In the Silence

8

Freya Astor

"Seriously, who does this guy think he is!?" I pace around my apartment, seething. "He all of a sudden appears after all these years and decides to ruin—" I pause my pacing. Dane Harrison had not really ruined anything, well, apart from my peace, that is.

He did nothing to offend me; it was well within his right to date anyone he wanted. Who knows, Morana might even be his mate; the pack would love that. A freshly mated couple brings nothing but good fortune. I scoff at the thought, and a sour taste fills my mouth.

My brain goes back to the image of her hand on his hip. How I wanted to cut off her hand in that moment. I grunt and push the thought away. Not giving myself a chance to second-guess my decision, I pack my sports bag and head for the gym; a round of knocking someone out never harmed anyone.

I drive to a run-down building, a place the town's Alpha would never dare set foot in. I push the door open and head straight for the changing rooms. When I head out again, I hear a gruff voice call out. "Hey, fucker, never thought I'd see your face here again."

"Just thought it's about time I beat your ass, Gunnar," I shoot back at the Irishman. He's not very tall, taller than most, but shorter than most werewolves. He has short red hair and freckled skin. I met him back in my street fighting days when he took me under his wing; he's become like a father to me.

"Well, little bullet, show me what you've got."

I step onto the mat, and a practiced calm washes over me. I don't bother putting on gloves and decide to wrap my knuckles instead. I get into my stance, and he mirrors me across the mat. I lunge before he has a chance to react. Even though much taller, he dodges my kick with ease.

He goes to grab my ankle, but I expect it. I knock against his elbow and throw him off balance. He spins, and I duck under the kick he sends my way. The flurry of hits and punches I throw at him gets him out of breath quickly, yet he keeps pace. I don't work to harm, only to throw or to pin to the mat.

Finally, I get a punch to his stomach, and he bends over with a sharp breath. "Fucker!" He bites out, and I grin. "Keep up, old man."

The gym is alive with the rhythmic thud of gloves meeting gloves. Gunnar and I dance around each other, our movements fluid and precise. I throw a jab; he counters effortlessly. Blow after blow, we exchange punches.

I aim for his midsection, but he sidesteps with ease, not making the same mistake as last time. He lands a hook to my ribs. I grit my teeth and retaliate, my punches coming faster and harder.

We circle each other like predators, eyes locked in fierce determination. With a swift combination, I catch him off guard, a grin spreading across my face. A sweep at his feet has him struggling to regain his balance, but with one movement, he jabs at my shoulder. Launching a barrage of punches that I struggle to evade, I look for his hands to see where his hits were coming from.

In that one moment, with a single kick to my knee, I go sailing to the floor.

Gunnar laughs, and I roll onto my back and scowl at him. "You still don't protect your legs. You still have your balance, Bullet, but you're always staying in the same spot."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Why have the whole ring when I don't use it." I roll my eyes as I repeat the same mantra he used to drill into me. He offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet in one fluid movement. "You shifted yet?" Gunnar asks, and I grunt.

I take a towel off the rack and dab at the sheer coats of sweat on my face. Gunnar laughs at my response, "I'll take that as a no."

I go over to one of the punching bags and start going at it. I don't pay attention to what the few other people in the gym are doing and focus on just letting my frustration out. Suddenly, the bag steadies, and I see Gunnar holding it. I nod a brief thank you at him and continue. "I'm guessing this isn't just about the fact that you haven't shifted yet," my previous trainer deduces.