Blood Moon (MalexMale Paranormal Fantasy)

Chapter 7 ∞ REEVE

A quick jab smashes my nose. My eyes sting and pain shoots into my sinuses and forehead. I flinch, wipe blood from my upper lip and spit it out from the back of my throat. Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I deliver an uppercut, popping Frank's head back for the fourth time. I follow with a gut shot and hear his breath whoosh out of him as he drops to the grass.

He throws an arm up, yielding, and I settle my steps to go and tell him, "Good fight."

He's too breathless to respond beyond nodding faintly and lifting his wrapped hand up to tap mine.

I towel off my sweat as I accept shouts of congrats and walk to my equipment bag to unwrap my knuckles, aware of the vampyre's watchful gaze on my bare back. My second week of training hasn't been so bad.

"Undefeated," Rainer teases, clapping me on a sweaty shoulder.

"I'm sure any one of them could beat me on a different day."

He snorts and rolls his eyes. "You're too diplomatic. You wiped the ground with all three of them. I wouldn't feel bad bragging about it if I were you."

"Of course, you wouldn't," I tease, rolling my shoulders to rid my skin of the prickling awareness that alerts me to the approaching warder. He steps beside Rainer and crosses his arms over sculpted pecs, examining me while crowding into my space like he has a right to be there. His deft fingers lift to touch me, gingerly pressing under my eyes.

I can't have him babying me in front of Zeta Braun and the other wolves. I'm not some prissy pup looking for a nursemaid.

"I brought a few supplies with me, so I can take a better look at this right here." He leans in and steadies his hands, reaching to feel along the bone line.

I flinch away. "It'll be fine. It's not my first hit to the nose."

His smile is pinched with annoyance, pronouncing his dimples. "Are you sure, I can try to kiss it and see if that makes it feel better?"

Panic erupts then engulfs me. He's too close, and I don't know what my face looks like, but it causes him to frown and step back.

"That was called a joke, Young Alpha. That's not an actual healing practice."

I rub at the emerging goosebumps on my biceps, trying hard to subdue the tremble in my hands; longing to shut him up with my fist. Or my mouth, my traitorous thoughts suggest. I've been attracted to both male and female wolves before, but never with the kind of potent lust he evokes. It's maddening. I don't even know this male. This stranger frying my nerves. I hate how unbalanced I feel, like I'm splintering into too many pieces: I'm an alpha still in training, divinely blessed with a vision, a new omega, a vampyre that I don't know what to do with. What if he betrays us? What if our pack accepts him and he takes off? What if he brings his king's wrath to our borders? Entanglements with him seem like a terrible idea.

I shrug away my physical response to him—the thought of someone as powerful as him dropping to his knees for me. "It's fine. I'll have Omi take a look."

His hazel eyes narrow to slits, pink mouth pinching into distaste and revealing the tiniest peek of his fangs. "I'm a master warder, or did you miss that part of my title? This is my area of expertise. My saliva alone could heal that ten times faster than any compress your omicron can give you."

I can't tell if he's kidding. There are so many rumors about vampyres, I have a hard time separating fact from fiction, but I don't dare expose my lack of knowledge. Instead, I zip my bag and sling it over my shoulder and then meet his hardened gaze. "I appreciate the offer of you spitting on me, but Omicron Easton has always been the one to tend to my injuries."