Regan was, indeed, walking very close. She wasn’t aware of it most of the time. It was a gentle drift that accumulated one step after another until she was so close she was breathing Cassian in. Wherever Cassian went, the wolf followed, and Regan’s interest in both him and her new form was to the exclusion of everything else.

She was vibrating with excitement as the walked through the door. Regan’s wolf whined, pawing the ground, eager to be set free. Regan breathed, just as she’d been told.

She raised her long sword, a new acquisition, forgoing the axe and fashioning herself after Cassian instead. Regan resolved to wait, eyes jumping from Cassian’s face, to his stance, to his weapon, ready to counter whatever came.

Cassian’s human frame was built for speed and dexterity, but the methods used with the two-handed blade required power and dexterity instead. He shifted his hands on the long hilt as Regan took her place, and then he moved in, advancing on careful yet sure feet. He would not hold back as he swung his blade, trusting her training.

As soon as Cassian moved for her, Regan stepped in quickly to meet him; to close as much distance between them as possible so that the force of his swing might be slowed. However close she came, she'd block with the flat of her blade. Regan resisted the urge to reach for her animal strength to push back. Instead, she'd seek to circle the tip to break the lock and lunge forward with her blade to force him off balance.

Regan’s parry was successful, and her lunge was met with a block. Cassian was naturally faster than strong, and even with a weighty blade it showed. His block attempted to force her weapon sideways, and then the king would raise a boot to go for a kick to the stomach.

He wanted to make her mad, after all, and though he was sure it would happen eventually as he bested her, he was keen on pushing harder, forcing her to battle herself sooner. If she had a similar experience to him, she’d find that holding down the inner wolf was crippling at moments, her entire body tending as it fought against the urge to rip open.

Cassian’s kick landed, soliciting a feral growl from Regan. The copper veins in her eyes surged for a moment before retreating into blackness. Regan launched back at Cassian. She, as always, valued power over speed. Regan tried to quiet her mind—putting strategy over instinct—but as she continued to break through Cassian’s defenses the desire to reach for the wolf became more and more tempting.

In her every waking moment, Regan wanted it more than anything: her stronger, faster form. The one that was more powerful, more beautiful than her human form could ever be. The one that had brought her close to Cassian. That had freed her.

It was still a discipline for Cassian, too, but one he had had more time to master and many more tools. After all, Cassian's entire life was a discipline of self-control. You didn't have a chiseled expression that held in the midst of the stupidest noble exchanges like his and not have a firm grasp on all your other facilities.

Regan was competent as a fighter, and the two found themselves mostly matched. They pushed back and forth, forcing retreat, taking advantage of opportunities to rush forward, both working to best their opponent while besting themselves, keeping the rising wolf from ripping out. A particularly good strike from Regan that sent jolts of pain down Cassian's arms had his upper lip pulling back in a hiss. A stiffness entered his back at once, and the temptation to hunch and give in to the breaking rushed through him. He resisted it. Numbers filled his mind.

1...2...3...

It was a technique he had taught Regan at one time, and even now he used it himself, ascribing an action to each number, calmly stepping back on one and two, and then adjusting his sword on three.

Regan’s strength was not her skill; it was her endurance. Her relentless pursuit of her enemy while pushing pain and weakness to the side. Her Achilles heel was her restlessness, her ever-burning fury that made her impatient for victory. That tendency made her wolf form so difficult to resist. She was obsessed by its perfection, its superiority, its beauty. The newness of it all made the hunger worse. Her swings became more powerful and desperate as she tried to keep the wolf at bay. She counted in her head as Cassian did, but the numbers started to lose their rhythm.

Regan snarled, stepping back as her bones started to crack.

“One…two…three…”

Regan started to count out loud in a grumbling voice as she reentered the fray.

If an opportunity presented itself, especially when her body was trying to force her to shift, Cassian would attempt to land a blow that would knock her to the ground. This was a practice, yes, but it was also a competition. He wanted to make her break, even while he wanted her to succeed.

“One—“ Regan narrowly missed the full smack of Cassian’s blow, rolling to the side and falling into a crouch.

“Two—“ Regan would swing wildly, using wolf-propelled force while sacrificing accuracy. If it connected, Cassian would be thrust back, potentially losing his sword. If he blocked or evaded, Regan would come back at him on—

“Three—“ Regan growled, swiping with her sword but following with a clawed hand. She’d try to grab Cassian by the shirt and bring him to the ground.

Regan’s initial, wild attack was deftly outmaneuvered, Cassian’s general demeanor one of calm, his movements gracefully following. The anger and desire to shift rest beneath the surface, restless, but controlled—for now.

Her sword swipe was blocked but the hand took a firm hold of his shirt. Cassian’s own reached up to grip hers just a millisecond before she sought to bring him to the ground. If he was falling, she was falling. London bridge, sucker.

Calm had left Regan. What she held to now was a tenuous thread of restraint that kept the wolf beneath her skin.

They both fell. Regan snarled as she came down next to Cassian. The desire for her own body to transform mingled with another. She wanted Cassian to shift too. Partially shifted, she could smell him. And that made the thread start to fray.

Regan would try to pin him—rolling herself on top of him with his front flat against the ground.

With Regan in her human form and Cassian in his, his male strength was greater than hers. The momentum she used to roll atop him was easily taken advantage of, and Cassian would attempt to keep them rolling, putting him on the top rather than Regan.

Cassian was successful. Regan looked up at him with a strange mixture of wildness and rage and longing. She writhed for a moment as her bones started to crack. With a desperate growl, Regan snapped at him with her half-shifted fangs, trying to startle him into a retreat.

1…2…

Regan couldn’t find three.