Chapter 62 The Last Training Session (Declan POV)

Chapter 62 The Last Training Session (Declan POV)

Elena Wright hit the dirt for the third time in ten minutes, and this time she didn't get up immediately.
"You're dropping your left shoulder," Vivienne said, extending a hand. "Telegraphs the strike. Any hunter with basic combat training will see it coming."
Elena took the offered hand, let Vivienne pull her up. "Easy to say. Harder to remember when someone's actually swinging at me."
"That's why we practice until it's automatic." Vivienne reset her stance. "Again."
They'd been sparring for twenty minutes, Vivienne teaching combat sequences she'd pulled from ancestral memory, Elena trying to absorb three thousand years of tactical knowledge in one afternoon. Around them, Greyfang Hollow churned with activity. Forty-seven wolves from four different packs training together, hierarchies clashing, territorial instincts overridden by necessity.
Five days until the Silver Moon. Five days until The Culling began and Edmund's trap closed around us.
"Switch partners!" I called out. "Irish Border with Welsh Mountain. Greyfang with Gabriel's survivors. Mix it up!"
Groans rippled through the clearing but people complied. That was progress, two weeks ago, suggesting Irish wolves train with Welsh would have triggered fights. Now they just complained while obeying.
Maeve paired with Rowan's second, a grizzled older wolf named Gareth. Kieran ended up with Thomas. Owen, predictably, had positioned himself near Rachel to avoid actual combat practice.
"I'm documenting techniques!" he protested when I shot him a look. "Very important tactical observation."
"Document from over there," I said, pointing to where Liam was drilling formations. "With participants."
"Cruel. You're cruel to me."
"I'm your Alpha. Cruelty is in the job description."
Rachel grabbed Owen's arm, hauled him toward the practice area. "Come on. You're learning to fight whether you like it or not."
Gabriel moved through the chaos with the precision of someone who'd been training fighters for years. He stopped beside a cluster of younger wolves struggling with coordination.
"Your formation's breaking every time someone shifts," he observed. "That's going to get you killed. When one person transforms, the two nearest compensate immediately. Not after they finish shifting… during the transformation. Watch."
He demonstrated with his own pack… three wolves shifting in sequence while the others maintained defensive integrity throughout. Smooth, practiced, deadly.
"That's months of training," protested Finn, the Irish Border wolf who'd challenged Vivienne last week. "We have five days."
"Then you practice until those five days feel like months," Gabriel said flatly. "Edmund's hunters have been drilling together for over a year. They know each other's movements, anticipate reactions, coordinate without speaking. You need to reach that level or you'll be slaughtered individually while trying to fight as separate packs."
"Inspiring," Owen muttered.
"Honest," Gabriel corrected. "Now run the formation again. This time, maintain cohesion when shifting."
I left him to it, moving toward where Vivienne was teaching combat sequences to a mixed group. Elena, Siobhan, two Welsh wolves, and Connor from my pack… all watching Vivienne demonstrate a technique that involved dropping low, using momentum against a larger opponent, and ending with tactical advantage.
"The trick is speed over strength," she explained. "You can't match a hunter's size or equipment. But you're faster. Use that."
"What if they're shooting at us?" Connor asked.
"Then you serpentine, stay unpredictable, close distance before they can reload." Vivienne pulled up her phone, showed a video Gabriel had compiled of hunter combat patterns. "Look, they're trained to shoot center mass at predictable targets. You move erratically, stay low, they miss more often than they hit."
"More often isn't good enough if they're using silver rounds," Elena pointed out.
"Which is why we also practice not getting shot in the first place." Vivienne pocketed her phone. "Pair up. One person attacks, the other practices evasion. Switch after three minutes."
As training continued, I watched the mixed pack function with increasing coordination. Still messy… Kieran nearly took Maeve's head off during a badly timed shift, Owen tripped over his own feet twice, and someone from the Welsh contingent accidentally bit their partner during grappling practice.
But they were learning.
