“What the hell, man?” Gael touches the back of his head. His fingers come away dripping blood.
This time I go help him up. “My bad. Must be the wolf.”
I know some people talk to their wolves, give ‘em personalities and shit, but mine is simple. He’s an animal. He wants meat and blood. He sees it; he wants it; he goes for it. He’s never let me down, so I give him free reign. Never had a complaint. We don’t need to commune. Feel each other’s feelings. We just—are. As it should be.
But he can get rambunctious.
I twist Gael’s head, check out the cut. I can’t see skull. He’s fine. I punch his shoulder. “Let’s go bench.”
I’m trying to get him up to middleweight by the North Border fight. He could be competitive. Or he could get mauled and thanked for it by a Canuck if he doesn’t stop flopping like a soccer player every time he gets whacked by a punching bag.
“Can I spot first?” He staggers a little on the way to the equipment.
“Nope.” And he’s doing double reps for asking.
While we’re doing sets, Tye and Alfie come back from patrol. Ivo and Finn must have relieved them early. Definitely Ivo who made that call. Finn’s a lazy shit. Thinks ‘cause he kisses Lochlan’s ass, he’s special.
He’s special ‘cause he’s currently top ranked in the circuit for cruiserweight. When his laziness inevitably costs him the title, he’s back to mopping the ring and stacking towels with the rest of B-roster.
I slap Gael’s ass. “Good work. Hit the showers.” Gael’s relief is visible. Dude needs to work on his game face. “Fallon. You’re up.”
I rack my weights and wave the pup over to the ring. He comes. Reluctantly. Scared as a rabbit as my grandad used to say. Kid needs to work on his game face, too. He’s eighteen now. By his age, my father had been entering me in the New Moon fights for years.
I start today’s lesson with an uppercut to the jaw. It’ll be harder for the others to tell he’s a pussy if his face is swollen.
Fallon’s got potential, natural talent for days, but no strategy. He goes for the duck every time. I wait for his head to go down and nail him with a hook around each time he does it, and he still can’t figure out what he’s doing wrong.
It’d be entertaining if it wasn’t gonna get him mauled in the ring.
At least Una Hayes has the excuse of inexperience. She sprinted right into Haisley’s open mouth. Fuckin’ delivery service. I had to fight my wolf hard not to intervene. He must’ve thought a pup was being attacked.
The whole thing still doesn’t sit entirely right with me, but if you’re big enough to go after a packmate, you’re big enough to take your beating. I wasn’t gonna let Haisley kill her or anything. For a second there, I almost tagged in, it was so hard to watch. I would’ve never lived it down, intervening in a female fight.
I have to talk to Abertha. If Una’s not all there in the head, exceptions need to be made for her. We don’t hurt females, young, or the defective anymore. I ended that shit.
Not everyone likes the new world order, but everyone is free to challenge me if they want to go back to the old ways. I only had to put a few males in the ground before the rest decided they could acclimate to change. Fear is a powerful motivator.
Speaking of—Fallon’s getting too complacent. He’s clinching so much, he should’ve bought me dinner beforehand. I throw a flurry into his gut, alternating with some pity pat shots to his thick head, and when he gets nice and disoriented, I drive an uppercut into his ribs and smile at the nice, clean crack.
He groans piteously as he taps my shoulder. “Enough, Alpha.”
I follow up with a sharp jab for good measure. I say when it’s enough. It’ll be enough when he learns he’s not safe in the ring and hugging is for the bitch he’s banging.
“Stop clinching.” I jab him again, right in the broken rib, and he yelps. “Stop ducking.”
I meant for it to be a quick lesson, but I guess my wolf’s got the taste of blood. I have my fist drawn back again when Tye grabs my forearm. When I snarl, Tye immediately drops his hold and shows his neck.
I growl from the chest. My wolf flashes his fangs. Tye lowers his gaze to the ground.
My heart pounds for no reason. Fallon Campbell isn’t a challenge. He’s hardly more of a workout than the bag most days. And Tye is my beta, my right hand. I don’t need his submission. I need him to check my ass when I lose it.