The werecats huddled beneath the broad canopy of a towering oak tree, seeking shelter from the biting wind. Their bodies, mostly dry after the arduous trek to shore, still carried the lingering cold of the ocean. Kira sat on a large fallen log, squeezing water out of her damp shirt, the fabric still clinging to her skin as she muttered under her breath.
“Middle of the ocean, freezing water…” Kira shook her head, her voice filled with disbelief. “Who comes up with this stuff? Sadists.”
One of the older werecats, Malric, turned his piercing gaze on her. His dark eyes narrowed, lips pressing into a thin line. “Enough, Kira,” he said in a voice low but commanding. “We survived. Complaining won’t help us now.”
Kira gritted her teeth, but bit back her retort. She was a rookie, and Malric was second-in-command—his authority was absolute. Instead, she rolled her eyes when he turned away, crossing her arms.