"They're not ready," Callum said, appearing at my elbow with his tablet. "Five days isn't enough time to build the kind of unit cohesion we need."
"They're more ready than they were yesterday. That's all we can ask for." I watched Vivienne correct Elena's stance again. "How's the tactical coordination looking?"
"Better. I've mapped mixed-pack formations that account for different fighting styles. Irish Border favors aggressive assault, Welsh Mountain prefers defensive positioning, Gabriel's survivors specialize in guerrilla tactics, and we're balanced between all three."
"Can we integrate those approaches?"
"We have to. Edmund's expecting pack-specific tactics… each group fighting independently. If we coordinate between styles, we create variables he hasn't planned for."
Gabriel finished with the formation drill, moved to the center of the clearing. "Alright, everyone gather. Time to discuss hunter tactics."
Forty-seven wolves assembled, sweating and breathing hard from exertion. Gabriel pulled out photographs… Edmund's hunter network, equipment specs, tactical deployment patterns.
"These are the people trying to kill you," he said without preamble. "Twenty-three confirmed operatives. Former military, private security, professional mercenaries. They're equipped with UV lights, silver ammunition, gas dispersal systems. They've trained together for over a year and they know werewolf physiology better than most of you know your own bodies."
"You're really good at pep talks," Owen observed.
"I'm good at keeping people alive through information rather than false confidence." Gabriel pointed to equipment specs. "UV lights prevent regeneration. You get burned, you don't heal until the exposure stops. Silver rounds poison your system… one bullet might not kill you, but three or four will shut down your organs. The gas is aerosolized silver particles that attack your respiratory system."
"So we're completely outmatched," someone said.
"Conventionally, yes. But you have advantages they don't expect." Gabriel gestured to Vivienne. "Silvermane abilities Edmund doesn't know about. Mixed-pack coordination that shouldn't be possible. And most importantly… you know it's a trap. They're expecting to ambush panicked, disorganized wolves. You'll be prepared, coordinated, and ready to counter."
"That assumes we don't panic when the shooting starts," Gareth said.
"You'll panic. Everyone panics. The trick is panicking while still executing your training." Gabriel pulled up facility schematics. "When Edmund's hunters seal the exits, you'll have maybe thirty seconds before UV lights activate. During those thirty seconds, you need to achieve three objectives: disable the door seals, locate the gas dispersal vents, and coordinate defensive positions."
"In thirty seconds?" Elena sounded skeptical.
"Yes. Which is why we're practicing until you can do it in twenty."
For the next two hours, we drilled emergency response protocols. Gabriel shouted random scenarios… "North exit sealed!" "UV lights activated!" "Gas deployment imminent!" …and packs scrambled to execute appropriate responses.
The first dozen attempts were chaos. People ran into each other, forgot their assignments, shifted at wrong moments.
By attempt twenty, we were functioning passably.
By attempt thirty, it started looking coordinated.
"Better," Gabriel finally said. "Not good, but better. Take a water break. Fifteen minutes."
Everyone scattered to rest areas. I found Vivienne sitting against a tree, drinking water and reviewing notes on her phone.
"How are you holding up?" I asked.
"Exhausted. Overwhelmed. Terrified I'm going to accidentally compel someone during actual combat." She set her phone aside. "The usual."
"Your teaching was good. Elena actually listened without arguing."
"Elena's practical. She might not like me, but she recognizes useful information." Vivienne watched the Irish Border wolf talking with Siobhan. "Think we can actually pull this off? All these packs working together?"
"A week ago, I would have said no. Now?" I watched Kieran sharing combat tips with Thomas, pack boundaries dissolving under shared purpose. "Maybe. If we survive long enough to put theory into practice."
"Optimistic."
"Realistic. We're building something that shouldn't exist—multiple territorial packs functioning as unified force. That takes time we don't have and trust we haven't earned. But necessity drives innovation." I pulled her to her feet. "Come on. I need you for the next drill."
"What drill?"
"Football plays as combat maneuvers."
She blinked. "What?"
"You'll see."
