Chapter 13
Sparring Session
Dodger
“—really don’t need to be here,” Marlow’s saying as we enter the empty training barracks on the Iron Pack land. Knowing the Alphas has perks, we have the place all to ourselves. Not that a certain wolf is the best company right now.
Harper laughs, short and harsh. “Right. Because leaving you two unsupervised worked out so well last time.”
Ouch. Low blow. But fair.
“Right, down to business.” Marlow claps his hands and starts teaching his class of one, apparently ignoring the angry wolf lurking behind us.
“From what Harper told me, your powers are strongest in summoning beings from the beyond, beyond this plane. That’s what I do, even if I work smaller.
” We both look at the little pug snoozing on a nearby exercise machine.
“When you’re dealing with banshees, dragons, and all manner of huge, pissed off creatures from the underworld and spooky planes of existence, they’re going to take one look at the tiny human you are and decide that they get to make the rules.
They may try to come through the passage whether you allow it or not. ”
“How am I supposed to stop them?” I ask.
“By showing them you’re the boss.”
My fingers curl around the leather handle of the whip. “Using this?”
“Sure, something to channel your power through helps,” Marlow says. “Think of it as a tool, not a weapon. Attacking is a last resort. It’s more about standing your ground and showing whatever you summon that you’re perfectly capable of holding your own.”
“Right. I can do that? Yeah.”
“Start by making it sound less like a question,” he suggests.
“Right. Good note.” Something to work on for the future.
“It’s also a good idea for you to have a primary companion who can help you. Let’s practice first.”
The air carries a cocktail of old sweat and something metallic—probably blood. A boxing ring takes up space in the center. Weights claim one wall while racks for weapons line another. Do wolves even bother with weapons in a real fight, or do they just go full beast mode? Whatever.
“You can do this.” The demon gives me a friendly pat on the back. “For what it’s worth, you saved my ass the first time we met.”
I charged in during an emergency, not letting the doubt creep in.
But now? A quietly pissed off werewolf lurks in the corner, and what happened last time?
Oh, right, the tentacles from hell interfered.
The doubts grow by the second. After a lifetime running from monsters, having the power to influence them still feels strange.
“You just need to get comfortable.” Marlow motions to the ring. “Get in there and act it out. Practice.”
Oh crap. Can this get any more mortifying?
I’m not much of a fighter. Or an athlete.
The last time I ran a mile was in high school and then I dropped out of school afterward…
Okay, that had more to do with my aunt being terrified of my powers, but the mile still sucked.
My physical fitness might be the only thing weaker than my necromancer skills.
Then Marlow says, “Make yourself useful and help him out, Harper.”
“I’m still pissed,” the wolf grunts.
“Role-playing?” I quip with a feeble chuckle. Look at that. It just got more mortifying. “I don’t think Harper’s that kinky.”
“Are you suggesting you are?” Harper asks.
“No!” My gaze drops to the object in my hands. “Ignore the whip.”
He tilts his head toward Marlow. “Should I transform into wolf form?”
“Eh, dealer’s choice.” Marlow waves us off, ushering us into the ring.
I approach the ring and awkwardly maneuver between the ropes.
My foot catches on the bottom rope, and I pitch forward, barely catching myself before faceplanting.
Off to a great start. Harper hops over the ropes like it’s nothing, landing with a grace that’s almost feline instead of wolfish. Great, he’s already showing me up.
I straighten up, holding the whip with both hands as I walk to the center of the ring.
The energy flows sluggishly from me into the whip as I pretend I know what I’m doing.
Would facing a raging Minotaur be easier than a pissed wolf?
The Minotaur might be upset I summoned it, but it doesn’t know me. Harper’s rage is entirely personal.
When I look at Marlow to find out what happens next, he only shrugs and points to Harper. “Tame him.”
Harper starts to move around me in a wide arc, a predator sizing up its prey. I already feel off balance, moving to keep distance between us in reaction, and it already feels like he’s in control. His eyes never leave my body, tracking every tiny flinch or twitch I make.
He changes direction without warning, testing my reaction. I shuffle backward, nearly tripping over my own feet.
“Ha, uh, don’t we need a safe word first?” I ask.
“A joke isn’t going to work on a dragon,” he chides immediately.
“Like you know what dragons find funny.”
