Chapter 29 Hickeys And Self-Defense
Hickeys And Self-Defense
~HAZEL~
I'm wearing actual gym clothes for the first time in years—fitted leggings that show every curve I've been hiding, a sports bra that makes me have actual cleavage, and a tank top that rides up when I move.
Reverie insisted, claiming "baggy clothes are dangerous for self-defense," which is definitely a lie but I let her win because the burning ceremony with Luca this morning left me feeling brave.
Or stupid. The jury's still out.
"Holy mother of abs," Mila breathes, face pressed against the window that overlooks the training area. "Is that legal? Can muscles be illegal? Should we call someone?"
"Who would we call?" Rosemarie asks, joining her at the window. "The police? They're already here. Shirtless. Doing pull-ups."
"God is testing me," Mila mutters. "And I'm failing spectacularly."
I try not to look, I really do, but Reverie grabs my arm and drags me over. "You need to see this. For science."
The training area is full of firefighters doing their monthly fitness tests, and apparently shirts were deemed optional. There's Fischer doing push-ups like gravity is a suggestion. Jenkins running an obstacle course with his shirt tucked into his waistband. And—
"Is that Theo doing one-handed pull-ups?" Reverie squeaks. "While READING?"
"He's studying for his EMT recertification," I explain weakly. "Multitasking."
"I want to multitask with him," Mila sighs dreamily. "I want to be a task."
"Down, girl," Rosemarie laughs. "You're drooling on the window."
"Good! Maybe he'll slip in it and I'll have to catch him!"
"That's not how physics works."
"Physics doesn't apply to men that pretty."
We're all laughing when Reverie drops her bomb. "I might have a date soon."
The gym goes silent. Well, our corner of it does. The men continue being unfairly attractive in the background.
"WHAT?" Mila shrieks.
"WITH WHO?" Rosemarie demands.
"IS IT THE DELIVERY GUY?" I practically yell. "What was his name—Nash?"
"What delivery guy?" Mila and Rosemarie ask in unison.
Reverie's face goes pink. "It's not really a date-date. More like a business meeting that might involve dinner and possibly dancing."
"That's literally a date," I point out.
"It's for a potential contract!" she protests. "This organization wants to fund my social media influencer dreams, but the legal restrictions require pack bonds for Omega protection in media."
Mila and Rosemarie groan in perfect harmony.
"The pack laws are getting ridiculous," Mila mutters. "Can't even have a job without three Alphas signing off."
"It's for protection," Rosemarie says, but she doesn't sound convinced. "Supposedly."
"Protection from what? Success? Independence? Basic human autonomy?"
"Being in a bad pack is worse than the restrictions," I say quietly, and they all turn to look at me. "Trust me. Having Alphas who think they own you, who stalk you when you're finally happy, who send you—" I stop, thinking of this morning's roses. "It's worse."
Reverie leans over, studying my face. "But you're happy now. Everyone can see the difference. You're glowing, you're wearing actual clothes that fit, you're—" Her eyes narrow. "Is that a HICKEY?"
"What?" I squeak. "No!"
"That's absolutely a hickey!" She points at my neck. "Fresh one too! Still purple! Is it permanent? Did one of them MARK you?"
A hickey? When did—
I run to the mirror on the wall, pull my hair aside, and—
There it is. Right where my neck meets my shoulder, a purple bruise the size of a quarter, obvious as a neon sign saying "HAZEL GOT SOME."
"LUCA!" I curse, remembering this morning after the sunrise, when we got back to the apartment and he pressed me against the door and—
Not thinking about that right now. Not with an audience.
The girls are cackling as I pull out my phone, face burning.
"Our boss is getting it on!" Mila sings.
"Finally!" Rosemarie adds. "It's about time!"
"We're going to be running the bakery while boss has babies!" Reverie teases. "Triplets at least, with three Alphas!"
"I hate all of you," I mutter, texting furiously.
Me: You gave me a HICKEY? And didn't tell me?! I'm at the station! EVERYONE CAN SEE IT!
The response comes immediately, but it's not Luca.
Levi: I won't tell him. Want to see his surprise face.
Me: Why do you have his phone?
Levi: Switched by accident. Same model, same case. He's probably trying to figure out why my phone has seventeen pictures of ducks.
Me: That's a disaster waiting to happen.
Levi: I can totally pull off being Luca. Very brooding. Much serious.
Me: You're too happy. Like a golden retriever who found bacon. Luca's probably the bane of everyone's existence if he doesn't know your name.
Levi: Accurate. You at the station?
Me: Yes, with the girls. Ready for self-defense class. Thanks for setting up the private session for us.
Levi: Course. Want you confident protecting yourself if we're ever not around. Slim chance, but still.
Me: Makes me feel independent.
Levi: Good. That's the point. Also, the hickey's hot. Rowan's jealous he didn't think of it first.
Me: I'm going to murder all of you.
Levi: Kinky. GTG, Luca's trying to figure out why "his" phone has a reminder to "feed Gerald."
Me: Who's Gerald?
Levi: The duck I've been befriending behind the station.
Me: Of course you have.
"Earth to Hazel!" Reverie waves a hand in front of my face. "The men are coming!"
I look up to see Rowan entering the gym area, and my brain short-circuits for a second because dear god.
He's in tactical pants and a fitted black t-shirt that shows every muscle I've been trying not to think about. His hair's slightly mussed like he's been running hands through it, and when his eyes find mine, the amber goes dark with something that makes my stomach flip.
Behind him are three more Alphas, and the girls collectively stop breathing.
Nash is there—the delivery driver who made Reverie malfunction. Still looking like he stepped out of a romance novel about bad boys who secretly volunteer at animal shelters. Leather jacket over a white t-shirt, tattoos visible on his forearms, that dangerous smile that probably causes accidents.
