Oryen awoke in the early morning to a strong hand shaking him by the shoulder. With an embarrassing sound somewhere between grunt and squeal, he sat bolt upright and overbalanced in the hammock, which spun and deposited him unceremoniously on the floor.

"Woah, woah, woah!" Reyz held out his hands as if to calm a wild horse. "Didn't mean to surprise you."

Oryen said, "Reyz?"

"SHH!" hissed one of the sleeping squad.

Oryen winced. "What are you doing here?" he whispered.

"Faylan practice. I thought I should teach you. Even the playing field for tryouts, you know?"

Bleary as he was, the suggestion woke him up. With all he had to risk in order to keep Beau placated, he didn't want to bring any further threat to his chances of proving himself to Lazro and the other Alphas. If Reyz could help him catch up on all the werewolf-y skills he'd missed out on, he wouldn't say no.

Shoving aside exhaustion, he followed Reyz out of the barracks. The pale morning was overcast and muggy with a pressure in the atmosphere that threatened storms. They went to the amphitheatre, set up already for a game. At either end, tall, hexagonal hoops elevated on poles had been placed at intervals—one fifteen feet high, another twenty, the last thirty.

"I wanted to get you here early to explain it all," Reyz said. "Well, that and Kaly wasn't in such a great mood last night, so I thought I'd get out of her hair."

The back of Oryen's neck heated up with the remembrance of just what might have disturbed Kaly's equilibrium. "Sorry to hear it, mate."

Reyz waved it off. "Everyone needs their space. Anyway, it's not the only reason. The Storm Crows already have their team together. They'll be coming here later to practice. Kaly, of course, won't tell me anything, but rumours are going around she's got some kind of secret weapon. I want to know who it is."

Reyz went over to a pile of equipment. There was, Oryen reflected, a distinct lack of padding for those who would be riding the wolves. Several sticks with netting at the end—like lacrosse sticks—leaned against the wall in rows. A few balls about the size of baseballs were piled in a wooden crate. Reyz retrieved one and tossed it in the air.

"Right, so the rules are pretty simple," he said, catching the ball on the way down. "First rule: wolves can't attack players in human form, but are free to mess with each other. Second rule: no going for the eyes or the unmentionables. Third rule: foul play in either of those categories gives the opposing team a penalty."

Oryen nodded, following along. Reyz tossed him the ball and picked up a stick.

"Aim of the game is pretty self-explanatory—get that ball through the goals for points. We call 'em hexes, 'cause of the shape. The higher the hex, the higher the score. Shortest on the left is three points, medium on the right is five, highest in the middle is ten. Got it?"

Oryen assessed the goals at the end of the pitch. The lowest was of a height with a man on the back of a wolf, but the highest was much taller. The hexes weren't large, either. He'd have to throw with precision to get the ball through.

"Next thing," Reyz said. "That's probably the first and last time you'll be holding the ball in hand, because you're not allowed to touch it. Ball always has to be carried in the net." Reyz threw a ball skyward and, with a sweep of his stick, caught it in the netted end to demonstrate. "You use sticks to get the ball to goal, but they can also be used to knock the ball out of your possession, or beat you senseless, though it's not suggested to go too hairy on that front. The sticks will break before a werewolf does."

"Good to know," Oryen said warily. "So it's like lacrosse, basketball and polo had a werewolf baby. A violent, werewolf baby."

Reyz laughed and spun the stick. G-force kept the ball in the net, but Oryen imagined it would be quite a feat to keep that up on the back of a werewolf running pell-mell through a field of werewolves.

"You got it." Reyz tossed the stick, ball and all, over to Oryen. He caught it one-handed but, for the sake of his pride, did not attempt the spinny trick.

"Right, let's get to it." Reyz pulled his shirt off.

Oryen froze. "Is it played naked too?" Then he remembered someone would have to be a wolf, and that someone couldn't be him yet.

"For us wolves, yeah," Reyz responded. "I won't be able to give you specific instructions, but let's see how well we work together, eh? I'll run circuits and you just try to get the ball through the three pointer first."

Then he dropped his pants, rolled his head from side to side, and transformed. Oryen didn't know if he'd ever get used to seeing it. Not in this context, where the werewolf wasn't exploding out of the man in a blind rage, intent on rending him limb from limb. Reyz's transformation was a smooth and natural ripple instead of a wave. He rolled forward onto all fours and shifted like a plume of smoke into a giant, rust red wolf.

