by D. Fischer
I hate that I’m dragging more people into this. More people that I love and care for. I’ve been known to be selfish. I’ve been known to only look out for myself, my needs, and my circumstances, but in the time I’ve spent with the pack, I’ve learned there’s more reward when I’m looking out for others. When I’m a part of a group who cares deeply for one another rather than a single person who only cares about myself.
The pack wants to help me – to protect me, but this isn’t their fight. This began with my father, a damnation passed down to me before I was even born. I have no doubt Wice will pull them into this more than he already has, and I know I’ll need to make a choice. Not now but certainly in the future. What lengths will I go to make sure these people, who I’ve begun to love so deeply, stay out of harm’s way?
Warily, I look back to Jacob in time to see his expression darken. “Wice has nothing, Jinx.”
“Really?” I say quietly, mindful of the others in the building. I’m surprised Rex hasn’t come crashing in, demanding orders to storm Wice’s castle. I continue, nodding to the phone in Jacob’s lap. “Because it sure as hell sounded like he got everything he wanted.”
“He wanted to know if you were still here,” he contemplates scratching his jaw. His hand drops back to his phone. The plastic groans as he squeezes tightly. “How does he know about you and me?”
I fling up my arms and then plant them on my hips. “If I had to guess, you have a mole.”
“No,” he counters, shaking his head quickly. “None of my wolves would betray me like that. None would betray the pack like that.”
“And yet,” I whisper, letting the rest of the sentence hang in the air.
A knock sounds against the closed door, and Jacob calls for them to enter. His voice is quiet, deadly almost, and a shiver runs up my spine. I turn when the door swings half-open.
Kaya peers through, notices our full attention, and cautiously opens the door the rest of the way. “Is everything okay? I heard shouting.”
Clearing my throat, I adjust my stance – a defensive posture I hadn’t realized I had taken on – and I tell her we’re fine.
My estranged aunt searches my face for the truth but finds nothing past the blank stare I provide. “Okay.” Using her thumb, she points back into the hall. “I unpacked.”
“That’s great.”
The sound of smoker’s phlegm rattles as she clears her throat. She presses on. “There’s still plenty of daylight left if you want me to take a look at – um – at your condition.” My condition? “Or talk. Whichever you prefer.”
Running a hand over his shaved head, and much to my annoyance, Jacob agrees for me. She gives us both a small smile, mentions having a smoke, and then slips back into the hall, shutting the door behind her.
I stare at the space she just vacated. The aftereffects of my own climbing fear make me feel too numb inside to chastise Jacob further. It no longer drives me to continue the argument either. I slide my hands into the pocket of the sweatshirt.
A nap. If I didn’t have to go meet up with Kaya, I would flop into the nearest bed, nap, and rid myself of these spiraling emotions.
“Why didn’t you tell her about Wice and the mole?” he asks.
His voice stirs me into action. I stride to the door, at first because I have no interest in answering his question. However, when I put my hand on the knob, I pause. I don’t want to keep secrets from him. Even if the secrets are feelings I’m still sorting out. “She knows as much about shifters as I did when I first arrived. The last thing I need is for her to fear them like I d –.” I clear my throat. “Did.”
And with that, I leave the room.
It feels odd that the music isn’t playing in the gym. I’ve grown so used to the thumping that normally bounces off the walls. It often rocks against my chest, fueling my thought process, aiding my workouts or moves while sparring. Kaya, standing by the wall, didn’t want the music on. As soon as she was done with her ‘smokey-treat,’ as Damien called it, she strode in here and unplugged the sound system. She had claimed she couldn’t think properly with the inappropriate lyrics forcing their way into her ears. I wonder if my father would have said the same thing.
Since it’s not the ass crack of dawn, the hour the pack is usually congregated here, it’s empty except for Amelia, Sara, Damien, and Cinder. Minus Damien, they sit comfortably on the equipment. Sara is still in her comfortable clothes. A steaming mug is in her hand with a tea tag draped over the rim. Amelia and Cinder have their gym clothes on, but by the looks of it, Cinder was the only one who had worked out. Sweat stains still ring around the collar of his shirt. He must have headed here right after my aunt arrived.
