Chapter Nineteen
S unlight streamed into the room the next morning as Zach declared it was time to begin my self-defense training. The thought of it calmed my racing heart and eased my anxiety. I loved him for taking care of me, protecting me.
The gym hit me like a spotlight. Harsh fluorescents gleamed off slick mats and swinging bags that whispered of bruises and broken pride. The air tasted like sweat, like alpha, waiting to swallow me whole.
I was a rookie in any form of defense. My natural go to was to run and hide. But not this time. Not with my pack protecting me.
I hovered in the entrance, twisting the strap of my bag, contemplating the wisdom of turning and fleeing. The air inside was charged with adrenaline, buzzing with the distant thump of fists on leather and the earthy tang of sweat. Before I could bolt, a familiar cedarwood scent stopped me, followed by Zach’s teasing grin. “Ready for some fun?” I doubted this was his idea of fun, but there I was, ready to square off with an Alpha in a gym built for warriors, not wayward omegas pretending they could handle themselves.
Air filled my lungs. Too sharp. Too cold. I exhaled, letting it out in a slow, steady stream, hoping it would take the shaking with it. My palms were already damp, fingers curling and uncurling. Each breath echoed louder than it should’ve in my ears.
A distant thud-thud-thud cut through the stillness, rhythmic and punishing. Someone was working the heavy bag hard, each strike a promise of what this place demanded. I could almost feel it already... gloved fists slamming into my ribs, the sting of failure blossoming under my skin.
My skin prickled, every inch of me too visible, too exposed. I swore I'd never feel this way again. But there it was, my vulnerability strangling around my spine like a snake.
Zach crossed the gym, his steps casual, as if this were just another day, another omega to coax into compliance. “You’re not going to ditch me, are you?” he said, his smile wide enough to dismantle my defenses.
“Thinking about it,” I admitted, shifting the weight of my bag on my shoulder. His workout clothes clung in all the right places, and his hair was a soft, playful mess. I tried to match his lightheartedness, but my voice betrayed my tension.
“Too late now. I’ve got you right where I want you.” He gestured to the sea of mats. “Come on. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
A reluctant grin tugged at my lips, and I followed him deeper into the gym, feeling more like I was walking into a trap than a training session. The air felt different here, electric, pulsing, alive with a sense of challenge and promise. And I couldn’t tell if the nervous flutter in my chest was terror or anticipation.
He led me to a section away from the others, a quieter corner that felt more intimate. “I promise it’s not as scary as it looks,” he said, picking up on my hesitance. “Self-defense is about being smart, not just strong.”
“Then I’m already at a disadvantage,” I said, more to myself than him.
“Not if you learn the right tricks. Especially if you’re an Omega.” There was a seriousness behind his usual playfulness, a sincerity that caught me off guard.
I nodded, not trusting my voice, trying to ignore the way his attention made me feel raw and unsteady. He explained what we’d be covering, focusing on techniques that anyone could use. “You ready to give it a try?” he asked, his voice both challenging and warm.
I nodded again, and he showed me the first move; how to break free from a wrist grab. “It’s all about leverage,” he said, demonstrating with easy precision. I watched him, my limbs stiff, mind racing with everything except the task at hand. He moved like a dancer... an athletic one, fluid and confident.
“Your turn,” he said, extending his arm toward me. I took a deep breath and hesitantly reached for his wrist. My movements were clumsy, awkward, like I was still learning to control my body.
“Don’t be nervous,” he teased, watching my every move. “I don’t bite.” He stepped closer, guiding me with his presence, his scent wrapping around me, grounding me. “Not unless you want me to.” He winked.
His fingers closed around my wrist, firm enough that my pulse stuttered. A spark shot from the point of contact, jolting straight up my arm and crashing into the center of my chest. My breath caught.
“Ready?” Zach’s voice was quiet, but it landed with weight, like a challenge and a promise rolled into one. His grip tightened, just slightly, grounding me in the now. I flinched, a reflex more instinct than thought, the old panic rising like bile.
I followed his instructions and pulled. A weak tug. Useless.
His hand didn’t move.
The floor might as well have opened beneath me, humiliation and memory crashing over me in an icy wave. I wanted to retreat, to disappear into the girl who used to freeze and fold. But Zach didn’t release me. He stood there, steady and unflinching, gaze locked on mine.
“Again,” he said. No judgment. Just calm, relentless belief.
I braced, heat prickling along my spine, then tried again and again.
