28: Emma

The late morning sun warmed my skin as I stepped outside, the air fresher here than in the hotel's perfumed interior. Several werewolves and Lycans were already using the facilities, maintaining a careful distance from each other as if by unspoken agreement. Old habits died hard, even at a summit dedicated to unity.

I began with a slow jog around the perimeter, allowing my muscles to warm up gradually. The familiar rhythm of my feet hitting packed earth centered me, drawing my thoughts away from mate bonds and political complications to the present moment. I increased my pace, pushing harder with each lap until my breathing deepened and sweat began to dampen my skin.

By my third circuit, I noticed Elijah already waiting near the centre of the grounds, standing on one of the large training mats used for sparring. Elena sat beneath a nearby tree, her honey-blonde hair catching sunlight as she waved at me. To my surprise, she was eating from a small container of what appeared to be popcorn, her expression one of delighted anticipation.

"Took you long enough," Elijah called as I approached, his grin belying the complaint. He wore simple training clothes similar to mine, though his gray t-shirt bore our pack's emblem across the chest.

"Had to get properly warmed up," I replied, stepping onto the mat. "I hope you're ready to lose, big brother."

"Today's the day, baby sis," he said, his confidence unwavering despite years of evidence to the contrary.

Elena laughed from her shady spot. "He spent twenty minutes practicing moves in our room before coming down," she called. "He's very determined this time."

"Traitor," Elijah said without heat, shooting his mate a look of mock betrayal. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"In most things, yes," Elena replied serenely, popping another piece of popcorn into her mouth. "But right now, I'm looking forward to seeing Emma put you on your backside and enjoying my popcorn whilst she does it."

"Don't worry, Eli," I said, settling into a loose, ready stance. "I'll go gentle on you."

He snorted, taking up his position opposite me. "Let's see what you've got."

We began circling each other, feet shifting carefully on the mat's surface. Elijah had improved since our last session – his stance was more balanced, his movements more fluid. When he struck first, a testing jab toward my shoulder, I blocked it easily but noted the controlled power behind it.

"Better," I approved, countering with a sweep he narrowly avoided. "You're keeping your weight lower."

"Had a good teacher," he grunted, launching a combination that nearly caught me off guard.

We fell into the familiar rhythm of practice combat, trading blows that were meant to test rather than harm. I noticed the flaws in his technique – a slight telegraph before his left hook, a tendency to overcommit on roundhouse kicks – and paused occasionally to correct him.

"Tighten your core when you pivot," I instructed, demonstrating the proper form. "You're leaving yourself open on the right side."

He adjusted, immediately showing improvement. "Like this?"

"Better," I nodded. "Now try that combination again."

As we continued, I became aware of a growing audience. Werewolves from various packs had begun gathering around the mat, watching our session with undisguised interest. Some sat cross-legged on the ground; others stood with arms folded, evaluating our techniques. I recognized the Alpha from Northern Crescent among them, his silver-streaked beard distinctive even at a distance.

"You've got admirers," Elijah murmured as we reset after an exchange.

"They're watching you too," I countered, though I knew it wasn't true. Female gammas who could hold their own against Alphas were uncommon enough to draw attention.

I was about to demonstrate a counter to Elijah's favoured grappling technique when a distinctive scent reached me – cedar and stone, honey and lightning. Something electric traveled down my spine, and Artemis surged forward in my consciousness, suddenly alert and eager. I didn't need to turn to know who approached.

Theo. And with him, the distinctive scent that marked his brother, Chris.

From the corner of my eye, I saw them walking toward our growing audience, tall and imposing in their casual attire. As they approached, every werewolf lowered their head in deference – a gesture so ingrained that even at this supposedly equal summit, it happened automatically.

Every werewolf except Elijah and me, that is. We continued our lesson, though I felt Theo's gaze on me like physical contact.

Elena's voice broke through my momentary distraction. "Em, stop going easy on your brother," she called, laughter bubbling in her voice. "We all want to see him end up on his backside!"

I laughed, grateful for the interruption to my wayward thoughts. "Fine, big bro," I said, refocusing on Elijah. "Let's do this properly."

His eyes narrowed, recognizing the shift in my demeanor. "Bring it, little sister."

We reset, and this time I didn't hold back. I moved at full speed, feinting left before executing a swift combination of strikes that forced him to retreat. He countered well, using his superior height to attempt a grappling hold, but I slipped beneath his arms, using his momentum against him. Three rapid movements later, his legs were swept from under him, and he hit the mat with a satisfying thud, my forearm across his throat in a restraining hold that would have immobilized a genuine opponent.

"Yield," he gasped, tapping my arm twice.

I released him immediately, extending a hand to help him up. "Good effort," I said, meaning it. "You're getting better."

"Not good enough yet," he replied ruefully, accepting my assistance.