Their eyes are glued to me as I stand, unsure and fidgety, on the designated blue sparring mat. I can sense the weight of their expectations on my shoulder blades like little pinpricks of awareness. Damien, who was my aunt’s choice, waits for the woman’s explanation as to why she dragged him off the treadmill. Hell, I'd be happy just to know why she picked the largest shifter in the pack.
Per her instruction, I stretch, each limb moving in slow and smooth sweeping motions while Kaya subtly studies every inch of me.
“What’s the point of this again?” I ask. She wants to ‘train,’ but never, in my wildest dreams, would I have expected I’d be stretching before training. Stretching is usually a part of my training, but this feels different.
“What exactly are we doing?” Or am I doing?
My question snaps her from her thoughts, and she releases her top lip from her teeth. “I need to see how you move,” she says gracefully, her voice is raspy and as lightly accented as it was in the library. “I know nothing about you, Jinx. I don’t know what makes you tick. I don’t know how your brain works. And I don’t know how your body works. This will help me understand.”
I drop one leg and lift the other, grabbing my ankle to stretch the muscles in my thigh. “If you’re sure,” I say skeptically, eyeing Damien. He’s been waiting patiently, arms crossed but legs apart, reminding me of a boot camp instructor. It does nothing to ease my curiosity nor the stir of bad butterflies poking the confines of my stomach. His shirt is off, and I trace the thin scar across his collarbone. Before Kaya had strode in, I had asked Damien where he got it. Between huffs and puffs and the pattern of his feet slapping against the treadmill, he said a vampire gave it to him during the Realms War. When I pressed for more information, he only snorted and wiped his brow with the towel draped around his neck.
Now, he grins back knowingly then asks, “So, what do you need me for?” in a taunting sort of way. The loud crack of his knuckles makes me bite the inside of my cheek.
“You will be her partner for this,” my aunt answers. “She needs an opponent.”
Damien’s grin fades, and I choke on a laugh mid-hip twist. It makes me wonder what he thought he was going to be doing.
Out of everyone here, there are very few wolves I haven’t sparred with. Damien is one of them. Though we both get along well now with our strange bond stacked with respect, loyalty, and honor, the brute has refused to spar with me. Kaya has this way about her though. This sort of gentleness almost makes it impossible to refuse her. I’d love to see him try.
“Absolutely not,” he declares, hands on hips.
“He’ll squash her like a fat kid’s thumb pressed to a grape,” Sara says to Cinder. Cinder and Amelia laugh. I scowl at them, definitely not finding the humor in it. He could. He really, really could. Damien is huge – not fat, not big boned, but tall and broad and packed with muscle. He was built for brute force. The only thing I have going for me is that I’ve seen him spar. I’ve seen the opening he’ll occasionally leave and the wide swings he’ll often take. Then again, he’s studied me too.
“I can handle my own,” I protest to my group of watchers. The lie is laughable, completely unconvincing.
“If you say so,” Sara chokes out through jolting chuckles. “There’s not a big enough spatula to scrape her
off the mat.”
Cinder pats her on the head as if she’s a disgruntled toddler. “That’s why you’re here. A little bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, and she’ll be right as rain.”
Sara swats at him, opens her mouth to tell him magic doesn’t work that way, but it’s Kaya who speaks first.
“You must,” she beseeches Damien. “Besides the alpha, the lady in the kitchen said you’re the only one here who sees her as an equal.”
The alpha? I suppose looking for my equals has never been on my to-do list. At least, comparing myself to the others to see who is my equal in match has never occurred to me. But the Alpha? Jacob? Interesting observation, and definitely not one I considered.
I wonder at what that means. There are times where I feel like Jacob oversteps, but perhaps he does it to protect me. Distract me, even. I blink a few times, not letting my thoughts drift into a topic I’m not ready to consider myself.
“The lady in the kitchen?” I ask.
