Chapter 25
Mo
As we walk back along the path to the cabin, I steal glances at Archer. The sharp line of his jaw, the way he moves with this controlled demeanor that should be intimidating, but no longer scares me.
“Something on your mind, little omega?”
I bristle at the name. “Just wondering how long before you guys show your true colors.”
He laughs. “Still waiting for the other shoe to drop?”
“Can you blame me?”
“And yet, here you are. Not running.”
“Maybe I’m just biding my time.”
“Keep telling yourself that.”
We reach the cabin, and my eyes go straight to the side yard, where Darius is chopping wood. Shirtless. Of course, shirtless. The male must have an allergy to shirts.
Each swing sends the axe clean through, and the wood splits with a crack I feel in my teeth.
Sweat traces the line of his spine. The muscles across his shoulders bunch and release, bunch and release, and I stand there like a goddamn idiot, rooted to the spot, cataloging every movement like I’ll be quizzed later.
He pauses. Wipes his brow with the back of his hand. Looks up and catches me staring.
The world goes very still. His eyes hold mine, and the air between us pulls taut, and for one terrible second, I forget every reason I’m supposed to hate him.
Fuck.
Neither of us moves. Then he scowls, tosses the axe aside, and storms off toward the tree line without a word.
“Well, that was dramatic,” I mutter, after a beat, trying to ignore the hammering in my chest.
Archer clears his throat beside me. “How about I teach you some self-defence?”
“What?” I say, trying to refocus on something other than Darius’s retreating back. “From you?”
He nods. “Could be useful.”
I consider it for about half a second. “Why not? Not like I’ve got anything better to do.”
He grins, and it’s the kind of grin that’s all teeth. He turns toward the cabin and calls out, “Elias! Get your ass out here. We need a practice dummy.”
I snort. “Fitting role for him.”
Elias saunters out with an easy swagger. Silas appears behind him and takes a position on the porch, leaning against the railing, watching us.
“First,” Archer says, turning to me, “you need to know that you’re safe here.”
I give him a look.
He ignores it. “The techniques I’m going to show you are about making you feel strong and giving you confidence—and not because you’ll need them here.”
“Right,” I say. “Because I’m so safe.”
Archer steps closer, and I have to tilt my head back to look up at him.
“You are,” he says.
“Fine. Show me what you’ve got.”
He starts with the basics. How to break a hold.
How to use my size to my advantage instead of treating it as a weakness.
He’s methodical, his instructions clear and easy to follow, and he doesn’t touch me more than he needs to.
When he does, a hand repositioning my elbow, a tap on my hip to adjust my stance, there’s no lingering.
“Your speed is your best asset,” he says after a while, circling me. “But speed without technique just means you run into things faster. You need to know where to hit and when.”
I’m breathing harder now, but there’s an energy in me I haven’t felt in a long time. Not the adrenaline of being chased or the desperation of fighting for my life. Something better—the feeling of strength and confidence growing within me.
“Alright,” Archer says, dropping into a fighting stance. “Come at me.”
I lunge at him. Fast. He sidesteps me like I’m moving in slow motion. “Not bad. But you need more than speed to take down an alpha.”
“Oh, yeah?” I pant, circling him. “Like what?”
“Like this.”
He moves so fast I barely see him move. One second I’m on my feet, the next I’m on my back.
Archer is pinning me. His weight is controlled and careful, just precise enough that I can’t move.
His forearms cage my head. His hips pin mine.
And his face is right there, inches away, close enough that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my mouth.
My brain says fight. My body says something else entirely.
“See?” he says, voice low. “Technique. Leverage. Use their size against them.”
“Ahem,” Elias clears his throat suggestively.
Archer pulls me to my feet like nothing happened. Like he wasn’t just pressed against every inch of me. Like my pulse isn’t still slamming against my throat.
“Again,” I say, because apparently I’m a masochist.
He raises an eyebrow. “Again?”
“Again. And slower this time, so I can actually see what you did.”
He walks me through the move step by step, showing me the pivot, the hip rotation, where to put my hands, and how to use the other person’s momentum against them.
For the next hour, he drills me.
Every time he puts me on my back, I learn the move a little better and want him a little more.
I tell myself it’s adrenaline. Tell myself the flush creeping up my neck is exertion.
Tell myself the reason I keep asking for one more round has everything to do with technique and nothing to do with the weight of him on top of me.
In the forest, I survived on instinct. Speed and luck, and the fact that most things bigger than me assumed I wasn’t worth the trouble. But instinct only gets you so far. Archer is giving me something different. Something I can keep.
We go over the same moves, over and over, until my muscles memorize them. It’s hard, and my arms are shaking by the end, but I don’t ask to stop.
“Alright,” he says finally. “Time to try it for real. Elias, you’re up.”
Elias strolls over, cracking his knuckles with a grin. “Try not to enjoy this too much, sweetheart.”
I bare my teeth at him playfully. “Oh, I’m going to enjoy this a lot.”
He comes at me, arms open, telegraphing the grab the way Archer told him to. I step in, pivot, grab his wrist, drop my weight, and twist. Elias hits the ground with a thud and a wheeze of surprise.
I stand over him, breathing hard, and a grin breaks across my face before I can stop it.
Elias looks up at me from the dirt. “Damn, Blueberry.” He sounds genuinely proud of me, despite the fact that I just knocked him on his ass.
Clapping sounds from the porch. I glance over. Silas is laughing that silent, full-body shake I’ve only seen from him a handful of times. His dark eyes are crinkled, and he grips the railing as if he needs it to stay upright.
