A Soulmark Series

by Rebecca Main

  “First off, I’m not little,” I snap. “I'm just as strong as any of you. Second, I’m not a poacher. I’m a Warden. My job is to protect the people of Earth from—”

  “Us?” he offers blithely.

  I bristle, as does Keenan behind me. “Yes.”

  The room quiets. Ryatt’s smirk turns cruel. Past him, the alpha and beta look to me in disappointment. The toxic vice of guilt clenches around my gut, but just what do I have to feel guilty for? My life’s purpose is to protect the people of the earth from the supernatural. They can’t be trusted. I know this. They’re monsters. Beasts disguised as men who think only to the needs of their dark desires… and….

  These are real people with real lives.

  Real jobs.

  Real families.

  Xander’s earlier words storm my defenses. My carefully crafted beliefs and teachings suddenly smothered away by his passionate reasoning.

  “No need to get so testy, darling,” Ryatt coos mockingly. Before I can help myself, my fist snaps forward and lands on the side of his nose with a satisfying crunch. “Fuck!” Ryatt stumbles backward, hands gingerly pressed over the offended olfactory organ. With wild eyes stained with amber, he snarls and darts forward.

  “Let’s go,” Keenan grunts, his arm coming around my middle and jerking me away.

  “Don’t call me darling!” I shout at the raging wolf. Blood seeps out of the small cut on the bridge of his nose, as well as from it. The sight brings a righteous flare of joy, even more so when Atticus bars him from coming after us with a curt command.

  “What the hell was that?” Keenan speaks harshly in my ear as he tosses me out into the hallway.

  “He doesn’t know when to shut his mouth,” I reply, breath coming in short bursts as I curb my adrenaline. “He’s fine,” I continue snidely. “He’ll heal in an hour.”

  Keenan ushers me away from the study, past my room, and down the eccentric grand staircase. “That’s not the point,” he finally says, voice strained.

  I step away from his guiding touch and stop. “Then what is the point? And where the hell are you taking me?”

  Keenan gives me a somewhat pained look, stopping as well and turning to face me. “Just… follow me, all right?”

  “No,” I say stubbornly, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why should I?”

  “Just trust me.” Keenan extends his hand to me, the pleading look on his face seems completely out of character for a man of his size and stature. A lump forms in my throat as I stare at the large, calloused hand. “Please.”

  Chapter 14

  Hit Like a Girl

  “You want to fight?” I stare in a stupor at Keenan as he diligently wraps my knuckles in protective material. He nods, eyes peeking at me through thick, dark lashes that I somehow have only just noticed. The corner of his lips quirks upward, leaving the faintest impression of a dimple in his stumble-stained cheek.

  “Yes,” he tells me. “I was like you once. Ready for every hit that could come my way. Even more ready to dole out a punch or two myself as a preventative first strike. I was a pretty unruly kid.”

  “I’m not a kid,” I reply testily, yanking my hand out of his hold. He takes it back patiently and finishes wrapping it.

  “You’re right, you’re not, which is why going around hitting people when they get on your nerves isn’t okay,” he gently scolds me. I avert my gaze to the forest behind him, the endless trees and scent of earth a calm backdrop to the outdoor workout place. “My dad left us when I was ten, but the lycan gene passed onto me through my mother’s side, so that made things slightly easier. She put me in mixed martial art classes, and since I was never a straight-A student, once I graduated high school, I enrolled in the army. It gave a lot of stability to my life.”

  “The army?”

  “The army and fighting. It helped me control the anger inside of me. An anger that was naturally heightened and unstable due to the lycan gene.” His eyes flit from my reaction to the hand he still holds carefully within his own.

  “I’m not angry,” I argue, once more slipping my hand from his hold to rest at my side. Liar.

  Keenan observes me with a mild look of disbelief on his face. “You don’t have to lie to me. Anyway, if you do feel the need to get out your anger,” he hedges at my growing scowl, “I'd prefer it if I was your punching bag.”

  The comment draws the blood from my face with Wyatt immediately coming to mind. It hadn't been too long ago when he was the one asking that, but for entirely different motives. Keenan gives me a cautious smile, one that does something strange to my heart and draws a tingling sensation from the soulmark.

  “I’m not angry,” I tell him again, the words feeling like lead as they exit my mouth. I lick my lips nervously as I draw back toward the rack of free weights, my heart thumping madly in my chest. “I just… have this—” My eyes squeeze briefly shut. “—darkness inside of me. I know that sounds like an excuse, but when I start fighting, sometimes it's as if all I see is red. I can't not go after that kill shot. I can't not take down my enemy. There's always this rush of power that comes with it. It's what makes it so hard to ignore because I need that power. Sometimes it's what tips the scale in my favor and leaves me the one standing at the end of a fight.”