Next to him is an Alpha with long white hair pulled back in a bun, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and looking like a librarian who could kill you with a bookmark. He's lean where the others are bulky, graceful in a way that suggests martial arts rather than brute strength.
And the last one...
"That man bench presses buildings," Mila whispers. "There's no other explanation."
She's not wrong. He's massive—not just tall but broad, muscles that have muscles, looking like someone carved him from granite and then decided to make him bigger just to show off.
"Ladies," Rowan says, all professional Captain voice that absolutely doesn't make me think about this morning when he kissed me against the kitchen counter until I forgot my own name. "Ready for your self-defense class?"
"What's Nash doing here?" Reverie asks, trying for casual and failing spectacularly.
Nash's smile grows. "Odd timing. Was visiting my brother, heard about the class, thought I'd help." His eyes find hers. "Problem with that, princess?"
"N-no," she stammers, and I've never seen Reverie stammer. "Just unexpected."
"I like being unexpected."
The tension between them is thick enough to cut, and Mila makes a sound like a kettle boiling.
"Right," Rowan interrupts, clearly in captain mode now. "Let's go over the rules before we start."
He stands at the front of our little group, and I have to physically stop myself from staring at the way his shirt stretches across his chest when he crosses his arms.
"First rule: This is about practical defense, not winning fights. You're learning to get away, not to become action heroes."
"But what if we want to be action heroes?" Mila asks.
"Then take up kickboxing after you learn not to trip over your own feet."
"Rude but fair."
"Second rule," Rowan continues. "We'll be demonstrating holds and escapes. That means contact. If anyone's uncomfortable, speak up immediately."
"Define contact," Rosemarie says with a grin that suggests she's very comfortable with contact.
"The legal kind," the white-haired Alpha says dryly. "I'm Marcus, by the way. I teach aikido at the community center."
"And I'm Tank," the mountain of muscle adds. "Security consultant."
"Your name is actually Tank?" I ask.
"Legal name's Terrence. But..." He gestures at himself. "Tank fits better."
"Fair enough."
"Third rule," Rowan's eyes find mine. "No holding back. The point is to learn what works when you're really threatened. That means using full force on the pads, really trying to escape holds, actually practicing like it matters."
"Because it does matter," Nash adds, his voice going serious. "Especially for Omegas. The world's not always safe."
"Speaking from experience?" Reverie challenges.
"Speaking from statistics. And from wanting you prepared." The 'you' is supposedly general, but his eyes are on Reverie.
"Fourth rule," Marcus adjusts his glasses. "What happens in training stays in training. No social media posts, no gossip about who did what. This is a safe space to learn, maybe fail, definitely sweat."
"I don't sweat," Mila declares. "I sparkle."
"You're about to sparkle a lot then," Tank says with a grin.
"Last rule," Rowan says, and now he's definitely looking at me. "Have fun. This is about empowerment, not fear. You're stronger than you think."
Stronger than you think.
After this morning, burning years of pain and screaming at the sunrise, I actually believe him.
"Stations are set up," Nash says. "We'll rotate through. Basic strikes with Tank, escape holds with me, ground defense with Marcus, and situational awareness with Captain Cambridge."
"Captain Cambridge," Mila whispers. "That's so official."
"That's so hot," Rosemarie corrects.
"Can we please be normal?" I beg.
"Absolutely not," all three respond in unison.
The men move to their stations—Tank by the heavy bags, Nash on the mats, Marcus near the mirrors, Rowan by the obstacle course setup. They look like some kind of Alpha superhero team, and I'm trying very hard not to think about how this is basically my teenage fantasy come to life.
Four Alphas are teaching me to fight. Younger me would have spontaneously combusted.
Current me is barely keeping it together.
"Boss, you're drooling," Reverie stage-whispers.
"I'm not!"
"You're also still sporting that hickey like a badge of honor."
"I'm going to fire you."
"You're going to thank me when you can flip Korrin like a pancake."
The thought of actually being able to defend myself against him, of not freezing in fear if he shows up, sends a thrill through me that's part terror, part anticipation.
"Alright, ladies," Rowan calls out, and his captain's voice does things to my insides. "Let's start with basic stances. Show us what you think a fighting stance looks like."
We all attempt various poses that probably look more like confused flamingos than fighters.
"Okay," Tank says diplomatically. "We have work to do."
"Lots of work," Marcus agrees.
"So much work," Nash adds, but he's smiling at Reverie's attempt at what appears to be a kung fu movie pose.
"This is going to be fun," Rowan says, and when his eyes meet mine, heat flares between us despite the room full of people. "Ready to learn how to kick ass, sunshine?"
The nickname in front of everyone makes my face burn, but also makes my chest warm.
"Ready," I say, meaning it.
And as we move toward our first stations—me with Rowan, because of course—I catch sight of us in the mirror. Four women in workout clothes, looking nervous but determined. Four Alphas are ready to teach us to be dangerous.
This is really happening. I'm really doing this.
Rowan stands close enough that I can smell his cedar and smoke scent, feel the heat radiating from him, and when he adjusts my stance, his hands on my hips are professional but charged.
"Lower," he murmurs. "Bend your knees more."
Oh, I'm going to die. Death by attractive Alpha proximity.
"Like this?"
"Perfect." His voice drops. "The hickey's a good look on you, by the way."
"I'm going to kill Luca."
"Get in line. But maybe after class?"
He winks—actually winks—and I have to hold down my excitement that threatens to bubble over into embarrassing giggling.
Self-defense with unfairly attractive Alphas teaching us to be badass.
Best. Wednesday. Ever.
I have to hold down my excitement.