Page 86 of Green Ravens

“This”—Lion held up his hands—“is the strength of the tiger. It’s not brute force but precision. A predator cat’s claws don’t simply scratch…they tear with intention and control.”

He came forward and swiped at Valor, aiming for his chest.

He barely had time to react before Lion shot his other palm out, connecting with his shoulder. He stumbled but caught himself as he dropped into a defensive stance.

“Show me,” Lion demanded in a low growl. “Show me what the disgraced Ravens have taught you.”

Valor narrowed his eyes as he circled Lion with slow and careful movements.

He lunged at Lion’s ribs, but the seasoned fighter sidestepped the attack with ease, twisting like water flowing around a rock.

“Too direct, Valor,” Lion rumbled. “You fight with instinct, but that alone is not enough. Think, feel.”

Valor exhaled and then rerouted. He faked to the right before pivoting low and aiming a sweeping kick at Lion’s legs.

Lion allowed the kick to connect, but he rolled with it, turning the fall into an easy somersault before snapping upright as if nothing had happened.

“A solid attack,” Lion admitted, eyes gleaming like orbs of fire in the sun. “But predictable. A tiger strikes when its foe doesn’t expect it, when they don’t see it coming.”

Valor’s heart pounded. This was only the beginning. He could already feel the challenge of the next several months, and he welcomed it.

And when he was done at the Order, he would make the director regret he ever turned him into what he was.

Chief Styles Sawyer

Zorion

Four months later…

The air was crisp, the sky painted with streaks of gold and violet as the first rays of dawn crested the horizon.

Zorion breathed in the saltiness from the ocean where he balanced in a coiled position on a jagged rock.

The gentle crashing of the waves against the shore and the whispers of the wind through the canopy of trees lured him into deeper meditation.

The past couple of months had been even more laborious than he’d anticipated.

He and Valor were beyond exhausted by the end of the day. So tired and worn that they hadn’t made love since that first night.

Zorion could barely manage a kiss before he passed out on Valor’s chest.

But at least his lover was learning to fight. For the last sixteen weeks, Omega had made him run from sunup to sundown, into the trees, then back down.

He had a persistent burn in his thighs and calves, and his lungs ached with the undeniable presence of his own mortality.

Yet, he embraced the pain, welcomed it because it was nothing compared to what he and Valor had escaped.

Omega’s smooth voice broke the silence an hour later.

“It’s time for you to master your hawk, Zorion.”

Zorion straightened, feeling the flexibility of his limbs, the soreness he felt clear to his core.

Finally!

He turned to face Omega, who was remarkably still and balanced on one foot in his coiled snake stance.

Omega’s gray eyes were lighter in the morning and slate gray at night. He regarded Zorion with a glare that wasn’t quite approval but not dismissive either.

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