  The weight of my confession lies heavy between us as I wait for Keenan's verdict. Why am I even telling him this? "Does this feeling only get aroused when you're fighting? Not before or after?"

  “It's only during the fight,” I confirm cautiously, finding myself breathing easier by the look on Keenan's face. He doesn't look at me as if I’m some sick fanatic. Or some dog that needs to be put down. His gaze is solemn yet knowing, as if he understands this dark feeling inside of me.

  “It's not unusual to feel that way, Callie. There are plenty of people in the world who do. All things considered, I don’t think it’s too surprising that you feel that way, this conflict of emotions. You’ve been conditioned—”

  I blink owlishly at his assessment. “I haven’t been conditioned.”

  “—to kill. The way you fight speaks of your years of experience. You’re an excellent fighter, Callie, but that’s all your life has revolved around. Am I right?”

  “You just said you grew up fighting,” I respond defensively, watching him with wary distrust.

  “I did, but fighting was an outlet for me. Later in life, it became something more meaningful to me because I was saving people’s lives—”

  “I save people’s lives!”

  Keenan takes a step toward me, his body language posed as nonthreatening. “I know that,” he reassures me. “What I’m trying to say is that the fight for you was always about the kill. The importance of making that kill, because it meant saving lives. But maybe somewhere along the way it lost that importance and changed into something more like sport. And that’s where that darkness stems from. I’m not going to condemn you for enjoying the kill. I know the satisfaction that comes with taking out the bad guy, but it’s still taking a life. We have to respect that or else we're no better than the real bad guys.”

  I spin round to hide the filter of emotions as they stream across my face. My hands grasp onto the weight rack now in front of me as if it’s a life jacket. For it’s the only thing managing to keep me upright after Keenan’s rather keen evaluation of my person. But is he right? Yes. No….

  Maybe.

  “I only want to be honest with you, Callie. This thing between us, the soulmark? It isn’t going to be easy. But I figure the least we can do is be honest with each other,” he tells me, voice raw with sincerity.

  “So, you decided to psychoanalyze me?” I give a piteous laugh, dragging a shaking hand along my jaw as I rein in my baser emotions.

  “That anger you have? The darkness? It’s a problem, and if we’re going to be together—”

  “Who the hell said we were going to be together?” I ask, turning around to face him, mouth agape at his gall. His crestfallen expression seals my lips sh
ut, and I set my sights on the concrete floor.

  “You know what will happen if we’re separated.” Keenan lets his response drift off into the rocketing silence between us. I nod my head reluctantly. “Being together doesn’t have to mean being together in that way. We can just be friends,” he tells me. “Hell, I’ve already told you I’d be glad to be your punching bag. If that's what the soulmark amounts to, so be it.”

  I take my time to think over his words and settle my flood of emotions. “And what about my little ‘problem’?” I finally ask.

  “We’ll work it out, all right? First, we'll try and pinpoint when you began to feel this way. Once we do, we might be able to better understand and resolve any feelings or misgivings you're holding onto. After that, I can teach you some techniques to calm and center yourself during a fight. Whether it be repeating a phrase or envisioning something to draw your focus to, we'll figure it out, " he tells me calmly.

  "Have you done this before with somebody?" My eyes run over him appraisingly. "This has a weird Karate Kid vibe to it."

  "I have. With myself. Troubled kid, remember? It might not work for you, but it's worth a try. But today we're not going to do any of that. Today we fight to get all that energy out of you. You seem like you've healed up from the worst of your injuries.” Keenan takes a step closer and raps his knuckles against my braces. "But maybe without these?"

  “These stay on,” I tell him pleasantly, masquerading the knowledge of the darkness’s origin with an overly sweet smile.

  “Fight me without them,” he rumbles, the challenge clear in his twinkling eyes. “When was the last time you fought without them?” I heave a sigh and walk around him, pressing my thumb against the top lip of the bracer. It lets off a series of clicks before unlocking from my wrist. I do the same to the other, turning back to him after placing them carefully on one of the workout benches.

  “No one is going to take them, right?” The accusation stands clear in my tone, but Keenan wears that familiar serious face when he nods back. “I’m trusting you.” I really am, I realize. Hope and fear tangle together inside of me uncomfortably, which I guess is what I get for trusting a wolf.

  “Ready?” I follow him wordlessly to the makeshift-fighting ring, noting briefly the flash of happiness in his eyes.

  “Ready.”

  +++

  Sparring with Keenan is much different than sparring with a fellow Stellar Warrior, or any Warden of Starlight, for that matter. He’s well practiced in different styles and shows me as such during our warm-up. It’s during the warm-up I realize how heavily I relied on my bracers. I feel sluggish compared to him. The familiar weight of the bracers is gone from my hits and leaves me overcompensating.