"Cool," Oryen said to disguise his unease. "So, I just—?" He pointed at Reyz's back. Reyz inclined his head and leaned lower. He stood a foot taller than Neev, much like he did in human form. Oryen wondered if he'd be larger than both of them. He wished the thought hadn't occurred to him, but as he hauled himself onto Reyz's back, and Reyz stood to his full height, Oryen could not deny the thrill in his heart. To be larger than life and impossible to miss. Shame quashed the feeling to a degree. He was becoming a monster whose temper could result in untold destruction. The power that came with it was not a cool party trick.

He remembered Benny's throat opened from ear to ear and swallowed the lump in his throat as he threaded his hands through the coarse fur of Reyz's hackles. He was doing this to help his brother. To survive.

But as Reyz shook his head and broke into a loping gait, it was difficult to recall those things. Because riding was fun. Exhilarating. Reyz worked up to an easy run, but even that was fast. The wind whipped through Oryen's clothes, cooling the cloying heat clinging to his clothes and skin.

The approaching hex stood at eye level. Oryen buried one hand in Reyz's hackles, the other tight around his stick. I can't shoot one-handed, he thought, and his heart plunged into his stomach. I have to let go.

His knees tightened instinctually around Reyz's back, holding on with what he could. The second he removed his hand from Reyz's fur and transferred it to the stick, the moment he rode without hands, he knew. This was so much harder than they'd made it out to be. The goal came up fast, Reyz swerving past it as Oryen took his first shot. It sent the ball singing through the air like a bullet, but its power wasn't matched by accuracy. It zipped past the hex and ricocheted off the opposing wall. Oryen overbalanced, struggling to keep his seat with Reyz turning and his own momentum carrying him overboard.

He saw a glimpse of grey sky. The ground punched the breath from his lungs when he landed, hard, on his back. Pain rattled his teeth. He pulled himself up though, quick as he could, aching as he was. He had to master this. Lazro was depending on his integration in the pack.

Reyz circled back, snorting and shaking his head, which Oryen took to mean, 'Try again.' Oryen mounted up, and Reyz loped over to the crate of balls, upending it, sending them bouncing around the arena. Oryen flailed with his stick one-handed, missing three before he finally managed to snap one up.

Reyz repeated this circuit. Again and again, Oryen missed. Frustration wound tight as a garrote around his throat. He was balancing seven different skillsets, none of which he had any practice in, and they weren't even running at full speed. He tried sensing through Reyz's gait when to shift his balance, tried to get a better feel for his reach with the stick and his aim when he made a shot, but he fell more often than not. He was, at least, getting better at that part, rolling to his feet and mounting up with more efficiency than his earlier attempts.

Reyz, to his credit, seemed unbothered, giving no indication that this performance was as disappointing for him as it was for Oryen.

The sky rumbled with thunder as they made their umpteenth lap of the arena. Oryen sunk low over Reyz's neck as they approached the hexes. He held the stick to his chest, his heartbeat pounding in time with Reyz's paws against the earth. He forgot, for a second, his frustration at missing and just felt the rhythm of running and breathing, staring between Reyz's pointed ears at the goal. He only sat up to take aim at the last second, shifting his weight to the left so he wasn't thrown off balance when Reyz swerved right past the pole. He let the ball fly.

It whistled through.

Joy kicked through the frustration. Oryen whooped, punching his stick in the air. Reyz let out a jubilant howl and gave a sudden leap of celebration that nearly threw Oryen straight off balance again. He grasped for Reyz's fur, stick caught in the crook of an elbow, his heart racing and too big for his chest. Reyz lowered himself to the ground so Oryen could slide off. His legs wobbled under him after hours of clinging for dear life, and his arms felt equally gelatinous, but triumph trilled like a victory bell in his heart.

"That was— I get what the hype is about," Oryen said. "I mean, I'm terrible, but— When can we do this again?"

As Oryen peppered him with questions, Reyz transformed back into human form and started tugging his pants back on where he'd discarded them in a pile with the equipment. "Every morning before dawn," he said with a grin. "You definitely need work, but it's not easy unless you've grown up playing. At the end there? That's the energy you need. You gotta synchronize with your partner. It's a bond, you know?"