I gathered the mixed pack again, this time organizing them into the formation we used on the pitch. "Right, most of you have seen supernatural football. Fast-paced, violent, requires coordination and split-second timing. We're adapting those plays for combat."
"You want us to play football while hunters shoot at us?" Owen looked delighted by the absurdity.
"I want you to use football coordination during combat. Watch." I positioned Greyfang Pack in our standard offensive formation. "This is the play we run to break through defensive lines. Liam and Connor flank, Owen and Kieran run interference, I carry the objective forward. It works on the pitch because defenders can't track everyone simultaneously."
"And in combat?" Rowan asked.
"Same principle. We use this formation to punch through hunter positions. They're expecting direct assault or retreat. We give them something that looks like sports coordination until we're past their defensive perimeter."
I demonstrated the play several times, then incorporated other packs. Irish Border's aggressive style worked for overwhelming specific positions. Welsh Mountain's defensive formation protected retreat routes. Gabriel's survivors added unpredictable guerrilla elements.
"This is insane," Maeve said. "We're literally choreographing combat like it's a game."
"Combat is a game," Gabriel countered. "Just with permanent consequences for losing. If these plays create confusion in hunter ranks while keeping our wolves coordinated, they're tactically sound."
We practiced for another hour. The plays were rough—timing was off, people forgot assignments, someone definitely crashed into someone else during a complex maneuver—but the concept worked.
More importantly, packs were functioning as integrated unit rather than separate groups.
"Alright," I finally called. "That's enough for today. Everyone's exhausted and we need energy for tomorrow. Gabriel?"
"Final briefing," Gabriel said, pulling up his tablet. "Five days until The Culling. Here's what we've accomplished: mixed-pack formations that account for different fighting styles, emergency response protocols for Edmund's trap, combat sequences adapted from Silvermane ancestral knowledge, and football plays that double as tactical maneuvers."
"Sounds impressive when you list it like that," Owen said.
"It sounds desperate," Gabriel corrected. "Because it is desperate. We're forty-seven wolves preparing to fight twenty-three professional hunters in a facility designed to kill us. Our advantages are minimal. Our survival odds are not great. But we're more prepared than Edmund expects, more coordinated than should be possible, and more determined than he's accounting for."
"Still a pep talk," Owen muttered.
"Still honest." Gabriel closed his tablet. "Tomorrow we run full combat simulations. Day after, we refine emergency protocols. Day after that, we coordinate with journalists and evidence documentation. Then we have two days before the tournament begins. Use them wisely."
People dispersed slowly, pack boundaries reasserting themselves now that training was over. Irish Border clustered together, Welsh Mountain headed back to their lodging, Gabriel's survivors melted into the woods.
My pack lingered, exhaustion evident in every line of their bodies.
"We're actually doing this," Liam said. "Fighting hunters. Building an army. Possibly dying in five days."
"Definitely possibly dying," Owen agreed. "But at least we're doing it with style. Did you see that play where I pretended to go left then went right? Beautiful."
"You tripped over your own feet."
"Strategically. I tripped strategically."
Despite everything, people laughed.
Vivienne moved to stand beside me, watching our pack banter through exhaustion. "Owen's right about one thing."
"That's concerning. Which thing?"
"We're building something new. Not a pack—we already have packs. This is something else." She gestured to where Irish wolves were still visible talking with Welsh members. "An alliance, maybe. Or..."
"An army," I finished. "Owen said it earlier. That's what this feels like."
"Is that what we are now? Soldiers instead of wolves?"
"We're whatever we need to be to survive." I pulled her close. "For now, that means soldiers. After Edmund's stopped, maybe we go back to being normal packs. Or maybe we've changed too much and this alliance becomes permanent."
"Permanent mixed-pack cooperation. The Alphas would hate that."
"The Alphas can hate it from the safety of their territories once we're all still alive to complain." I headed toward the safe house. "Come on. You've been training people for six hours. You need food and rest."
"I need to review tomorrow's combat simulations with Gabriel."