“What about that tentacle monstrosity? Ask it what its kinks and limits are, see how far that gets you.”
I raise the whip in his direction, warning, “Hey, be nice. Don’t make me use this.”
“You won’t,” Harper says certainly.
“Well yeah, but you have to pretend you’re a monster who doesn’t know that.”
“I can see it all over your face,” he sneers. “Your weakness, your doubt.”
“Hey!” Why is he being such a dick? That’s usually my job.
He prowls around me, the circle he’s making tightening with each pass. The ring suddenly feels too small, the ropes at my back a trap waiting to spring.
The distance between us vanishes in an instant. His hand brushes against my shoulder, his fingers trail across my collarbone, and I barely hold in a gasp. Every nerve ending where he touches me buzzes with electricity, like he’s awakened something under my skin.
“If I were a dragon, you’d be dead,” Harper taunts.
“That was a lucky—hey!” My reply cuts off as Harper closes the distance again in a quick lunge, lightly tapping my shoulder. He leaps away before I can do anything to retaliate. Ugh, why doesn’t he have a beginner setting? And why do I get the feeling he’s enjoying this?
“Why are you being a dick? Do you want me to lash you?” I raise the whip threateningly, hoping it will keep him at bay.
“Not really into that, not receiving anyway.”
“Whoa.” What’s my face doing? No idea. Probably something unattractive as it struggles to react to that, just like the rest of me. Is he serious? An image enters my mind: Harper firmly gripping the strap and bringing it down on a sensitive area with that firm look on his face…
Whatever he sees on my face makes him smile. “See, I can joke too.”
“Not funny.”
“Believe it or not, I’m taking a page out of your book.”
“What? Never shared my kinks with you and I’m never going to,” I stammer.
“When we were at the carnival,” he reminds me. “You got me mad.”
“Oh. That’s what you’re doing?”
Suddenly I understand exactly how he feels whenever I try to rile him up.
Harper starts circling behind me and I whirl around, but he’s moved again, gone again.
Then his hand brushes the small of my back, and I spin, snarling.
He’s already ten feet away, and the sound of his soft chuckle makes my blood boil.
He’s toying with me, and I hate that it’s working so well.
“Stand still, damn it!” I mutter through gritted teeth.
“I’m doing a damn good job, aren’t I?” the bastard gloats. “Come on, put me in my place.”
“This won’t work,” I protest.
“Oh, I’ve annoyed you enough times already to know it absolutely will.
” His smug grin wavers somewhere between annoying and sexy.
It makes me want to throw the whip down and tackle him.
“You’ll drop your guard, get that tough little look on your face, square your shoulders, and go off.
Show me that steel in your spine. You’re a force to be reckoned with, just do it. ”
“Shut up.”
“Do it, sweetheart,” he goads.
“Oh, don’t you dare,” I warn. Now I really might whip him.
“Had a feeling that would fire you up, babe.”
Something inside me ignites, sparked by Harper’s deliberately infuriating pet names and his smug, knowing smirk.
My fingers tighten around the braided leather handle.
There’s no room for hesitation anymore, just the raw, pulsing need to put this arrogant wolf in his place.
My anger and energy flow into the whip without thought.
Harper stalks toward me with that predatory grace, golden eyes gleaming with challenge.
He expects me to retreat, to dance backward like I’ve been doing.
But this time, my feet root themselves to the mat.
I don’t move an inch. My arm moves of its own accord, snapping forward.
The whip cuts through the air with a sharp crack that echoes throughout the training facility.
The sound is satisfying in a way I can’t explain, like the perfect chord struck on a guitar.
“Stay there,” I growl, barely recognizing my own voice. The energy flows into Harper, taking control and freezing him in place.
His muscles strain against the invisible bonds. He’s completely immobilized, caught mid-stride with one foot forward. The look of shock on his face is worth every moment of frustration.
Then it hits me. Whoa. I did it? I did it. I did it! As soon as my concentration breaks, the energy dissipates and Harper moves on his own again.
He straightens up, smoothing out his shirt with a hand and sends me a sly look. “There, was that so hard?”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, dear,” he says, smiling.
He was furious at me and used his aggression a little too well if you ask me but now he just looks so pleased. It flusters me and it’s like there isn’t enough space in the ring for the two of us.