Chapter 12 Luna #2
Then, I lunge at him, throwing a quick jab toward his face. He blocks it easily, but I follow with a low kick that catches him slightly off-guard.
“Not bad,” he says, circling me with newfound interest. “Your form needs work, but you’ve got good instincts.”
I attack again, this time with a combination I’d practiced hundreds of times alone in that basement. Ethan blocks most of my strikes, but I land a glancing blow to his ribs.
“Ooh, she got you!” Oli calls out, and I can see him jumping excitedly.
Ethan’s eyes narrow, and suddenly I’m on the defensive as he advances with lightning speed.
His movements are fluid, controlled—nothing like the jerky attempts I’d been making.
Before I can process what’s happening, I’m flat on my back, staring up at the ceiling, the breath knocked from my lungs.
He secures my wrists over my head, his weight crushing me, and I start to panic.
The air in the room suddenly feels too thick to breathe.
The edges of my vision blur. I blink hard, trying to focus, but Ethan’s face… shifts. A jagged scar carves across his forehead.
And just like that, I’m 16 again and back at the Shifter Institute.
The main ceremony hall empties behind me as I take the shortcut to my dorm room behind the main stage.
Big mistake.
The narrow hallway stretches ahead, and suddenly, it feels twice as long. Two hulking figures step into view, blocking the exit at the end of the corridor. I recognized them immediately—the same assholes who kept smirking at me during the swimsuit ceremony and making obscene gestures.
“Look what we have here,” says the bigger one with a scar on his forehead. “A little mouse all alone.” I take a step back, my throat tightening. I hate that my body betrays me like this—showing fear when I need strength.
“I’m not a mouse, dumbass,” I snap, forcing my voice to stay steady. “Maybe if you’d paid attention during the ceremony instead of sniffing your own ass, you’d know the difference.”
The leaner one laughs, but it’s a hollow sound that makes my skin crawl. “Ooh, little mouse got claws.”
“Bet she purrs too,” says Scar Face, stepping toward me. “I’ve always wanted to make a mouse purr.”
I scan the corridor for an escape route.
“Back off,” I warn, “I’m not in the mood for whatever bullshit you’re planning.”
The lean one’s eyes gleam yellow in the dim light. “Your mood’s gonna change real fast, silver.” He nods at my hair. “Don’t worry, you’re safe with us.”
Like hell I am.
My back hits the wall. Shit. I didn’t even realize I was retreating.
“You know what they say about silver-haired bitches?” Scar Face asks, now close enough that I can smell the alcohol on his breath.
“That we kick the asses of drunk wolves who don’t understand personal space?” I raise my chin, refusing to look away from his gaze.
His hand shoots out, grabbing my throat. Not tight enough to cut off air, just enough to show he could. My heartbeat thunders in my ears, drowning out the voice in my head, screaming to run.
“They say you’re special in bed,” he growls, his thumb tracing my jawline. “That you go wild. Isn’t that right, little mouse?”
I spit in his face. It lands square in his eye.
For one satisfying second, he flinches back. Then his expression darkens, and his grip tightens.
“You fucking bitch!”
The first punch lands on my cheekbone, snapping my head to the side. Pain explodes across my face. Before I can recover, his fist sinks into my stomach, driving the air from my lungs.
I double over, gasping.
He grabs me, shoving me hard against the wall. My head cracks, and for a moment, my vision swims.
“Hold the cunt down,” the lean one says, stepping closer. “I want my turn before you wreck her face.”
Scarface grabs my wrists, pinning them above my head with one massive hand. With the other, he tears at my robe, dropping it on the floor, then shifts into claws, tearing my swimsuit off.
“GET OFF ME!” I scream, hoping someone—anyone—might still be nearby.
“Scream all you want, little mouse,” the lean one says, running his fingers through my silver hair before gripping it painfully. “Security’s in the parking lot. Nobody’s coming for you.”
My stomach drops.
“Let me get this right,” I gasp. “You have to corner a female because nobody will fuck your tiny dicks.”
Another punch lands, this time to my ribs. I hear something crack, and pain shoots through my side. My knees buckle, but Scarface holds me up, pinned against the wall.
“Let’s see what you think of our dicks when we’re fucking you,” the lean one says, his hands now at his belt buckle.
My mind detaches slightly, floating somewhere above the scene. A defense mechanism, I suppose. Part of me is cataloging the damage—split lip, bruised ribs, possible concussion.