"You need sleep. Gabriel can brief you tomorrow." I was using Alpha voice without quite meaning to—exhaustion making me default to command. "Vivienne. Sleep. That's not a request."
She wanted to argue. I felt it through the mate bond. But her body was running on fumes and we both knew it.
"Fine. Sleep. But tomorrow I'm drilling forced transformation protocols until they're automatic."
"Tomorrow you're doing whatever Gabriel schedules because he's better at training planning than either of us."
We reached the safe house to find Callum still organizing tactical data, Freya brewing something that smelled medicinal, and Sophie editing footage of today's training session.
"Please tell me you're not planning to stream that," I said.
"Not this footage. This is for documentation." Sophie didn't look up from her laptop. "I'm compiling a record of everything… training sessions, combat techniques, coordination protocols. If something happens to the physical evidence, at least we'll have video backup."
"If something happens to you, the video backup is useless."
"That's why I'm uploading to encrypted cloud storage in real time. Even if every physical device is destroyed, the footage exists on servers across three countries." She finally looked up, grinning. "I'm very good at my job."
"Your job is journalism, not military intelligence."
"Currently they're the same thing." She closed her laptop. "How'd training go?"
"Messy but functional," Vivienne answered. "People are learning to work together. Still not ready, but closer than yesterday."
"That's my optimistic roommate. 'Not ready but closer than yesterday.'" Sophie stood, stretching. "I'm editing evidence documentation for another hour, then sleep. Freya, is that medical or poison you're brewing?"
"Depends on the dosage," Freya said cheerfully. "Medical if used correctly, poison if you're a hunter. I'm making batches of both."
"Of course you are."
I left them to their preparations, found my room, and collapsed onto the bed without bothering to undress fully. Every muscle ached. My wolf was exhausted from repeated shifts during training. Even my Alpha authority felt drained from coordinating forty-seven territorial personalities.
Vivienne appeared in the doorway. "Can I...?"
"Yes." I shifted to make room.
She curled against me, her presence through the mate bond a steady comfort. We lay in silence for a long moment.
"Five days," she finally whispered.
"Five days," I confirmed.
"Do you think we'll survive?"
The honest answer was uncertain. The comforting answer was yes. I settled for something in between.
"I think we have better odds than Edmund expects. I think the coordination we're building gives us advantages he hasn't planned for. I think your abilities might turn the tide when it matters most." I pulled her closer. "Will all forty-seven of us survive? Probably not. Will enough survive to call it victory? Maybe."
"Maybe," she echoed. "That's all we've got. Maybes and desperate preparation."
"Maybes are better than certainties of defeat."
She was quiet for another long moment. Then: "Declan? If something happens to me during the attack—"
"Nothing's happening to you."
"But if it does. If Edmund's hunters get past everyone and I end up captured or dead—"
"Then I burn the world finding you or avenging you." My voice came out harder than intended. "But it's not happening. We've built defenses around you specifically. Gabriel's positioned scouts. I've assigned pack members to shadow you. You've got Silvermane abilities that can compel submission from anyone who gets close. You're possibly the most protected person in this entire operation."
"Or I'm the primary target and all those defenses just paint a bigger target on my back."
"Both can be true." I made her look at me. "Vivienne, I can't promise you'll survive. I can't promise any of us will. But I can promise that if Edmund's hunters want to reach you, they'll have to go through forty-six wolves who are prepared to die protecting the Silvermane heir."
"That's not comforting."
"It's not meant to be comforting. It's meant to be true."
She kissed me… desperate, clinging, tasting like fear and determination. Through the bond, I felt her terror mixing with resolve. She was petrified about the coming battle but committed to facing it anyway.
That kind of courage deserved more than maybes and desperate preparation.
But maybes and desperate preparation were all we had.

(Vivienne POV)
The combat simulation started at dawn with Gabriel shouting "North exit sealed!" and forty-seven wolves scrambling to execute emergency protocols we'd drilled thirty times yesterday.