“She ran into Glenda,” Sara answers.
“Why doesn’t Jacob spar with me then?”
“Damien’s opinion of you and equal skill to yours are not clouded by emotions and hormones. It exists out of . . .” She cocks an eyebrow at Damien. “Loyalty, perhaps?”
Damien purses his lips and then nods. I scratch the back of my neck. Not even a full day here, and my aunt’s observational skills have exceeded my own. It’s unnerving, and it makes me wonder how much of myself – the parts I don’t like – I’ll be able to hide. Maybe Jacob is right. Maybe Kaya and I don’t trust each other for the same reasons, and the reason being we’re too tempted to hide what we want kept to ourselves. Little things. Things we don’t deem too important to voice out loud, but to someone observing from the outside, they may interpret it as deviousness. It’s more food for thought at a later time.
The group behind me protests, and Kaya points to each of them in turn. “You are her closest friends. Friendship often leads to falseness, like niceties, to make the other feel better. White lies are weaved to sustain a fragile bond.” She turns back to Damien. “This man here will tell her exactly how he feels. He will not make this easy on her simply because he knows it will be a disservice to her.”
With his eyes narrow, Damien chews this over. Eventually, he nods to my aunt. “What do you want me to do?”
She shrugs. It’s the biggest gesture I’ve seen her do. “What you normally do.”
I draw in a breath and let it go. My foot thumps to the mat as I release the stretch, the thud echoing my own dismay. “And if he kicks my ass?”
Kaya frowns at my reluctance. “I have a suspicion you can hold your own. Now, if you please.”
Damien comes at me without further warning. A shot of doubt coils in me. He’s like a bear, a big hungry bear stomping toward me. I nearly squeal as his arm swings in a closed fist. I duck, barely in time. My jaw snaps shut, drawing blood from my tongue. I dodge, again and again, letting him do all the work while I come up with a plan. Any plan. Anything that doesn’t involve being grape pulp.
I’ve seen him spar, I remind myself. I’ve watched his moves. I know his weaknesses. These thoughts do nothing to comfort me nor organize my own counteractions.
When sweat dribbles at his temple, I strike. One punch to the arm. With a hiss of pain, he veers back. It only takes one punch to the gut, and he doubles forward. My knee thrusting up and into the jaw has him stumbling away. The moves were quick. Calculated. True. Nearly startling me as much as it did him. They were instinctual.
My aunt says nothing, but my friends on the sideline grunt to the sound of my kneecap against his face. Damien rights himself to full height and rubs his jaw. He grins at me in a feral sort of way, and I cock my head to the side. Nervous. Unsure.
“Sorry,” I mumble to him.
“Don’t apologize. Never apologize.” He taps his temple. “Focus.”
“Now –” my aunt begins, but she’s cut off from whatever she’s going to say as Damien rushes me once more.
I hadn’t expected him to come at me again. I was too busy worrying over whether I hurt him. I expected a small demonstration, tools to help Kaya learn whatever she needed to, and then actual skinwalker training. If she’s capable. I still have my doubts.
As his fist connects to my cheekbone, I realize my error. He has been studying me since I arrived, after all. He had been lulling me into a sense of ease, giving me the taste of victory, and used our new friendship against me. Conniving bastard. It was smart.
As my head forcefully snaps to the side, my ears ring, but even through the pestering, persistent sound, I hear the group of watchers curse at the sudden impact.
“You little bastard,” I say mockingly, putting my fists back up. My jaw throbs. I clench my teeth, waiting for him to strike again, but he doesn’t. He just grins, knowing I got the point. I have weaknesses, and by pointing them out so flawlessly, it had made him the victor in my mind.
You’re not invincible, the twinkle in his eyes says. You have weaknesses just like the rest of us. You need help from whoever is willing to give it to you and training far beyond what you’ve already endured.
