4
KILLIAN
I feel cooped up all morning. The gym is stuffy. Reeks of socks and jocks.
I take B-roster down to the ravine to train on a downed oak laying across a dried-up creek bed. Put them through their paces. It’s always fun to watch males who think they’re badass eat dirt ‘cause they can’t find their center.
Conor and Gael are coming along, but Fallon might be better suited to the maintenance crew. It’s a shame. The kid has heart. No fuckin’ balance, though.
Una gets along well, considering how jacked up her gait is. I was never clear on how her leg got mangled. Thomas Fane was involved somehow right before my father put him down.
She could probably improve function with consistent training. I’d start with heel and toe raises, lifts and crunches. Put her on a treadmill. Maybe some yoga. Jimmy’s been doing that to maintain flexibility as he bulks up. He’s had some decent results.
Other than the leg, her musculature is decent. She’s got a female’s round hips and soft belly—you don’t wanna mess with that—but there’s definition in her arms. Her posture’s good. And she’s got those sweet tits.
I don’t remember them being so ripe. Earlier, she was wearing a white T-shirt that clung to the slopes of her breasts. It was so thin you could see her fat, dark areolas. Big as half dollars.
My mouth waters. Up on the log, Fallon teeters. Conor gives me a side eye. Did I growl again?
My wolf’s antsy. I already let him run along the river for a few miles, but he’s still making himself known. He knows he can help himself, but he’s not interested in food or a fight to work off some energy.
This is Una’s fault. She’s disturbed the force. She seems so innocent. Stays in the kitchen, keeps her head down. So why’s she so thick with the crone? Haisley and her crew wouldn’t be caught dead up at the cottage. They ward against the evil eye when they so much as hear Abertha’s name.
And now that I think about it, she gets around. Doesn’t stay in her own circle like the other females. She’s tight with the other lone females, but I also see her around Old Noreen’s and the Campbell’s cabin. Some of the quieter elders will call her over for a word at the lodge—I’ve seen her and Nuala with their heads together. Una gave her some honey or jam or something. And last month, wasn’t it, I saw her talking to Liam at the garage. What business does she have with him?
And why do I care? She’s not breaking any rules.
It’s this mate bullshit. It’s gotten in my head. I accepted a long time ago that I’m destined for something else. The flip-shifting. How I have my own ideas—I don’t want to do shit the way it’s always been done. I figured the cost of greatness was no mate. No young.
It’s isn’t what I would have chosen, but that’s the thing about Fate—she’s got her own mind.
It’s a bitter pill, but I deal with it.
And Una wants to stand in the middle of the pack, claim me, and nearly die for the insubordination. Haisley’s teeth were real fucking close to her carotid. If Haisley had seen Una as a real threat, she’d be dead.
What a cluster.
I’ve got a riled wolf inside me, an unsettled pack, and there’s no fight to look forward to. The next match is a month from now in North Border.
I sigh. Fallon pinwheels his arms and falls into the river for the sixth or seventh time.
Too far from the commons.
My senses jolt. The hairs on my arms stand on end.
I sniff the breeze. “Do you smell that?”
“What?” Conor and Gael twitch their noses. “Dinner?”
I inhale again. There’s a faint hint of smoke and beef in the air. Maybe that’s what caught my attention.
“Get back up there, Fallon. Front snap kick. Go.” I clap a few times. He groans. I nod to Conor to partner him.
Get back to camp.
I pop my ears. The voice—if that’s what it is—is silent.
The sun’s still high, the sky is blue and cloudless, and the woods are peaceful. Birds chirp. Beavers are building a dam a half-mile downstream.
Shivers creep up my spine.
A black dot swoops across the horizon, riding a current. My fangs shoot out.
“Damn.” I suck the cut. It’s just a hawk, not even a very big one.
It’s like I’m jittery. I don’t get jitters. I get stoked. Aggressive.
Fallon lands a high kick, forcing Conor back a step. Fallon stumbles, falls on his ass, squashes his balls, shrieks, and then tumbles off the log as he curls up like an armadillo.