I was halfway through forced transformation sequence… locking three "infected hunters" (actually volunteers from Rowan's pack) mid-shift—when Elena crashed into me from the left.
"Watch it!" she snapped, regaining her footing.
"You ran into me!"
"You were blocking the retreat path!"
"Because I was dealing with infected hunters like we planned!"
Gabriel's whistle cut through our argument. "Both of you, stop. Elena, Vivienne's position is marked on the tactical map. If you run into her, you're not following the formation. Vivienne, you need peripheral awareness even when focused on forced transformations. Again from the top."
We reset. Gabriel shouted another scenario. This time Elena avoided me, I maintained awareness while locking two infected hunters, and the simulation ran smoother.
Progress.
By the fourth iteration, our timing improved noticeably. Irish Border wolves coordinated with Welsh Mountain without territorial clashes. Greyfang Pack integrated Gabriel's survivors into their formations seamlessly. And I managed forced transformations while maintaining tactical awareness.
"Better," Gabriel called. "Take five. Hydrate. Then we're running worst-case scenarios."
"Worse than hunters sealing exits and deploying silver gas?" Owen asked.
"Much worse. I'll be simulating casualties, equipment failures, and command structure collapse." Gabriel's expression was grim. "You need to function when everything goes wrong simultaneously."
"Joy," Elena muttered, dropping beside me in the grass. "Nothing says 'fun training day' like simulated deaths of people we know."
"Gabriel's pragmatic," I said, drinking water. "If we can't handle simulated casualties, we definitely can't handle real ones."
"I know. Doesn't mean I like it." She watched Gabriel organizing the next drill. "He's good at this. Training, I mean. Your brother knows what he's doing."
"He's had years of practice keeping people alive against Edmund."
"Must be strange. Having family suddenly appear after believing they were dead." Elena's tone was carefully neutral.
"Strange doesn't begin to cover it. More like surreal and overwhelming with occasional moments of 'oh right, I have a brother who's been alive this whole time while I thought I was alone.'"
"But good strange? Or complicated strange?"
I considered. "Both. Gabriel's been teaching me abilities I didn't know I had, helping me access ancestral knowledge, training me to control power that terrifies me. That's good. But also he's sometimes cold, sometimes distant, and I get the feeling he's been watching me for years without revealing himself. That's complicated."
"Families are complicated," Elena said. "Mine certainly is. Half of them didn't speak to the other half for a decade over pack politics." She stood, offering a hand. "Come on. Gabriel's giving us the 'disappointed older brother' look. We should probably pay attention."
The next simulation was brutal.
Gabriel randomly designated people as "casualties" …making them lie still and not participate while the rest of us adapted to losing packmates mid-coordination. Then he simulated equipment failures, forcing us to work without assumed resources. Then he removed "command structure" by pulling Alphas from the field.
We failed spectacularly.
Without Declan's coordination, Greyfang Pack scattered. Without Siobhan's tactical mind, Irish Border lost cohesion. Without Rowan's experience, Welsh Mountain panicked.
"That's what happens when you rely too heavily on leadership," Gabriel said. "Edmund will target Alphas first. If losing them breaks your pack completely, you've already lost. Again."
We practiced for three more hours. By the end, packs could maintain functionality even without their Alphas. Not as effectively, but adequately enough to keep fighting.
"Good," Gabriel finally said. "You're learning to fight as unit rather than depending on individual leaders. That's critical."
"That's also exhausting," Maeve said, breathing hard. "How many more drills today?"
"Two. Then we break for tactical briefing." He checked his watch. "Vivienne, you're running the next one."
"What? Why me?"
"Because you need practice leading mixed-pack coordination. And because they need to get comfortable taking commands from a Silvermane who accidentally compelled everyone last week." He gestured to the assembled wolves. "Show them you can direct without dominating."
Panic fluttered in my chest. "Gabriel, I don't know if—"
"You know the combat sequences. You know the emergency protocols. You know what we're trying to accomplish." His expression softened slightly. "You can do this. Just remember—you're guiding, not compelling. Suggestions, not commands."
