I lean against the ropes and let Tye coach. I’ve got Finn and Conor in the ring. Tye’s missed at least three fouls by Finn so far—in fairness, I caught ‘em too late to call—but that’s all right. Jimmy is watching, and he’s up next. Finn’s gonna go down the second after the buzzer.
It’s better that I hang back. Between the flashbacks and Una curled in her chair in the corner, I have zero focus, and my wolf’s—unsteady.
Una’s ignoring everything, reading on her phone. That raised a few eyebrows, but I’m mostly working B-roster today, and none of them would say shit even if they had a mouth full. Fallon tried to check his voicemail messages, though, when he was waiting his turn on deck. Now he’s gonna need a new phone. And he’s gonna have to ice his tailbone where I kicked it, too. Rules have changed for females, not for training.
It’s like I’ve lost control of my brain. My memories are all mixed up. There are flashes of last night. The taste of Una’s cream on my fingers. The way she splayed her legs, urging me on. Demanding. I’m rock-hard in grey sweatpants, watching dudes spar. It’s awkward.
There’s no sign of bossy Una from last night now. She’s back to reserved, tryin’ to keep a low profile, but that’s impossible because—besides the whole phone thing—she’s the only female present, and when a male so much as glances in her direction, my wolf howls a warning. Not a growl. He’s not being subtle. He shakes the rafters, and everyone’s nerves are raw from it, including mine.
But it’s good practice for the males. There’s lots of howling on fight night.
I’d be cool if the memories were just from last night, but there are other ones, too. Faded. Old. Unfamiliar.
Una as a young girl, her body bloody and limp in the bright green grass. My wolf straddling her, snapping his teeth at my father as he commands, “Shift, boy. There’s nothing you can do for her now.”
Her slight weight in my arms as I lift her into a truck bed and then haul my broken body in after, terrified they’ll peel off and leave me behind. It was the red Ford I learned on. The one with the trick engine that Una’s been taking to town.
In my memory, when the truck finally comes to a stop, the crone lowers the tailgate, her crow’s feet and silver hair exactly as they are now, tears filling her flinty eyes as she says, “Oh, Killian. Your mate. What have they done? I told them about Thomas Fane. I warned them.”
In the present moment, my body primes to fight, but there are no enemies. Only the familiar sights and sounds of the gym.
I reach out for the bond. It’s there. My end is strong and sure, as much a part of me as any other organ.
And it always has been, hasn’t it? It’s not new. I know that now.
How did I not feel it?
What else is there that I can’t see?
Una’s too far away. I give the bond a tug, try to get her to come to me like she did at breakfast. She unburies her nose from her phone, blinking like an owl. I give another tug.
She frowns. Then she gives her own end of the bond a grumpy yank.
It’s weak but unmistakable. It lightens my heart and calms my nerves.
I jog over to where she’s sitting and squat so we’re eye level. She draws herself up, flattening herself against the back of the chair.
I grin. She hikes her chin.
“Well?” I grab the sides of the chair so she’s bracketed by my arms. My wolf and I both like her there. He simmers down, eases back. He’s been riding me just below the skin. A little space is a relief.
“Well, what?”
“You called me. I came.”
“I didn’t, and you know it. I was telling you to knock it off.”
I cock my head. “How was I supposed to know that? Felt like a ‘come here’ tug to me.”
“It’s never gonna be a ‘come here’ tug.”
“Never’s a long time.”
She’s scowling, and I’m growing lighter by the second. Her warm, homey scent is in my nose, and I am where I’m supposed to be.
“You can go back over there.” She waves at the ring.
I lower to my knees, sit on my heels. “I like it better here.”
She glances over my shoulder. “Your males are staring. You better get up before they all challenge you. You’re kneeling in front of a female.”
“I am, aren’t I?” I move my hands to rest them on her thighs. She glares, but she doesn’t push me away. She clutches her phone tight against her belly.
“You’re losing status as we speak,” she says.