Chapter 15 #2
Poe’s fist is already in motion as I appear in his path. His eyes widen in horror as he realizes I’m suddenly there. At the last possible second, he twists his arm wide, throwing himself off balance. Simultaneously, Ares lunges to knock Poe’s arm away from me.
The result is a sickening crack as Poe’s shoulder connects with Ares’s deflection at an unnatural angle. Poe lets out a grunt of pain, immediately cradling his injured arm against his chest.
Before I can even process what happened, Ares grabs me by the shoulders, spinning me around to face him. His hands move frantically over my arms, neck, and face, checking for injuries.
“Are you insane?” he growls, his voice vibrating with fury and fear. “Never get between two Alphas. Not ever!” His fingers continue their inspection, turning my face from side to side. “You could have been seriously hurt. What were you thinking?”
“I’m fine,” I insist, pushing his hands away. “But this stops now.”
Cillian comes approaches to carefully presses into Poes injured shoulder. “She’s right. This is ridiculous.”
Poe pulls away from him with a grimace. “It’s not over until someone wins.”
“No, it’s not fair,” I continue, straightening my spine and lifting my chin. “I’m supposedly a member of this pack now, right? That’s what everyone keeps telling me.” I look between them both. “Then I should have the right to fight for myself.”
A moment of silence hangs in the air as both men stare at me. Their expressions shift from confusion to disbelief and then?—
They both burst out laughing.
Ares doubles over, his massive shoulders shaking with mirth. Even Poe, despite his injured arm, can’t contain himself, his usually stoic face cracking into genuine amusement.
“What’s so funny?” I demand, heat rising to my cheeks.
“You,” Ares manages between laughs, “fighting one of us?”
“I basically killed a man,” I remind them, my voice cold. “Or did you forget that part?”
Poe’s laughter subsides slightly. “With a knife. Against a restrained opponent. That’s not exactly the same as hand-to-hand combat against trained fighters. Even if I lost this shoulder and tied both my legs together, you wouldn’t stand a chance, sweetheart.”
“And if Darius had half of a brain, he would have dislocated his own wrist, slipped out of the restraint and then broken your neck,” Cillian points out. “Next time you’re in that situation with someone who isn’t a pussy, things might not go so well.”
“Dislocated his own wrist,” I repeat in disbelief.
He shrugs. “I’ve done it before.”
I decide to let that go and turn back to Poe and Ares, who are both still swallowing back the last of their amusement.
At this point, I don’t care where I spend the night. I just need there not to be anymore broken bones or blood spilled.
Distracting them is the first solution that comes to mind.
“So teach me,” I challenge. “Instead of fighting over me like I’m some kind of prize to be won, teach me to fight for myself.”
Ares and Poe exchange a glance, their expressions considering.
“You know,” Ares says thoughtfully, “that’s not actually a terrible idea.”
“A little training might give her a fighting chance if something happened and we weren’t around,” Poe agrees, wincing as he adjusts his shoulder.
“Both of you teach me a move and I’ll try it out on Cillian.” I refuse to look at the man in question because I don’t want to see whatever expression is on his face. “Then he’ll decide which of you is a better teacher and that’s who I’ll spend the rest of the night with.”
Cillian scoffs. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious,” I reply, crossing my arms. “You’ll be my practice dummy. It’s perfect—you’re the only one here who won’t accidentally crush me if things go wrong.”
Ares laughs, the sound booming through the basement. “This is the best idea I’ve heard all day. I get to teach little Maya how to break bones, and Cillian gets to be the crash test dummy.”
Cillian’s jaw tightens. “I’m standing right here.”
“And soon you’ll be flat on your back,” Ares promises with a wink at me.
I suppress a smile. This is working better than I’d hoped. Not only have I stopped their ridiculous fight, but I’ve redirected their Alpha competitiveness toward teaching me something useful. And if it means I get to throw Cillian around a bit, well, that’s just a bonus.
“Fine,” Cillian sighs, stepping into the cleared area. “But if she hurts herself, I’ll be sure Logan knows who to blame.”
Ares limps toward me, blood still dripping from his nose. “First lesson—using an opponent’s weight against them. Perfect for when you’re outmatched physically.”
He positions himself in front of me, hands on my shoulders. His touch is surprisingly gentle as he adjusts my stance.
“Feet shoulder-width apart. Lower your center of gravity.” His breath smells like copper and bourbon. “When someone grabs you from behind—Cillian, come grab her.”
Cillian approaches with visible reluctance. His hands hover at my waist.
“Not like you’re afraid to break her,” Ares snaps. “Like you mean it.”
Cillian’s grip tightens, and I feel his chest press against my back. The bond between us flares instantly, sending warmth cascading through my body. I fight to keep my focus.
“Now,” Ares continues, “drop your weight suddenly, bend forward, and use your hip as a fulcrum to flip him over your shoulder.”
I try to follow his instructions, but end up awkwardly bent with Cillian still firmly attached to me.
“You’re thinking too much,” Poe says, stepping closer. “It’s not about strength—it’s about leverage and surprise.”
He demonstrates the movement in slow motion with Ares, who allows himself to be flipped onto the mat with a hard sound.