Still nothing.
Sweat pooled at my lower back, frustration biting into my throat. My jaw clenched. I swallowed the scream, clawing to get out. Focus. Tune it all out, except him.
One breath. Another. I moved.
My wrist slipped free with a suddenness that made me stumble back a step, blinking like I’d broken something. For a heartbeat, I didn’t believe it had happened.
Then his smile cracked across his face, wide and proud. “That’s it.”
I stared, heart hammering, his touch still seared into my skin like a branding iron. My lips curved before I could stop them, answering his grin with a shaky one of my own.
A thin, electric layer of pride shimmered through me. He nodded once. “See? You can do it!”
I didn’t speak. Couldn’t. But I nodded back, my armor loosening just enough to let the light in.
Afterward, he walked me through the gym like it was his kingdom, pointing out each section with the casual authority of someone born to rule. “Punching bags are there.” He pointed. “And free weights over there.” His words were almost lost beneath the ongoing percussion of grunts and blows. I followed, my curiosity catching up with my fear. The place felt alive with movement, every corner holding the promise of a new challenge, a new test of my fragile resilience.
“Here’s a good spot,” Zach declared, stopping by an open mat. He showed me an arm lock, positioning himself behind me, his instructions a low hum in my ear. The world narrowed to the circle of his arms and the rhythm of our breathing. I focused on his words, on the shift of muscle and momentum. When it was my turn, I faltered at first, but I knew my body like an old friend and quickly found its rhythm.
“Not bad for a ballerina,” Zach quipped, his grin wide and easy.
“Better watch out,” I shot back, surprising even myself with the sass in my voice. “This ballerina might flip you.” We fell into a rhythm, dancing through the moves, until, eventually, I forgot to be afraid.
The heat of his breath brushed against my neck, and I bit my lip, refusing to give away the shiver it sent down my spine. My mind was a tangle, half consumed by the newness of his presence, half focused on the motions of the technique. I followed his guidance, my body beginning to absorb the language of holds and escapes.
“Leverage and body weight. That’s the trick,” he said, the words an intimate vibration against my skin. His arms encircled me, but the threat was absent, replaced by a trust I didn’t know I had.
The moment Zach let go, a flicker of something unexpected bloomed in the hollow of my chest... an ache, faint but sharp, like a tether had snapped too soon. I blinked hard, swallowing the feeling like a secret, and stepped back into position, fists clenched as if I could fight it off.
I ran the steps in my head, breathing shallow. My first attempt was a clumsy collision of elbows and hesitation, my body rebelling against the fluidity I imagined. My foot caught on nothing, and I stumbled.
“Almost had it,” Zach murmured, stepping in close again. His hands found my shoulders, nudging them into place with the kind of care that didn’t demand permission.
Instead of pulling away, I leaned, just a fraction, drawn to the steadiness of him, to the heat of his presence brushing along my skin. It was instinctive, that reach for balance. For him.
I closed my eyes and in the darkness behind my lids, I saw the movement... clean, sharp, and free. I exhaled and moved, letting instinct and memory guide me. My body turned, twisted, and slid out of an invisible grip with the grace of a dancer.
“There you go,” Zach said, low and warm. The words curling against my skin. Not just praise. Something deeper. Something meant for me alone.
The air around us crackled with energy, with the give-and-take of instruction and need for his touch. I didn’t mind him holding me against the wall, or gripping my neck and tying my hands to his. I almost didn’t want to try to break free, needing his touch, his sweet, soft lips.
I moaned when he came close, the heat from his breath tickling my earlobe. “Oh, you like that, do you princess?” he joked, sucking my earlobe into his mouth. I groaned some more. “What about this?” he said, placing butterfly kisses down my neck while holding my hands in his. I leaned into his sweet kisses, breathing heavier, wanting, no... needing him all over me. Then he pulled away.
“You didn’t get out of that hold very well, did you?” he teased.
I pouted and turned to him, slapping his arm. He laughed. “I’m going to need to show you how to throw a punch too!”
Laughing, I followed him over to the punching bags. He put a pair of boxing gloves on me, tightening them. Then stood behind the bag, holding it. “Go on, princess, give it everything you’ve got.”
Of course, my first hit was half-hearted. Zach’s brow lifted, a smirk tugging at his mouth as he exaggerated an eye-roll. Asshole.
