Chapter 3
My training was infamous for its brutality. None of the previous ones I'd taken in ever survived this period.
This werewolf, Lucas Ashford, was the ninth. His name was always just a code, nothing more than my surname attached to it.
He gave a firm nod, his eyes full of determination.
I hadn't planned to go hard on him from the start.
But his potential was far beyond what I'd imagined.
In just a week, he completed all the basic training and even asked me to make it tougher.
It made me wonder if he'd been mislabeled as "defective."
By dusk, he'd just finished lugging a 200-pound pack through the mountains.
His calves were twitching so badly that he had to prop himself up with his hands on his knees, just to keep from collapsing.
He had covered 60 miles in six hours, and even with his muscles screaming, every shot he fired still had to be pinpoint accurate.
By his third attempt, he nailed it.
I rested one hand on the window of my SUV, idly chatting on the phone, but my gaze stayed fixed on his back.
Suddenly, he turned around, as if sensing my eyes on him.
Our eyes locked across the distance.
With the setting sun behind him, he ran down the hillside toward me.
The wind tossed his dripping hair across his forehead. As he drew closer, I could see his neck flushed deep red, and a bead of sweat trembling at his throat, ready to fall.
The call was from my father, asking me to attend a party.
He said if I just swallowed my pride, he'd let bygones be bygones about what I did to Maya.
It was funny. A guy who was so ruthless back in the day was suddenly getting all mushy about family now that he was old.
I gave a few lazy replies and hung up.
"Miss Ashford," Lucas said, trying to steady his breathing as he stood before me.
I watched his chest rise and fall and realized something. Every single evening, he would show up just like this, completely breathless.
Even today, when he was clearly at his breaking point.
I gave him a casual scolding. "What's the rush?"
"Didn't want you getting bored while you waited," he replied.
My hand actually paused as I put the key in, and I gave him a quick look before saying coolly, "Get in. I was here to pick you up anyway, so boredom wasn't really an issue."
After buckling his seatbelt, Ben turned to me, his Adam's apple bobbing as he finally blurted out what he'd been holding in all this time. "It only took me six hours today."
"Mm," I replied.
"And I didn't miss a single shot," he added.
"Mm," I said again.
He didn't need to report it to me directly.
There was already someone assigned to log all his stats.
Whether it was his physical condition or his reflexes, he was operating at an elite level.
Back then, Ben's best record was seven hours and three minutes.
But Lucas broke that in just a week.
The chat was going absolutely wild.
[No way Lucas is stronger than the main squad. Who is this guy? He's basically just like our werewolf ML, Ben. Did the author just copy and paste the whole setup? Someone needs to step in and say something.]
[Why is everyone freaking out? Did you all forget this is an NP novel? Of course there are going to be even stronger beastmen showing up. What's so shocking about that? They're all going to end up worshipping our FL Maya anyway.]
[Right? Who wouldn't love our sweet, adorable, and always complimentary Maya? Once the little werewolf sees the real face of that toxic woman, he's definitely going to run straight into Maya's arms.]
[Oh, I wish Maya were here. Lucas is so obviously fishing for a compliment. He worked so hard, finally got up the nerve to ask for some praise, and all he got was a couple of cold "mms." I just want to hug him.]
By now, I'd learned to just ignore all the ridiculous comments flooding the chat.
But that last one actually made me stop and think for once.
Was he really looking for praise?