  It’s not pretty.

  Distracted by the missing element, I ignore the obvious tells from Keenan’s body language and eat mat time and time again. It’s only after a few rounds in the ring and a whole lot of curses that I am able to more evenly match Keenan.

  But I’m still eating mat. Hard.

  “Ugh.” The groan I issue is full of frustration. Normally I enjoy panting and howling and clawing beneath a handsome man. Just not when the panting is from sheer lack of breath. The howling issuing in response to pain from a near crippling kneebar. The clawing done as a last-ditch effort against Keenan’s back to gain release. “Ugh.”

  “Better,” Keenan notes, extending his arm to me, not at all breathless. Ass. My hand locks gingerly around his wrist, careful not to touch the soulmark that lies only a few inches below it. Once I’m on my feet, he glides over to our water bottles, tossing me mine with a flick of his wrist.

  “Mm-hmm,” I mutter sarcastically, taking a swing. “I lasted a total of three minutes that time.” Keenan looks entirely too pleased with himself at that. “Don’t look so smug,” I gripe, tossing aside my water bottle. “If I had my bracers, you’d have face planted a dozen times too.” He shrugs and takes another slug of the water, the grin on his face achingly wide.

  I also typically enjoy being under a well-versed man. Just not when said man is bringing me pain and not pleasure.

  “You need to learn to fight without the handicap. No enhancers. Just you. Make it personal again. Make it mean something. The darkness is just a state of mind; you can get past it.”

  I issue a heavy sigh, making my way back into the middle of the ring. "I thought today was just about getting out all of my energy?"

  Keenan gives me a short shrug. "It never hurts to start a bit early," he admits. I scoff, eyes wandering to the side at the small audience our practice has brought; e.g., Keenan handing me my ass repeatedly for the better part of a half hour. Atticus even has popcorn.

  “You can do it, Callie!” Quinn shouts from Atticus’s side, fist pumping in the air. “I got money on you, girl!”

  I catch Keenan’s eye roll just before he pairs up against me, fists raised and on the balls of his feet. I let my eyes linger a tad too long over the droplets of sweat making their way through the thick thatch of hair covering his pectorals and down—

  His fist sails an inch past my face, skimming my ear as I weave to the side. My left hook darts out in retaliation, finding a home on Keenan’s chin. He remains unfazed, going in for my body at a pace I can hardly keep up with it. I spot a familiar gleam in his eye—the one that means he’s about to take me down—and grind my teeth in vexation. Twisting does me little help with his legs clipping my own.

  I don’t fight the fall, not with the way Keenan continues to pursue me. Tucking my shoulder in, I hit the mat with a dull thud and roll. My idea to spring back up is foiled when his heavy body is suddenly atop me, a muscular arm stealing around my neck as his elbow jabs into my ribs.

  In a whoosh, the air rushes from my lungs, my hand tapping at the arm wrapped around my neck in defeat.

  “Not better,” he says as he eases off me.

  “Fuck you too,” I mutter under my breath much to the amusement of… everybody. Quinn raises both eyebrows at me, an expectant look on her face. This time I stand without his help, rubbing my rib as well as the side of my boob.

  “Who’s winning?” Ryatt asks, bounding over to Quinn and sitting by her side.

  “Keenan,” the small crowd replies.

  “Why is she touching herself like that? Is this the kind of fight we have to be paying to view?” Ryatt continues to ask.

  Keenan eyes can’t help but drift to the workings of my hands. Like him, I’ve stripped down to the bare essentials, which meant I’m standing in a borrowed sports bra and workout shorts. My lack of clothing doesn’t bother me, but Keenan’s regard, no matter how slight, brings an unwelcome warmth to my skin.

  “Are you all right?” he asks.

  I roll my eyes, turning slightly away from the group as I continue to work the spot. “What, with you beating me up or narrating my problems to the world?” Keenan cringes and casts me a sympathetic look. I hold back my smirk and place a solemn frown on my face instead, an idea blossoming in my head. “I could do with a little less of the latter. The former I can handle. I’m a good fighter despite my showing,” I tell him quietly. Keenan nods and steps forward as I raise my fists with lackluster. It’s poor form, I know, but it’s all the better to lure him into a false sense of security. I turn my back even more to the crowd and let out a soft sigh.

  “I’m sorry, Callie.” I nod my head to indicate my readiness, and Keenan, the absolute sucker, absently nods back. “We can stop if you want for a while. Have these guys clear out.”

  “I thought you said I could trust you, Keenan.” I hit him with the saddest puppy dog eyes I can manage, my hands dropping to my side as I face him. My soft-spoken words stop Keenan in his tracks, a look of abject horror coming across his face as my words sink in.