“You trust too much,” he murmurs out loud. “From experience, I can tell you that more often than not, your biggest threat is someone you know. Someone you trust.” He slaps me on the shoulder. I flinch at the heavy weight, and believing the sparring is over, squeal when I find myself flat on my back. I stare up at him, shocked. I hadn’t seen any movements, not even a twitch before I found myself on the mats.
“I know you know my weakness, but weaknesses are not always weaknesses. They can be strengths as long as you acknowledge them and know when and how to use them.”
“Act weak, and the big bad wolf will underestimate the rabbit?” I ask, grunting as he helps me off the floor.
“Exactly.”
A mutual understanding passes between us, and we both turn to my aunt, our sparring over. I take a peek at him from the corner of my eye as his advice rings back at me.
My aunt warily peers between the two of us. “Are you done?”
We both nod, and I glance at my friends while stretching my jaw. In their various positions, they’re leaning forward, gaping while expecting more sly and sudden moves. I know he won’t though. He made his point. Even if I hold Damien in the highest regards, my trust in him – in anyone – should only go so far. A little voice in my head asks, “What about Jacob?” I mentally bat it away.
“Good,” Kaya says. She strides slowly to us, places a tentative hand on Damien’s bicep, and adds, “That will be all for today.”
I frown. “Wait. That’s it?”
She blinks, replacing the action with what would normally be a shrug, and Damien struts gracefully across the mat to join my friends. Snaking his hand around his back, he gives me the finger and flicks a grin over his shoulder. Humorously, I make a mental note to repay him for such a rude parting gesture. Though, my chest does swell with pride. It feels like only yesterday he wanted me gone.
“I got all I needed.” She studies my body with a shallow interest. “Tell me, what were you thinking during the sparring?”
“That I didn’t want to be grape pulp,” I admit abruptly.
“No,” my aunt says, trying not to grin. “The series of moves you made. Just before that, something glinted in your eyes. A wall came down. Then, you attacked.”
“Then, I found myself on the floor.”
“Only when you second-guessed yourself. What happened to you before that?”
I look at Damien as he settles on the floor in front of Amelia’s knees. “He’s a brute,” I answer honestly, bluntly. “And he wears his muscles like a tight shirt. I can see every muscle ripple before the limb even responds.”
“Exactly.” She jabs a finger in my direction. “You read body language. Instinctually. Without conscious thought.”
“So?” I cross my arms.
She shakes her head. “You read body language . . . like an animal does.”
Sara raises her hand. “I read once that wolves communicate by body language more than any verbal sounds.”
“You read?” Damien asks, and when my prissy friend gasps in mock hurt, Damien’s shoulders shake with a restrained laugh.
“My point is,” my aunt interjects, drawing the attention back to her. “You use more animal instincts than human.”
Cinder pipes up. “What were you thinking in the woods when you were up against the Bane Pack?”
“That I had to stay alive.” My nose twitches at the memories suddenly flooding me. Pine trees. Rain. Being surrounded.
“Anything else?” Kaya presses.
My eyebrows knit together. “Anger.”
“And what about the other shifters from the Bane Pack?” Sara asks. “Before you came here.” By the twitch of her lips, I can tell she’s remembering the night I blacked out, turned into a wolf, and murdered two shifters.
“Fear.”
My aunt smiles. “Fear is often crippling. People can pass out from an abundance of fear. But anger –”
“The fight or flight response,” Amelia interrupts. “Anger produces testosterone and lowers the hormone that causes stress. It activates the left side of the brain, which sharpens the senses. Fear raises the hormone, which causes stress.”
I blink, thoroughly confused. “So you’re saying my flight or fight response is broken?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “I’m saying that anger was what helped you change and be conscientious about it. Fear blinded you. It took over. It had the control.”
I look back at my aunt. “All I have to do is stay angry all the time and I can skinwalk whenever I want?”
That’s the last thing I want. I’ve finally molded myself to the pack life. I’m happy. I feel like I belong. If I go around letting myself be angry all the time, well . . . I might as well go live above the bar again and bask in self seclusion.
She purses her lips. “Of course not. But being angry may help you until you can learn to control it at will. Let’s go outside and try.”