Haunted by Secrets (Shadowed Souls #3)

Chapter Twenty Nine

My fist connects with Huxley’s forearm, pain splintering across my knuckles.

“Fuck,” I growl, bending low to throw my shoulder into his abs. I manage to push him a step backward before he twists sideways, so I stumble forward. Catching myself before my face becomes best friends with the floor, I swing out my leg and groan as our shins crash together. “Stop just defending and actually do something,” I glare at him, hopping on my good leg and holding the other to my body.

I would be the first to admit, after last night, it was a terrible idea to agree to a sparring session with Huxley. But that’s exactly why he’s asked. He knows I need to vent, and he’s offering himself up like some sacrificial lamb anyway. I’m furious. So much so that the little sleep I did manage to get was filled with horrible dreams of Hux on a stage being pawed at whilst Axel was forced to watch. We were supposed to be aiding his recovery, not sinking him further into it.

Seeking his own brand of punishment, Huxley’s not even trying to retaliate. He just keeps blocking and deflecting at every turn.

“Maybe we should take five?” He offers sheepishly, helping me to hop over to the wall. I slouch back and rub the latest addition to the mass of bruises and bumps beneath my leggings.

“I can’t rest. I need to be ready.” For what, who knows, but it keeps me from feeling restless. Useless .

Slumping down next to me, Huxley faces the gym. Unlike me, his blond hair isn’t slick with sweat, and his muscles don’t seem to be burning. Instead, he hunches over his knees, the sports shorts he borrowed slipping down his thighs. I look away, refusing to be distracted by his increasing muscle.

“Burning yourself out won’t do any good either. We can break for lunch.” Damn, if Huxley is proposing to eat, I must be overdoing it. My eyes slide past his head to see the sun almost drifting directly overhead; not that time has any concept to me anymore.

“Not yet. Let’s go again.” Huxley reluctantly moves to stand with me, returning to the spot we cleared in the center of the room. The machines and benches have been pushed again in favor of the cushioned mats we’ve laid across the floor.

Squaring his shoulders, Huxley gets back into position. His soft brown eyes meet mine, steady and accepting, as if he’s doing me a favor by letting me vent on him. That quiet composure would usually be a comfort, but today, it grates on me. I need to feel the weight of resistance, the sharpness of struggle, and he’s giving me nothing but indifference.

"Ready?" he asks, his voice as even as his stance.

I withhold my response, bouncing on the balls of my feet. My hands come up, fists tight despite the ache in my knuckles. Darting forward, I fake a left jab before twisting my body to aim a right hook at his ribs. He blocks it effortlessly, his forearm meeting mine with a dull thud. The impact sends a shockwave through my arm, but I grit my teeth and push harder, trying to force him off balance.

Huxley doesn’t budge. Instead, he shifts his weight, his foot sliding behind mine in a way that sends me stumbling back onto the mat. I land on my ass with a grunt, my pride bruised more than my body.

"You’re not focusing," he says, his lips pinched as he holds out a hand to pull me up. I smack his hand away. I think the opposite is true. I’m focusing too much, trying to bury everything else except the need to feel and cause physical pain. At least I know Huxley can take it if he’d just let me get one punch in.

"If you’re not going to take this seriously, what’s the point?"

Hux’s stubbled jaw tenses and a flicker of something—maybe annoyance or concern—crosses his face before vanishing. "You’re mad at the wrong person." I chew on the inside of my cheek and look away.

"Am I?" I grit my teeth. “Because I’m pretty sure I’m mad at you.” Hux looks away, redness twinging his cheeks. He knows I’m lying. I know I’m lying, but I need to do something to scrub the images from last night from my brain. Hux talked to Warren late into the evening, letting the man tentatively stroke his arm and hair. As predicted, Warren did win the silent bid and left with Taylor, but Hux got what he wanted. The promise to return next week.

That’s not all I’m mad at. I’m angry at Sharon, the college kids who are encouraging her sick friends to attend these auctions, and the amount of people to let this all happen to Axel in the first place without feeling the need to step in on his behalf. But currently, Huxley’s little scheme is sitting at the top of that shit heap. Getting to my feet, I ignore Hux’s pitiful look when my aching arms rise again.

“You’re fighting yourself more than you’re fighting me," he states, moving into a stance that mirrors mine. I take a deep breath, the adrenaline coursing through me, making it hard to think and hard to breathe. Huxley doesn’t move first, giving me space but watching me closely, his presence infuriating and grounding all at once.

This time, when I lunge, he doesn’t just deflect. He counters, stepping into my space and sweeping my legs out from under me in one swift motion. I hit the mat hard, the breath knocked from my lungs. Before I can fully recover, his hand is there again, offering to help me up. I take it, the heat of his palm grounding me as I rise to my feet.

"Better," he exhales slowly. "But you’re still telegraphing your moves." I’m barely upright when he moves again, faster than I anticipate, his arm darting out to grab my wrist. I twist instinctively, trying to break free, but his grip is firm. Throwing an elbow into his ribs instead, there’s a soft ‘ oomph’ of shock that leaves his lips as I wheel around, slamming my palms into his chest to put some distance between us.

