Loving Young

Chapter IX

Shit.

Today's weather matched my mood perfectly—heavy and oppressive. A thick blanket of clouds pressed down on the training field, muting the sun and casting everything in a dull, suffocating grey. Even the air felt denser today, like the weight of it was trying to crush me into the earth. It was one of those mornings where even the simple act of breathing felt like a chore.

And it wasn't just the weather.

Toran's barking and bitching grated on my nerves more than usual as he led today's training session. "I'll show you how real training is done," he'd declared with that insufferable air of superiority. Real training. Right. I'd rolled my eyes, but today, the sarcasm had come too easily, masking the deeper exhaustion gnawing at me from the inside.

Normally, I'd be bothered by his over-the-top display, by how his mere presence made everything harder for the others. His booming voice and constant criticism were enough to drive anyone up the wall. The pleading glances from the wolves would usually snap me out of my mood, reminding me to stay sharp for their sake. But not today. Not after the hell I'd endured last night—hours of Kaitlyn's moans echoing through the thin walls, each sound piercing me like a knife.

My eye twitched at the memory, my poker face the only shield I had left. I refused to let anyone see the cracks, the exhaustion written beneath my eyes, the irritation clawing at my chest. The restless night had left me raw, my emotions barely held together by a thread. I kept my face blank, my movements purposeful, as if by ignoring it all, I could trick myself into feeling normal again.

I tried to focus on the wolves around me, correcting postures, pointing out flaws in their form, anything to keep my mind from wandering. Toran shot me the occasional death glare, as if daring me to step out of line. I could feel his impatience, but today, I couldn't muster the energy to care.

And yet, despite my best efforts, my gaze kept drifting back to him.

Darius moved with a fluidity that was almost mesmerizing, his strikes perfectly timed, his posture sharp and deliberate. Each punch, each calculated hit, held none of the hesitation I'd seen in him yesterday. It was as if the night before had ignited a new sense of confidence in him—or maybe it was something else entirely. I clenched my fists, bitterness rising in my throat like bile. Kaitlyn had done more than enough to help him, it seemed.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to move closer to the pair. My focus needed to be anywhere but on them. The blonde boy partnered with Darius struggled to keep up, his weaker skills on full display as he barely managed to defend against Darius's relentless attacks. His pale skin was flushed red, his breath labored as he tried to keep pace.

As I stepped closer, both of them paused, their movements halting mid-action. Darius's gaze was like fire, following me as I moved, his jaw clenched so tight I could practically hear his teeth grinding.

"You need to be more agile," I said, addressing the blonde boy. His body was too stiff, his movements rigid, and it was clear he was running on fumes. "You're too tense. You need to loosen up if you want to survive these hits."

He nodded, his wide eyes betraying his exhaustion. Sweat dripped from his white-blonde hair, his baby-blue eyes barely managing to stay focused. He was shorter than me by a few inches, his face flushed with effort, and I couldn't help but feel a pang of sympathy. Toran's relentless style of training wasn't doing him any favors.

I softened my tone slightly. "Let me show you."

I stepped behind him, adjusting his posture with my hands. I ran them down his back, guiding his shoulders, repositioning his arms. My legs slipped between his to adjust his stance, and as I worked, I felt the weight of Darius's gaze burning into me. It was impossible to ignore, the intensity of it making my skin prickle.