"Uh. Yeah." Oryen had so few friends or allies in Mardero. Aryeta and Reyz were the only two, aside from Lazro, who'd ever been friendly with him, and Aryeta hated faylan. "Not gonna assume I'll make the team but, hypothetically, if I did...who do ya think you'd partner me with?"

Reyz wiggled his eyebrows. "We'll see, but I've got an idea already. Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

Though less reassurance than he'd have liked, Oryen would have to take it. He helped Reyz pick up the loose balls strewn across the pitch and return them to the crate. When they'd nearly finished, a percussion of footsteps echoed through the arches of the arena, drawing their attention.

Reyz said, "Ah, the Storm Crows are here to practice. Just in time." He rubbed his hands together and strode toward the archway where figures were appearing. "Let's see about this secret weapon of theirs."

Oryen followed, but with a lump in his throat, because as the opposing team walked out onto the pitch he spotted Kalysto at the head of them.

"Hey, Kaly!" Reyz called. "Here to shape up I hope. We need some competition."

Kalysto raised her chin. "We're the reigning champions, aren't we?"

Reyz said, "But you weren't captaining the team last year. Think you can fill my mum's boots that easy?"

Kalysto spoke in cold, chilling syllables. Each one made Oryen break out in gooseflesh. "Your mother," she said, "is dead, while I survived. I'm not worried."

Reyz paled. His body twitched, anger tamped down just barely. Oryen recalled Lazro telling him they'd lost an Alpha during the Kahleir ambush, and that Aro and Reyz had inherited. He remembered the photo, found in Kaly's bedroom, of the tall woman with her arm around two brothers—one handsome, the other scarred. Their mother had only died recently, and Aro too.

It was a callous jibe, poking Reyz in grief that hadn't the time to heal. Even with time, Oryen couldn't imagine saying something so heartless.

What's more, if the team had once been captained by Reyz's mother, how come Reyz hadn't inherited her team, along with her Alphaship?

Kaly strode past them. Reyz shook himself, muscles rippling like an animal getting rid of a fly. "She didn't mean it like that," he said in an aside to Oryen. Oryen felt a pang of sympathy. She definitely had.

Reyz put on a smile despite the low blow, searching the faces of those milling into the arena.

"Ey, Kaly, what's this about a secret weapon, though?" he said. "Your team looks mostly the same."

"If it's not broken, don't fix it," she said. "But we do have a new recruit. One you might find surprising."

"Surprise," said a deadpan voice behind them.

Reyz turned. At the same time, Oryen said, "No."

Standing behind them, a faylan stick slung over his shoulder, Beau watched their shocked expressions with bemusement.

"Beau!?" Reyz's brow crumpled with genuine concern.. "You're joking, Kal. He's human."

"My thoughts exactly," Oryen muttered.

Beau's eyes shone as though his twisted little heart delighted in their incredulity.

Kaly shouted over her shoulder, "I told you. Surprising."

"Surprisingly stupid," Reyz said. "No offense, but you could die."

"I know," said Beau.

Reyz looked at Oryen for confirmation he was hearing this right, then shook his head. "I've got to get going. Meetings with Alphas and lots more boring crap to get up to. Might ask them about the questionable morality of letting a human play." He inclined his head to Oryen. "Good practice. See you tomorrow?"

He trotted off, leaving Oryen awkwardly standing in front of Beau with the same aghast expression he'd worn for the entire exchange. An expression which switched quickly to suspicious. "What are you really doing on the team?"

"Playing the game."

"You're never just playing games. You don't do fun."

"I dance. I play faylan. I take the piss out of you. They're all fun."

Oryen lowered his voice. "You want me to throw the games, don't you?" His pulse ratcheted up. "You're going to blackmail me into sabotaging the Fire Hawks on purpose."

Beau's expression cracked just a little. Oryen had never seen the man smile. The beginnings of one showed on his face now, but not on his mouth or even in his eyes. It was in the hint of dimples in his cheeks. Once upon a time, Oryen thought dimples were cute. How could someone evil have dimples?

A mirthless breath of laughter. "Oryen," Beau said. "I don't need to blackmail you to beat you."