silence fell over us. I knew the pain of losing someone, but I couldn't imagine the depth of his grief. The bond dissolving, the mark fading, the sudden gaping hole inside you... It was too much for some people to recover from, and more than one shifter over the years had either gone mad or committed suicide-by-alpha after their mate died.