Archer nods, arms crossed. “Good. We’ll work on the follow-through, but the instinct is there.”
“Again,” I say.
Elias groans from the ground. “Can we at least negotiate the terms?”
“Get up, Elias,” Archer says. No sympathy.
We go again. And again. Each time I put him down, the feeling in my chest grows. I’m learning to control my body, my space, my choices. Nobody is handing me that. I’m earning it.
We stop for a quick lunch and then get back to it. By the time Archer calls it, the sun is low, and my whole body aches in such a good way. The kind of ache that means I accomplished something today.
Elias is sprawled on the grass, staring at the sky. “She’s going to kill me,” he announces. “Death by omega. What a way to go.” His grin is blissful and a little contagious.
I smile, dropping down beside him, and catch my breath. “You’re welcome.”
He turns his head to look at me. His eyes are soft, no joke behind them for once. “You’re a fast learner, Blue.”
“Had to be,” I say. And it comes out honest instead of hard.
Archer sits down on my other side. The three of us just lay there in the grass as the light fades, and nobody says anything for a while. Silas is still on the porch, watching us as the first few stars come into view.
Somewhere in the distance, the sound of an axe on wood starts up again, steady and rhythmic. Darius, back at the chopping block. Still alone. Still working through whatever it is he can’t say.
I stare up at the sky and think about what Cassia told me. About who he was at sixteen, about the male under all the brooding.
I’m not ready to forgive him, not yet. But for the first time, I think I might want to understand him.
“You okay?” Archer asks.
“Fine.”
After a while, I lean against him. “You smell all sweaty,” I say, but it smells good, really good, kind of like a cowboy. I want to breathe him in and never stop—a mix of leather, clove, and cedar.
I jerk away from Archer, suddenly aware of what I’m doing. His warmth lingers on my side where I’d been pressed against him, and shame floods through me.
What am I doing? Leaning on him like we’re friends?
I scramble to my feet, brushing grass off my pants with shaking hands. “I should go shower.”
“Blue?” Archer looks up at me, his brow furrowed. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No,” I snap, backing away. “I just need… space.”
This is how they get you. First, they’re nice. Then they teach you things, make you feel strong, let you think you have choices. Then they use it against you. Stuart taught me that lesson with brutal efficiency.
“I’m not falling for it,” I mutter, low enough that I hope they can’t hear.
Elias props himself up on his elbows. “Falling for what?”
“Forget it.”
I spin on my heel and march toward the cabin, passing Silas on the porch. He reaches for my arm, but I jerk away from him, too. His face falls, and something in my chest twists painfully.
Inside, I lock myself in the bathroom and turn the shower on as hot as it will go.
The steam fills the small space as I strip off my sweat-soaked clothes and step into the scalding water.
I hiss as it hits my skin, but I don’t adjust the temperature.
The heat feels like punishment, and right now, I need that.
I scrub my skin raw, trying to wash away the feeling of Archer’s hands on me during training, the memory of Silas’s arms around me last night, the sight of Darius’s bare back as he chopped wood.
But the harder I scrub, the more my skin tingles, and the more aware I become of the empty ache between my thighs.
“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid,” I mutter, pressing my forehead against the cool tile.
My hand drifts down my stomach. I freeze, fingers hovering just above where the wires used to be. I haven’t touched myself there since before. Five years. Five years of being sewn shut, of pain with every movement, of poison leaking into my bloodstream.
Tentatively, my fingers brush against the tender flesh. I gasp, the sensation so intense, but it’s no longer pain, it’s something else entirely. Something I’d forgotten was possible.
I explore myself slowly, rediscovering what was taken from me.
My fingers slide through the slickness, exploring the folds of my body—my body—that for so long had been nothing but a source of pain and shame.
The sensation is overwhelming, almost too much.
I lean back against the tile wall, water cascading over my breasts, and circle my clit with trembling fingers.
“Oh god,” I gasp, knees weakening. I’d forgotten how this feels.
My body responds like it’s been starving, every nerve ending lighting up. I increase the pressure, finding a rhythm that makes my breath catch. The alphas’ scents linger in my mind. I hate that I want them. Hate that my body craves theirs.
But right now, in this moment, this pleasure is mine.
Just mine.
I slip a finger inside myself, testing and exploring territory that I had been denied for years. The stretch burns slightly, but it’s a good burn. A healing burn. My thumb continues circling as I add another finger, and the pressure builds low in my belly.
“Fuck,” I breathe, moving faster now. My hips rock against my hand, chasing the sensation. Water pounds against my back, steam fills my lungs, and everything narrows to this single point of contact—my fingers against my flesh, reclaiming what was taken.
“This is my body,” I whisper again, pressing against my clit, harder, moving faster.
When I come, it crashes over me, my entire body convulsing. I bite my lip to keep from crying out, as pleasure courses through me, the pleasure I’d forgotten was possible.
I slide down the shower wall until I’m sitting on the floor, water pounding on my head, my hand still between my legs as aftershocks ripple through me, as a sob tears from my throat.
“Fuck,” I gasp between heaving breaths.
The tears come fast and hard, mixing with the shower spray. Five years. Five fucking years they took from me. Five years of my body being a source of nothing but pain.
I pull my knees to my chest and let the sobs wrack through me. It’s not just about the pleasure, it’s about reclaiming something I thought was gone forever.
It’s my body.
Mine.
Not theirs. Not the alpha who sewed me shut. Not these new alphas who make me feel things I don’t want to feel.
Mine.