Scarface shifts his grip, squeezing my breast.
“Look at those tits,” he says, his voice dropping lower. “Told you silver-haired bitches were worth the trouble.”
My legs are still free. I kick out, aiming for his groin, but he twists away, laughing.
“Feisty! I like that. Makes it more fun when you break.”
The lean one has his pants unzipped now. “Hold her legs, too. Don’t want her kneeing my balls before I get my dick wet.”
My stomach turns at his words. I struggle harder, ignoring the pain shooting through my ribs. “Touch me, and I swear I’ll rip your throat out.”
“You hear that, Mike? She’s threatening us.” Scarface laughs, adjusting his grip to pin my legs with his knee. “I think we need to teach her how to speak to her betters.”
“I’ve got something to shut her mouth,” the lean one—Mike—says, stepping closer.
My vision blurs with tears I refuse to let fall. Not from fear—from pure rage.
“You’ll have to kill me first.” I spit out, blood and saliva landing on Scarface’s cheek again.
He wipes it away with his free hand, then punches me in the stomach again. My body tries to fold in on itself, but his grip keeps me upright. The pain is blinding, radiating through my core.
“Not killing you, little mouse. Just gonna fuck you and make you wish you were.”
Mike pulls his dick out, stroking himself as he moves closer. “Been thinking about this since I first saw you strutting around that stage with those disgusting legs of yours.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” I gasp, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in my ribs. “But this isn’t going to be the fantasy you’ve been jacking off to.”
“No?” His eyes are entirely yellow now, wolf emerging with his arousal. “You’re the one half-naked and pinned to a wall. Looks pretty close to my fantasy.”
My mind races, desperate for a way out. Their grip is too firm to break directly. My legs are pinned, my arms immobilized. But my eyes dart around, searching for anything—
There. About three feet to my right, sitting on a decorative pedestal. A large ceramic vase, part of the Institute’s pretentious décor, was too heavy to be practical but perfect for what I needed.
I need to get them to shift positions. Just slightly.
“You know what’s sad?” I ask, my voice suddenly calmer. Both of them pause, suspicious of my tone change. “You have to force females because none would touch you willingly. Must be hard, being so pathetic.”
Mike’s face contorts with rage. “You fucking—”
“I mean, look at you,” I continue, tilting my head toward the vase, trying to make them adjust their positions. “Tiny dick, massive ego. Classic compensation.”
It works. Mike steps closer, grabbing my face roughly. “I’ll show you tiny—”
Scarface shifts his stance to give Mike better access, loosening his grip on my legs just enough. I gather every ounce of strength I have left and kick out sideways, my foot connecting with the pedestal.
The vase teeters for a heart-stopping moment, then crashes to the floor with a sound like the world ending. Ceramic shards explode across the corridor.
Both men jump at the noise, their grips loosening just enough. I slam my head forward, connecting with Mike’s nose. Blood spurts, and he stumbles back, howling. Scarface turns to look at the shattered vase, and I bring my knee up hard between his legs.
He doubles over, cursing, his grip releasing me completely.
I slide down the wall, my legs too weak to hold me. The edges of my vision are fading to darkness. Too many hits to the head—too much adrenaline. My body is shutting down.
Footsteps echo down the corridor. Mike is scrambling to zip his pants, blood still pouring from his nose.
“What the hell is going on here?” A deep voice booms from the end of the hall.
Security.
Finally.
My vision tunnels further, darkness creeping in from all sides. The last thing I see is a uniformed figure rushing toward us, radio in hand, calling for backup.
“Help,” I try to say, but my mouth won’t form the word. Instead, I taste blood and everything goes dark.
What the… Where am I?
The voices fade, the hallway dissolves, and I’m gasping on the gym floor, sweat and tears mixing as the present slams back into me.
It takes a second to remember.
Ethan pinned me.
The flashback.
The world snaps back into focus, and I see the guys crowded around me, worry written all over their faces.
“Luna?” Ethan says, his voice panicked. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Give her some room to breathe,” Hudson says, his tone calmer but no less concerned.
I push myself to a sitting position. My heartbeat is still racing.
“Luna,” Oli says, his voice gentle.
“I’m fine,” I say, but my voice shakes as I say it.
“We can stop,” Ethan suggests.
“We’re not stopping,” I insist, staggering to my feet. They’re all staring at me, but I don’t care. I need this. I need to shake off the memory. “I want to go again.”
