Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Valor remained still.
“Persian leopards are this island’s apex predator. They do not follow commands. They respond to respect.”
The leopard’s golden eyes flicked toward Lion and then to him before she let out a slow, rumbling growl. She didn’t attack or show fear. She simply was.
Valor watched in awe as Lion extended his hand and the leopard approached him, brushing her massive head against his palm.
“Holy shit,” Valor whispered.
“She’s in just as much awe with us as we are with her,” Lion said.
“I understand,” Valor said as the cat approached him and rubbed her big body around his lower legs before darting back into the woods.
“The animal within you is lost and needs to find harmony before you can fight…and be victorious.”
Without warning, Lion flexed his hands, curling his fingers into a claw. With a single swipe, he struck the bark of a massive tree trunk, and with a loud, splitting sound, deep gashes tore through its surface. Splinters flew and the bark peeled away as if it’d been raked by a pitchfork.
“What in the…?” Valor stared at Lion.
“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.
“In nature,” Omega said, stepping down, “the snake and hawk are bound in a dance as old as time. The snake patiently watches from the underbrush, and the hawk is the sky’s assassin. They both do not strike until certain.”
Omega walked slowly around him, his voice calm and centering.
“Nature does not rush, yet it accomplishes everything. The river does not force its way through stone. It carves a path over time. The hawk is the same. It perches until the perfect moment.”
The same bird of prey Zorion saw every day soared high above them, his wings spread wide, gliding on the wind.
Like always, his eyes followed its path, captivated by the raptor’s silent grace.
Omega also observed the effortless motion. “It’s a steppe eagle, native to this land.”