4. Restless (Clay POV)

I descended the porch stairs, then tossed the towel back up to the porch without looking. "Thanks, Mom!"

"Anytime, son. Could you let your dad know I'll be sitting out this training session?"

"Will do," I nodded, before shifting back into my wolf form. The familiar rush of senses greeted me as I dashed through the trees toward the training grounds.

In the distance, I could already hear my father's mental grumbling, a cacophony of complaints and expletives that only I had the privilege—or curse—of hearing. For a fleeting moment, I wondered if it was possible to roll my eyes in wolf form.

His scent wafted toward me as I approached, a mix of earth and something distinctly him. He turned, his eyes locking onto my approaching form. "Ah, the prodigal son returns," he quipped, his voice filled with sarcasm yet tinged with an unmistakable relief.

Shifting back to my human form, I countered, "Good to see you haven't lost your sense of humor, Dad." For a moment, we locked eyes, the unspoken tension between us giving way to a sudden, tight hug. "Mom's not coming to training today."

"I figured as much," he sighed, "she was on bottle two when I left the house."

Before I could settle in, he launched into a tirade. "Three months, Clay. It's been over three months since you've been home. It's not good for your wolf to be dormant for so long. You better not be shifting in the human world. You know how risky that is."

"Dad, relax. I haven't been," I assured him. "Though, I think Luke has. He's becoming reckless."

"Then you need to end it," he snapped, his gaze sharpening.

"No. He'll dig his own grave eventually," I shot back.

"Yeah, well, hopefully, he doesn't cause too much damage before he does. Someone who can betray his best friend, do what he did, is capable of anything," my father retorted.

A surge of anger pulsed through me; I wasn't really in the mood to delve into the depths of my complicated history with Luke right now.

My father sensed the shift in my emotions. Leaning in close, he whispered, "Good. Now use that fire for this training."

Our smiles met as a mutual understanding settled between us. In sync, we shifted. Both of us were stark white wolves with deep brown eyes; the only distinguishing feature was the scar that marred my father's face, preventing fur from growing around one eye.

The sparring session was an explosion of primal force and tactical finesse, a sweaty ballet of fangs and muscle. Pack members, from the youngest to the most grizzled veterans, squared off against me, each duel a  test of my grit as their future Alpha. 

My physique was on full display in human form. Biceps flexing with each punch, veins pulsing along arms etched with pure strength and ink. As I dodged an oncoming strike, my piercing brown eyes met my opponent's, radiating a raw, unspoken authority that made them falter for just a fraction of a second. 

That's all I needed.

Transforming into my wolf, the change did nothing to diminish the awe that I commanded. If anything, it heightened it. My size alone was intimidating, towering over even the largest wolves in my pack. My fur a shade lighter than anyone else's wolf. My snarl and growls more menacing. The air practically crackled around me with untamed power, an invisible aura with pack members dropping their gaze in fear and profound respect.

Every lunge and swipe of my paw was a masterstroke, calculated yet fueled by instinct. The ferocity and accuracy of my attacks left no question about my capabilities, each move echoing with a lethal elegance that defied my massive size.

 My father's gaze, a complex tapestry of pride and understanding, met mine. We didn't need words. The air was heavy with the scent of earth, sweat, and the iron tang of exertion and pride.

As the final opponent yielded, tail tucked and eyes averted, I shifted back into my human form. The muscles in my arms and chest were burning, my entire body was slick with sweat, and I was breathing hard. 

But beyond the physical exhaustion, there was something else. A restlessness still clawed at the edge of my consciousness. A kind of jittery energy that felt almost... expectant. I pondered whether this relentless intensity was a glimpse of what it felt like to find one's fated mate. Shaking my head, I dismissed the thought. Surely, no one could bear to exist in such a relentless emotional flood day in, day out.

My father gave me a nod, a silent affirmation that reverberated through me, anchoring me back to the moment. I was strong, ready for whatever lay ahead, and deeply connected to my pack, despite my frequent absences. 

Yet, for all that certainty, a question lingered in my mind: Could she possibly quench this lingering fire that I couldn't seem to quell? Was she the answer?