“Try again,” Poe instructs. “But this time, don’t hesitate.”
Cillian resumes his position behind me. I take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of his body against mine.
When his arms encircle my waist, I drop my weight suddenly, bend at the waist, and push my hip back into him.
With a startled grunt, Cillian flips over my shoulder and lands on his back with a solid thud.
“I did it!” I exclaim, surprised by my own success.
Cillian lies on the floor, blinking up at me. “Congratulations,” he wheezes.
Pride swells in my chest—not just from executing the move, but from the approving looks on Ares and Poe’s faces. For once, I’ve done something that’s earned their genuine respect, not just their desire.
“My turn,” Poe says, stepping forward. “One of the most important skills is knowing how to break a hold on your wrist.”
As he demonstrates the twisting motion needed to break free, I catch Cillian watching me with an unreadable expression. Is that concern in his eyes? Or is he simply calculating how many more times I’ll throw him to the floor tonight?
Poe demonstrates the wrist break technique with a fluid precision that makes it look deceptively simple. He grips my arm firmly, positioning his thumb against the back of my hand.
“When someone grabs you here,” he explains, “most people try to pull away directly. That’s exactly what your assailant will expect, and they’ll be prepared for it.”
I nod, watching his movements carefully.
“Instead,” he continues, “you twist toward their thumb—the weakest point of their grip—while simultaneously stepping into their space rather than away.”
He demonstrates in slow motion, his movements graceful despite his injured shoulder. When he releases me, I flex my wrist, memorizing the sensation.
“Your turn,” he says, nodding toward Cillian. “Try it on him.”
Cillian extends his hand with a sigh. “Just remember I need this arm to function tomorrow.”
I step forward, allowing him to grasp my wrist. His fingers are cool against my skin, and I’m momentarily distracted by how different his touch feels from Poe’s or Ares’s—lighter, more precise. The bond between us hums softly, like background music.
“Focus,” Poe instructs, noticing my hesitation. “Remember—twist toward the thumb, step in, not away.”
I take a breath and execute the movement. It doesn’t work. Cillian’s grip remains firm, his eyebrow raised slightly in challenge.
“You’re thinking too much again,” Ares calls from where he’s dabbing blood from his nose. “It needs to be instinctive. Faster.”
“Try again,” Poe says. “This time, don’t telegraph your movement.”
Cillian releases and re-grips my wrist. I feel a flicker of something through our bond—encouragement? I can’t tell whether he wants me to succeed or fail, or if he just wants this all to be over and done so he can go to bed blissfully alone for once.
This time, I move without hesitation. I twist sharply toward his thumb while stepping into his space. His grip breaks, and I feel a flash of triumph—until he counters by catching my other wrist in a smooth motion.
“Not bad,” he says quietly. “But in an actual fight, your opponent won’t just let you go.”
“That’s enough for one lesson,” Poe interjects, stepping between us. “The point is for her to learn the basics, not master combat in one night.”
Ares lumbers over, his nose still bleeding despite his efforts to stop it. “So, who wins the teaching competition? My move was clearly superior.”
“I did flip you over my shoulder,” I point out to Cillian as he considers. “That seems more impressive than breaking a grip.”
“Both techniques have their place,” Cillian says diplomatically. “The wrist break is more practical for everyday situations. The shoulder throw requires more specific circumstances.”
I turn to him, hands on my hips. “You’re supposed to be judging, not analyzing. Pick one.”
Something flickers in Cillian’s ice-chip eyes—amusement, perhaps? “If I have to choose, I’d say Poe’s technique was more effectively taught. Maya executed it with better form, even if she didn’t fully succeed.”
Ares makes a disgusted sound. “Of course you’d pick his. You’ve always favored finesse over power.”
“I favored the better teacher,” Cillian corrects. “Your instructions were unclear, and you spent more time adjusting her stance than explaining the mechanics.”
“That’s because stance is fundamental?—“
“Enough,” Poe interrupts, a satisfied smile playing at his lips. “I win. Which means Maya sleeps in my room tonight.”
Ares looks genuinely disappointed. “Fine. But this isn’t over. Tomorrow, I’m teaching her how to break a choke hold on you, and I guarantee you’ll appreciate the technique after you wake back up.”
“Tomorrow,” I agree, suddenly exhausted by the entire ordeal. The adrenaline from earlier has faded, leaving me drained.
Poe places a gentle hand on the small of my back. “Let’s go. You look ready to collapse.”
As we turn to leave, I catch Cillian watching us, his expression unreadable. For a moment, I think he might say something, but he simply nods once before turning away.
I follow Poe up the stairs, leaving Ares and Cillian behind in the basement. Despite the absurdity of how this night unfolded, I feel oddly accomplished. I’ve learned two defensive moves, stopped a potentially dangerous fight, and created my own solution to Logan’s manipulative command.
Most importantly, I’ve seen firsthand how these Alphas operate—their competitiveness, their pride, their need to dominate. Knowledge I can use.
As we reach the top of the stairs, Poe glances back at me with a small smile. “You did well tonight.”
“At learning to fight or tricking you into not killing each other?”
His smile widens. “Both.”