Chapter 13 — Impossible Reflexes

Aria’s question followed Lorelai long after the Moonridge riders left Greyhaven. Why are you afraid of me when we have never met? Lorelai had answered with the only truth she could safely use.

“You entered a hostile settlement beside the man trying to invalidate my marriage. Caution is not fear.”

Aria had smiled as though she knew the difference. By dawn, Lorelai needed distance from the memory. She found it at the training field.

Greyhaven’s guards rotated through drills on a flattened stretch of ground near the western wall. Wooden posts marked the boundaries.

Weapon racks stood beneath a covered shelter, and a bell beside the gate tracked each change of watch. Lorelai arrived with the ration ledger tucked beneath one arm.

The quartermaster from the storehouse noticed first.

“This is not a kitchen.”

“I know.”

“Or an archive.”

“I can see that too.”

He looked at the ledger. “Then why bring numbers?”

“Because half the guards listed for western watch also appear on supply escort duty.” Karl looked from the ledger to the yard beyond the open door. Lorelai opened the book.

“Three names are assigned to overlapping shifts. Two guards have gone without a full rest period since the wagon disappeared.

One patrol leader is responsible for both the southern markers and the night gate.” The quartermaster took the ledger from her.

“Who gave you the watch records?”

“They were hanging in the guard station.”

“For guards.”

“For anyone capable of reading them.” A laugh came from the field. Karl stood in the center of a practice circle with three rogues around him.

No armor. No weapon. Karl had nothing. Lorelai’s wolf rose beneath her skin. The first rogue attacked. Karl moved before the sword completed its arc.

Karl ducked. The wood passed over his head by less than an inch. No wasted motion. No visible effort. The rogues recovered quickly and attacked together.

Karl avoided them without retreating from the center of the circle. He moved before each attack fully formed. The sword struck downward. A knife swept toward his ribs.

He caught it against his palm. The wooden blade stopped. Karl twisted. The fighter dropped to one knee. The final rogue charged from behind. Karl turned too early. In anticipation.

His elbow stopped a breath from the man’s throat. The field fell silent. Karl released him.

“Again,” he said.

Lorelai forgot the watch schedule. A wolfless man could train. A disciplined man could be strong. Neither explained reflexes that bordered on preternatural. Karl looked toward her.

His attention traveled over the ledger, the flour stain on one sleeve, and the way her fingers had tightened around the page. His gaze dropped to her mouth, then returned to her eyes.

The look sharpened when she watched him use his body. She kept her eyes on him. Then she walked onto the field. The fighters moved aside. Karl reached for his coat but did not put it on.

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “Evaluating the guard rotations.”

“From the center of a sparring ring?”

“I became distracted.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “By what?”

“You.” The answer stopped him. Lorelai closed part of the distance. Her wolf pressed forward. Karl followed every movement she made. The slight turn of her shoulder. The way her fingers adjusted around the ledger.

“You fight well for a man without a wolf,” she said. The field seemed to quiet around them. Nothing shifted in Karl’s face.

“I fought before most of them were born.”

“Experience does not make you faster than an attack you cannot see.”

“You assume I did not see it.”

“The third man came from behind you.”

“I heard him.”

“You turned before his foot struck the ground.” Lorelai should have stepped back. She did not. Karl noticed. For one instant, something answered in his eyes. Then the quartermaster called from behind Lorelai.

“You wanted the western rotation?” The moment broke. Lorelai turned reluctantly.

“Yes. I need every active guard, current injury, and secondary duty.”

The quartermaster grunted. “You want the infirmary list too?”

“I want the truth, not the official numbers.”

That earned the faintest sign of approval. He began calling names. Lorelai spent the next hour comparing duty assignments with the people actually standing before her.

Two guards had untreated shoulder injuries. One patrol leader could not fully close his left hand.

Three younger fighters had been added to the roster without completing night-signal training. Greyhaven had enough bodies to cover the walls.

It lacked trained replacements if one experienced leader fell. Lorelai wrote everything down. Karl resumed the drills. She tried not to watch. Failed.

He took a wooden sword this time and faced four opponents. The weapon became an extension of his hand.

Leadership without humiliation. Power without display. Then one of the younger fighters made a mistake. His grip slipped during a turn. The practice axe flew from his hands.

It spun toward Lorelai. Someone shouted. Lorelai saw the blunt metal head turning through the air. She had time to lift one arm. Nothing more. Karl crossed half the field.

One moment he stood inside the practice circle. The next, he was in front of her. His hand closed around the axe handle before it struck. The force should have driven him backward.

He stayed where he was. The field went silent. Karl lowered the weapon.

“Clear the ring,” he said.

No Alpha command filled the words. Every rogue obeyed immediately. Lorelai stared at him. His chest rose once. Blood ran across his knuckles where the rotating haft had torn the skin.

“You are injured.”

“It is nothing.”

“Give me your hand.” Karl turned his full attention to her. Then he did. Lorelai led him beneath the shelter and opened the small field kit.

She cleaned the cuts while he stood too close, watching her face instead of his own blood. His fingers were warm in hers.

Too warm. The tendons shifted beneath her touch with contained strength.

“You crossed the field before I could move,” she said. “You were in danger.”

“That does not explain how.”

“No.” Neither of them gave the space back. Lorelai did not release his hand. She stepped closer until his injured knuckles rested against her ribs. His other hand rose toward her waist. Again, he stopped before touching her.

“Continue,” she said softly.

His palm settled against her side, light enough that she could have stepped away. She did not. Lorelai’s wolf surged toward him. Beneath Karl’s skin, something surged back. Not imagination.

Not speed born from training. Not strength earned through age and discipline. Karl Ashborne was not merely more capable than Greyhaven believed. He was hiding something impossible.