Hux uses this as a chance to shed his black tank top, baring his firm chest and tensed abs. Tossing the material aside, he’s coming at me again, his eyes glinting with the challenge. Finally , I think, just before he swoops me up with his shoulder. I’m thrown onto my back with his weight crashing on top, causing the air to whoosh from my lungs sharply.

I wriggle, not letting him grab my wrists like he’s trying to, and throw punches into his side in quick succession. Somehow managing to shift my knees between the cage of our bodies, I use all of my strength to push him aside and roll away quickly. Scrambling to my feet, his hand catches my ankle and drags me back down.

“You’re not fighting fair,” I grunt after slamming into the mat on my front. Kicking out wildly, Huxley drags me backward whilst climbing up the length of my body. His hand rounds my throat in warning, not squeezing as he traps me beneath him.

“You think anyone who gets close to us is going to fight fair?” Huxley breathes against my ear, ruffling my loose hair. I clench my jaw, uselessly struggling beneath him. “Does anyone in this twisted world give a shit about what’s fair anymore?” His chest is heaving against mine, barely concealed restraint twisting his voice into something unrecognizable. Pushing himself upright, Hux downs a bottle of water and grabs his tank top from the floor. “We’re done for today.”

I shift into a seated position, huffing and seething. Sweat coats my skin, and my thoughts consume me. Hux is right to call it quits now before someone, most likely me, gets hurt, but the brat in me just can’t leave it alone. Where I should be thankful he is giving me an outlet, I’m furious with myself about just how weak I am. How complacent I’ve become, hiding behind the Souls and letting them take the consequences. The rounded scar on Hux’s collarbone glares at me like an accusation.

I wanted to believe I wasn’t the naive, pampered princess who was once locked away in Hughes Manor. That I’m not the girl who dances for fun or lines up my highlighters in rainbow order. The reality isn’t comforting.

Holding out his arm to escort me to lunch, Hux raises an expectant brow. I wish I could concede. I wish walking out of that door didn’t seem like yet another failure to add to my ever-growing list. But he doesn’t understand that I don’t need saving. I need support. I need to improve and push myself to uncomfortable limits. My nightmares have become reality, and nothing I do is helping anyone. At least this, maybe, hopefully, can help to prepare me .

Stand up, fists raised, stance widened. I huff a strand of hair out of my face, the rest of it having fallen free of its bun, the hairband hanging loosely on the end. "Again," I say, my voice steadier this time.

"Swan," Hux pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I said, again." A chest pressed against my back, large hands landing on my hip and holding me still before I can strike again.

“Hux, Axel is asking for a bath, and Garrett would like your help,” Wyatt states, the warmth of his hands seeping into me. “I’ll take over here.” His hands tighten, refusing to let me move. I find I’m not trying to. Wyatt will fight with me. He’ll brawl and anger me until something productive happens. He won’t let me off easy.

Looking between the two of us, Huxley exhales loudly before he leaves. The winged angel splayed across his entire back shifts as he walks, the flex of the muscle beneath causes her wings to flutter. Guilt tries to surface, but I push it down, saving it for later. Suddenly, I’m alone with Wyatt, and the air is crackling with a different kind of tension. One where compassion doesn’t belong.

Wyatt steps around me, his green eyes flicking over my flushed face, the loose strands of hair sticking to my temple. I’m just glad he can’t see the bruises starting to bloom on my shins. Setting my jaw, I tilt my head up to meet his face.

“Come on then. Fists up.” A slow, dangerous smirk spreads across his face.

“Oh, Avery, you don’t want to fight.” Wyatt chuckles to himself, his voice low and taunting. Scoffing, I throw my head back and stare at the ceiling. Great, another guy to tell me what I want.

“I assure you, I do .” Gripping my chin, Wyatt slowly shakes his head. His smirk falls away as his hands roam, smoothing my hair back off of my face.

“I get that you’re frustrated. I don’t like our current living situation any more than you do, but hurting Huxley isn’t going to make you feel any better.”

“It might,” I shrug. Wyatt’s eyes narrow, seeing through me in an instant. Extracting myself from his touch, I throw my hands up, slapping them down hard on my thighs. “How could he do that? After everything he knows Axel has been through.” It all comes bubbling out. The true reason behind my anger. The betrayal I’ve been holding onto since last night’s dinner. Wyatt closes the gap I’ve made, refusing to let me run from this.

“It’s because of everything Axel has been through that he’s stepping up. He’s saving Axel from being subjected to any form of it ever again.” His body towers over mine, heat radiating from him like a furnace. His face inches from mine. “We will find a way out of this. We always do.” His voice is low, almost gentle, but his eyes are anything but. They burn with frustration, with desire, with something I can’t quite name.

“So if you’re not going to fight me, why are you here?” I glare, my body pulled taut with the raging emotions that I can’t let consume me. Wyatt’s small smile returns, his eyes dropping to my lips.

“Because I’m going to fuck you instead.”