Free Adrian by V. Vaughn Page B

about the De Roziers is conventional, and I suspect the motions I learn are unique to the clan.
    Now that my sweat has dried, Sven takes me to the part my bear craves -- fighting. I glance at the row of cylinder-shaped bags hanging from industrial-strength chain. The last time I was here, Sven explained the material on the bags is Kevlar, because our punches are much stronger than the fiercest human’s, and they were spending too much money replacing the equipment. It means I don’t need to hold back.
    Sven asks, “Is your bear always at the surface?”
    I nod. “Adrian and I have gotten into a habit of sparring each day, but I can’t seem to satisfy her.”
    “She needs more. When our warriors first get identified, we train them every day after school and do double sessions on the weekend for at least a year to teach control.”
    My heart sinks. “A whole year?” I can’t take a whole year off from school for this. And what about Adrian and the band? I know we can only spend a few days apart before the longing for each other will get unbearable.
    “I don’t think it will take you that long.” Sven’s eyes scan my body, but it’s not sexual and doesn’t make me uncomfortable as he says, “You don’t have the hormones of a teenager raging through you. And a lot of what I’ll teach you over the next few days will be things you can do without me.”
    Relief doesn’t exactly wash over me, but I feel a little better. Although, I’m going to have to find a place to train in Brunswick that won’t draw attention to me. I don’t have time to sort it out, though, because Sven puts me to work on the bags. I immerse myself in the sounds of my skin slapping against firm Kevlar and the impact of my punches and kicks that send painful shocks through my limbs. I seriously can’t believe it, but the more I abuse my body, the happier I become.
    When I’m about ready to drop from sheer physical exhaustion, Sven orders me to stop. My eyes sting from the sweat that has rolled down my face, and even my knees are dripping with moisture. I collapse onto the floor, and Sven hands me my water bottle. My arm shakes as I lift it to my mouth, and I gulp down the cool contents. When I can speak, I say, “I can see how that might contain my shift. I’m not sure I have the strength left.”
    Sven grins at me. “The bear of a warrior knows no boundaries. Want me to prove it?”
    I shake my head as I swallow a mouthful of water. “I believe you.” I groan as I stand. “What’s next?”
    “We stretch, and tomorrow I get to kick your ass in the ring.”
    “Can’t wait.” I tip my water bottle at him before I suck down the remaining drops.

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    I spend the next four days learning the moves and training regimen for a typical De Rozier warrior. Every single muscle in my body aches, and I discovered a few I swear don’t exist on a human body. But the biggest thing I’ve accomplished over the last few days is I’m now comfortable with my new state. I might even like being a werebear, and while I can live in the human world, I’m never going to be a human again. That means I need to rethink my life plan.
    When I got back to Tori’s from training last night, Adrian contacted me to tell me we got a recording deal, so I called Sven and convinced him to give me two days off to heal and to see Adrian. My stomach is in knots over the decisions I need to make. I gaze out at the pine trees that line the highway in Northern Maine. I left before sunrise, and the solitude of being the only car on the road is perfect for me to get lost in my thoughts. It occurs to me that as a werebear I can’t work in a human hospital. There are too many situations that could pose a problem. It’s not that I have to give up that dream, but if I want to be a physician, it’s most likely I’ll have to be a jack-of-all-trades and join the Northeast Kingdom’s band of doctors. So now I have to decide if that’s what I really want.
    I know I can keep my