Axel looks concerned. “Are you sure? You looked like—”
“I said I’m fine,” I snap. It comes out harsher than I mean it to, but I don’t take it back. The last thing I want is their pity. I refuse to be weak.
Never again.
Hudson studies me with those perceptive eyes. “Alright,” he relents. “But take it at your own pace.”
I nod, wiping sweat and tears from my eyes, and step back onto the mat. I push the memory away, shoveling it back with all the others.
“Ready when you are,” Ethan says, still looking unsure.
“Let’s go,” I say, settling into a fighting stance.
He lunges again, and I feel panic rearing up, but this time I’m ready. I twist away from him, coming around with a roundhouse kick. He dodges, but barely. Being caught off guard made him sloppy, giving me an opening.
“That’s more like it,” he says, his grin returning as he recovers his footing.
We circle each other again, faster now, neither holding back.
This is good. I block his next strike and use the momentum to bring a stiff elbow into his side. Satisfaction pulses through me at the impact.
“Yes!” Axel whoops. “Get him, Luna!”
I’m the one pinning Ethan this time, straddling his chest, my fists ready to strike.
He taps out, laughing breathlessly. “Okay, okay! You got me!”
It’s exhilarating.
After what feels like hours but is probably only minutes, Hudson calls time. I’m gasping for air, sweat stinging my eyes.
“Good effort,” Hudson nods. “You’ve got potential, Luna.”
I collapse onto a nearby bench, gulping water. Every muscle screams, but it’s a good kind of pain.
The kind that means growth.
“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” Oli asks, plopping down beside me.
I shrug, wiping sweat from my brow. “ShifterTube, mostly. And lots of practice on my own.”
“ShifterTube?” Axel snorts. “What, did you take an online course in ‘Badassery 101’?”
“Nope,” I pop the ‘p’. “The institute’s extracurriculars were more ‘Needlepoint’ and ‘How to Smile Prettily.’ I had to get creative.”
“Well,” Ethan says, “ShifterTube or not, you’ve got talent. With some proper training, you could be formidable.”
A warm feeling blooms in my chest at his words. It’s been a long time since anyone believed in me like that.
“Speaking of proper training,” Hudson interjects, “let’s work on your form.”
For the next hour, they take turns showing me different moves. They’re surprisingly patient teachers, guiding my movements with gentle but firm hands.
I’m hyper-aware of their touch and scents—a mix of sweat, earth, and something wild fills my nose. My skin tingles where they make contact, and I have to focus on the lessons, not how my body reacts to their proximity.
“Keep your guard up,” Ethan instructs, demonstrating a series of quick jabs. “You’re leaving yourself open.”
I mimic his movements. Axel watches critically, then steps behind me. His hands settle on my hips, adjusting my stance. My breath catches in my throat.
“Like this,” he murmurs, his breath hot against my ear. “Twist from your core. It’ll give your punches more oomph.”
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the heat radiating from his body.
We move on to kicks.
Axel takes the lead, showing me how to pivot for maximum force.
“It’s all about the hip rotation,” he explains, demonstrating a roundhouse kick that looks effortless. “Try it.”
I attempt to copy him, but my kick is weak and wobbly.
Axel shakes his head, smirking. “Not quite, Wildcat. Let me show you before you kick yourself in the face.”
He stands behind me, one hand on my hip, the other on my shoulder.
“When you kick, rotate your hips like this,” he says, guiding my body through the motion.
“And keep your upper body stable. You’re not a washing machine on a spin cycle.
” His voice dips, his breath hot against my ear.
“Though I wouldn’t mind watching that, Wildcat. ”
We go through the movement several times until I can do it solo. My kicks are nowhere near as powerful as Axel’s, but they’re improving.
“Much better,” Oli grins, giving me a thumbs up. “You’re a quick learner.”
As the training continues, I feel myself getting stronger and more confident. The guys are impressed, I can tell. Even Hudson, who’s been mostly stoic, nods approvingly as I execute a perfect takedown on Ethan.
“Not bad.” Ethan chuckles from his position on the mat. “But don’t get cocky. I let you have that one.”
I roll my eyes, offering him a hand up.
The afternoon passes in a blur of sweat, punches, and aching muscles. By the time Hudson calls it quits, I’m exhausted but exhilarated.
I feel… alive.
“Hit the showers, everyone,” Hudson orders. “Luna, good work today. We’ll pick this up again tomorrow. Try not to ShifterTube any cage-fighting techniques before then, yeah?”