I pivoted, digging my heel into the mat, let my weight twist through my hips, and drove my fist forward with everything I had. A sharp thud echoed through the gym as it landed hard, pushing the bag into Zach. He staggered back, arms windmilling, and crashed into a workbench with a grunt.
I blinked. Then grinned.
“Yes!” I shouted, leaping up and throwing a fist into the air like I’d just knocked out a heavyweight champ. Laughter bubbled out of me, wild and electric.
Zach sat up, shaking his head as his own laughter took over, low and genuine, his eyes bright with surprise.
“What’s it like,” I said between breathless chuckles, “getting your ass handed to you by a girl?”
He stood slowly, still grinning, and crossed the space between us in two long strides. Before I could react, his hand curled around the back of my head, tugging me toward him.
His mouth crashed into mine.
There was nothing tentative in it. Just heat and adrenaline and the press of a body still humming from the blow I’d landed. His tongue swept into me, hungry, confident, claiming the moment the way I’d claimed that punch.
My hands gripped his shirt, pulling him closer, tasting triumph and lust in the same breath.
Zach didn’t answer. He just stalked toward me, laughter dying on his lips as something darker took its place. His hand slid into my hair, firm but slow, and then his mouth was back on mine.
The kiss hit like a lightning strike... sharp, hot, impossible to ignore.
His lips parted mine with practiced ease, tongue slipping in, not asking, just taking. He tasted of sweat and spice, breath warm, breathless, like he’d been holding it back for too long. My knees weakened under the pressure of it, and I reached for him instinctively, clutching the front of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping me from unraveling.
He kissed me deeper, drawing a moan from my throat as his other hand slid down my back, settling low on my waist. I melted into him, the strength of his body pressing against mine, the heat between us building into something dangerous.
His tongue tangled with mine. Slow, deliberate strokes that made my thighs clench. He drew back just enough to bite down on my bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth before devouring me all over again, this time with a hunger that made my skin flush.
My hips moved of their own accord, brushing into his, and I felt him, hard. Hot and ready, pressed tight against my stomach.
Still kissing, still devouring, he walked me backward until I hit the padded wall. His thigh wedged between mine, opening me to add the pressure I craved more of. I gasped into his mouth as he rolled his hips against me, just once, testing, teasing.
Zach groaned, low in his chest, the sound vibrating against my lips like a promise.
“Still think I got my ass handed to me?” he whispered, voice rough and amused against my cheek, his breath fanning my skin.
I barely managed a nod, dazed, drunk on the taste of him.
His hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, palm hot on bare skin, and my breath hitched again. The kiss wasn’t over. It was deepening, drawing me under, taking me apart with every slow slide of his tongue, every inch of space he refused to leave between us.
His hand traveled higher, fingertips grazing the underside of my sports bra, knuckles brushing the swell of my breast. My breath caught, back arching, offering more without words. His mouth never left mine, deeper, wetter, hungrier. The kiss turned into something feral, something that clawed its way through both of us.
I slid my hands beneath his top, tracing the hard lines of his stomach, the dip between his abs, the trail of hair that led lower. His body tensed beneath my touch, hips grinding into me, the bulge in his pants nudging between my thighs like a question I was dying to answer.
A whimper slipped from my lips, swallowed by his kiss, as his thumb brushed over my nipple through the thin fabric. My legs parted wider, inviting the pressure of his thigh, the friction that made me ache.
“Zach...” I whispered into his mouth, not sure if it was a plea or a warning.
He growled in response, the sound low and dangerous, before dragging his lips down my neck. His tongue flicked over the skin beneath my ear, sending shivers racing across my arms. Then he bit, not hard, just enough to make me gasp.
“Fuck, I want you,” he muttered against my throat, the heat of his breath igniting every nerve ending.
My fingers hooked into the waistband of his pants, tugging just enough to feel his cock twitch beneath. He hissed between his teeth, thrusting against me once, twice, chasing the friction. My body trembled, my thighs slick with need.
He kissed down my collarbone, lips skimming the edge of my sports bra before dipping his tongue just below it. I arched against him, desperate for more, but then, he pulled back.
I blinked, breathless, dazed.
“That’s all for today’s training session,” he said, smug and infuriating, like he hadn’t just had me seconds from falling apart in his hands.
A groan of pure frustration tore from my throat. “You asshole!” I slapped his chest. Not hard, just enough to make him laugh.
He caught my wrist, grinning as he reeled me back in and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to the tip of my nose.
“I love you,” he murmured, voice low and warm. “My fierce, fiery little princess.”