The first light of dawn spilled through the crimson curtains of the training hall, scattering across the polished wooden floor where Dante and Liora stood facing each other. Dust motes danced in the air, glinting like fireflies around the two wolves locked in motion.
Dante's shirt clung to his chest, every muscle flexing under sweat and control, his eyes sharp as molten gold. Liora's breath came in steady bursts, her stance low, focused, feral. The echo of their feet striking the ground filled the hall as they sparred, each move testing the other's instinct.
"Again," Dante said, circling her, his tone low, commanding.
Liora lunged, her claws halfway extended, catching his wrist and twisting. He reversed, using his weight to flip her, but she landed cat-like, smirking up at him.
"You're getting better," he said.
"Better than you?" she teased.
Dante's smile was faint, dangerous. "Not yet."
