Page 2 of Owning His Mate

He doesn’t look at me as I approach, and I don’t say anything to alert him of my presence as I step up behind him. He knows I’m here.

“You’re getting in earlier and earlier,” he notes, slamming his fist into the bag in three quick punches.

“Not like there’s anything else to do,” I gripe. “Your fearless leader isn’t exactly sending the new kids on the block out on missions, is he?”

Beck grabs the bag as it swings, steadying it, before he turns to me. “Considering your hand-to-hand fighting skills, do you really think you should be out there? If your magic fails, you won’t last thirty seconds.”

The fine hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention, and if I could reach my wolf, I’m sure she would growl at his barbed dismissal. “I survived all this time without your help.”

He leans down, grabbing his water bottle at the edge of the mat, and opens it before bringing it to his lips. “That’s true. So why do you come here every morning and let me kick your ass?”

I don’t have an answer for that—at least not one that wouldn’t make me sound as if I’m losing my mind. Maybe I have succumbed to whatever madness affects our kind enough to corrupt our magic. “Because I don’t enjoy being beat, and I want to get better at fighting.”

He stops drinking, recapping the bottle and clutching it between his fingers as he stares at me. “Couldn’t one of your own group teach you how to do this?”

Is he crazy?

“Come on, Beck, stop being a jerk. I need to learn this stuff.”

“Because you don’t want to get captured and stuck in some barbaric breeding game?”

He thinks I’m afraid. Maybe I am. Isn’t it smart to fear an enemy more powerful than you?

But that’s not why I’m standing in front of him, asking for his help, or at least not the whole reason. I need purpose. If I can fight, I can be of use, and maybe, just maybe, I can change things for the better.

“No one is going to capture me,” I mutter, stepping onto the mat and rolling my neck from one shoulder to the other.

“Let’s hope not.” He sighs. “I’m still not sure why you want my help out of everyone here.”

“I’m pretty sure if I asked Cade to throw me around on a training mat, Halle would scratch my eyes out. I’m not sure even Roux would allow me to train with Sawyer.” And she and I are the closest of all the women. “You’re all I have.”

“There are plenty of others here who would train with you,” he grumbles, and I don’t know why he’s so bent out of shape about this. He’s a great teacher. In the short time he’s been helping me, I’ve already learned so much.

“But none of them are as good as you.” I give him a sweet smile, and this seems to help my cause. He steps back onto the mat, even as he huffs out a breath.

Feeling victorious, I slip my sneakers off and tuck my socks inside them before I place them at the side of the mat.

As usual, my instincts flare when I stand in front of him. Beck is a big guy, even though he is not vargr. His eyes are a brown so dark they almost look black, making it hard to see where the irises start and the pupils end. He’s so different from his brother, Archie, who has light brown eyes that sometimes look amber in a certain light.

As I relax into a fighting pose, his gaze roams over my bare arms, seeing the bruises he left there. Before he can tell me we are not doing this, I slam my fist out, aiming for his gut.

Beck reacts instantly, feigning back and dodging slightly to his left. Fuck, he is fast! It feels like I’m moving through molasses whenever I fight him. He has better pace, far more stamina, and his punches are like being hit with cement blocks. I’m not sure why I torture myself with this, only that it feels good to do something.

He lashes out in retaliation, catching me in the side with the edge of his knuckles. Pain erupts through my torso, spreading between my hip and the bottom of my ribs. I can’t stop myselffrom folding in half to ease some of the pressure, but I only allow that for a moment before I’m facing him again. In a real fight situation, I wouldn’t be given even a second of respite, so that is how I treat these sessions.

He huffs out a breath, as if irritated by my stubbornness, and I smirk as I lunge again, surprising both of us when I slam my fist into the side of his face. The punch rattles every bone in my hand, forcing a gasp out of my mouth. Just as I’m about to apologize, he steps into my space, and in a split second, I’m on my back, looking up at his face over me.

Son of a bitch.

Beck smiles down at me, but it seems more predatory than anything else. “Never let your guard down. Remorse or sympathy can get you killed, Apryle. These hunters are ruthless, and they will do whatever it takes to subdue you. You have to fight with everything you have.”

I curve my lip into a snarl. “I was scared I hurt you, jerk.”

He lifts himself off me and straightens, offering me his hand. I don’t take it, pushing my palms under me and standing without help.

“Has anyone ever told you how stubborn you are? And you won’t hurt me, Apryle.”

Plenty of people have told me I’m stubborn, sarcastic, and a myriad of other words designed to hurt. I hide behind barbed insults because I know it will keep people away, and that is all that matters to me.

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