I stood in the center of forty-seven wolves, all watching with varying degrees of skepticism, curiosity, or open hostility.
"Right," I said, voice not shaking too badly. "We're running the coordinated assault drill. The one where we use football formation to punch through hunter defensive positions."
"That's Declan's drill," someone said.
"Yes. And I'm adapting it to incorporate forced transformation elements." I pulled up the tactical map on my tablet. "Here's the concept: offensive formation approaches hunter position. When they open fire, we shift and serpentine to avoid getting shot. As we close distance, I lock any infected hunters mid-transformation. The rest of you maintain formation and overwhelm their defensive line."
"What if you can't lock all the infected hunters?" Connor asked.
"Then you prioritize the ones most dangerous and handle the rest through standard combat." I highlighted positions on the map. "Irish Border takes point because you're most aggressive. Welsh Mountain flanks for defensive support. Greyfang and Gabriel's survivors create unpredictable movement patterns to confuse targeting."
We ran the drill.
It was messy… people forgot their positions, someone shifted at the wrong time, Elena nearly bit Connor during a badly coordinated maneuver… but the core concept worked.
"Again," I called. "Faster this time. Hunters won't wait for you to remember your assignments."
Second iteration improved. Third was actually functional. By the fifth, it started resembling coordinated assault.
"Good," I said, surprised at how natural directing felt. "That's the kind of timing we need. Elena, you're still telegraphing your strikes. Finn, watch your left flank… you're leaving yourself exposed. Connor, excellent serpentine pattern. Everyone else, maintain that energy."
After the sixth run, Gabriel took over again. "Vivienne's assessment was accurate. You're telegraphing, Finn's exposed, Connor's movement is good. She just taught you an assault formation in forty minutes using observation and tactical analysis. Anyone still question whether she belongs in command positions?"
Silence.
"Didn't think so. Break for lunch. One hour. Then tactical briefing followed by evidence coordination."
People dispersed. Elena approached, her expression complicated.
"That was decent teaching," she said. "I still don't fully trust you because you're Edmund's daughter and that makes you suspect. But I respect your tactical knowledge."
"That's... surprisingly honest."
"I don't see the point in pretending. You want to know where you stand with me? You're competent but unproven in actual combat. Your abilities are terrifying but potentially useful. And I'll fight beside you because we need every advantage against Edmund's hunters." She met my eyes. "But if you betray us, I'll kill you myself. That's not a threat. It's a promise and a courtesy."
"Noted. Thanks for the honesty."
"Welcome." She headed toward the food area where Freya had set up supplies.
I found a quiet corner, processing the morning's drills. Forty-seven wolves were learning to function as army. I was learning to lead them without accidentally compelling submission. Five days remained before everything exploded.
The weight felt crushing.
Sophie found me, camera equipment slung over her shoulder. "Hey. Took good footage of the assault drill. You actually look like you know what you're doing."
"Fake it until you make it."
"That's all leadership is anyway. Confident incompetence until experience catches up." She sat beside me. "How are you holding up?"
"Terrified. Exhausted. Worried I'm going to fail catastrophically and get everyone killed."
"So, normal pre-battle anxiety. Got it." She pulled out her laptop, showed me edited footage from yesterday's training. "Look, this is what I see: wolves who were ready to kill each other two weeks ago now fighting in coordinated formations. Packs that shouldn't be able to cooperate executing complex maneuvers together. And you, teaching combat techniques with ancestral knowledge you didn't have a month ago. That's not failure. That's borderline miraculous."
"We're still going to lose people. Even if everything goes perfectly, some of us die."
"Probably. But fewer than if you'd all walked into Edmund's trap unprepared." Sophie closed her laptop. "Vivienne, you can't control outcomes. You can only control preparation. And you've prepared these wolves better than anyone expected. That's enough."
Was it enough? Five days to finish training an army. Five days before Edmund's hunters attacked. Five days to master abilities that still terrified me.
It had to be enough.
Because we were out of time for anything else.