Page 5

AUbrEY

A nother day, another combat training session.

Most of the Cursed here train only hand-to-hand, or melee or ranged weapons, depending on their curse. Lucky me, however, trains in all forms of combat. Today is a Krav Maga session to hone our physical defenses.

At least they have the sense to break the sessions up so I’m not physically overexerted.

I’m not the only one who has to learn various martial art styles and how to use both melee weapons and ranged, but the only other person I care to communicate with who goes through what I do is Colt, who told me he wouldn’t be here today. Psyche evaluations are a constant for him.

“Front and center!” Lieutenant Yarr shouts over the clamor of incoming students and commands us to stand before him. Once we’re all lined up, me in the rear third row, Yarr begins to pace the front line, his hands clasped behind his back. Like the rest of us, he’s in his usual workout gear: Black sweats and a gray tee-shirt. Most military instructors here like to stand out and wear something more flashy than those they teach, but not Yarr. Part of me respects that.

“We have a new student joining us today, and we will whip her into shape posthaste. Enter, Miss Amato!”

That scent hits me before I see her; faint roses and myrrh surround her frame and invade my senses.

She’s wearing the same sweats and tee as the rest of us, only beneath it is a skintight black bodysuit that covers her arms and neck. She wears a pair of black gloves as well. Her mass of deep brown hair is haphazardly wrapped up atop her head. Those pale silver eyes are wide, like a frightened doe as she approaches us all.

I fight a growl that threatens to escape my throat as something shifts in my chest, a creature that demands no one else looks at her. But it calms when I scan the group and find no one else paying her much attention. I’m both soothed and confused.

I hadn’t seen or even scented her all day yesterday, and now she’s here in the same room, and I find my hands clenching and opening with nerves.

“Modumo!”

My head whips toward the Lieutenant when he shouts my name.

“Since Walker isn’t here today, I want you to pair up with Amato. Show her the ropes and spar. I’ll be assessing.”

My brow tightens but I give him a firm nod in agreement. What else can I do?

This is not at all what I wanted. I need to stay as far away from this Omega as possible. For both our sake.

Fuck Colt and his fucked up mind keeping him from class.

“Get to work!”

My jaw sets as the rest of the class disperses. I make my way slowly toward the young woman and tower over her small frame once I’m near.

When she looks up at me, something flashes in her eyes I can’t discern before they narrow. She stands upright, her chin up. “Touch my skin and die,” she says, her tone hard as stone.

Her words surprise me, my brows rising a touch despite myself.

I’ve seen all forms of curses in the eleven years I’ve been in the system, and I know enough not to question when someone gives a cryptic message like that. Plus, it would explain the bodysuit and gloves.

She’s not the only one in the academy who wraps their whole body up in that fashion, and she won’t be the last.

I give a curt nod and motion to the last remaining empty mat toward the doors. She leads the way, and it’s all I can do not to pounce on her back along the way.

Anger and frustration build inside me.

She isn’t even walking in some seductive way. The sway of her hips isn’t exaggerated, and the long tee completely covers her ass.

I shake my head in a quick, jerking movement, trying to rid these unwanted thoughts and feelings from my mind. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, and these thoughts...these emotions...they’re more dangerous than most know.

This has to end.

She turns when she reaches the far end of the mat and looks at me expectantly.

I don’t think the Lieutenant thought this through. It’s not like I can instruct her on what to do.

But it isn’t a moment later when Yarr approaches the mat, tablet in grasp. “We’ll start with light offense,” he advises. “I want Amato to advance, and Modumo, you defend.” He tosses a pair of padded training gloves to the Omega, and she easily catches them. “Modumo can’t speak, but The Tank is our best combatant in this academy.”

The praise does nothing for me, but the beast inside is oddly smug. I get the feeling it’s because it wants to impress the Omega.

“I’m here to assess your stance and ability, Miss Amato.”

Yarr steps back, the light from his tablet dancing across his upper body and face. It’s common practice for sessions to be recorded for assessment over time, and I’m sure that’s what he’s doing.

I face the Omega, who seems to be mulling over what the Lieutenant has said, her eyes squinting at the mat beneath her feet. She rubs her knuckles absently and frowns a moment before she pulls on the padded training gloves and winds the attached wraps. She’s obviously sparred before.

Wiggling her fingers, she readjusts, likely due to the full gloves she already has on. But it isn’t a moment later that she turns her body so her left side faces me and raises both fists in the air, right hand lower than the left. I barely have a moment to appreciate her stance before she’s on me.

She jumps, and her right heel meets my solar-plexus in a spinning back-kick that sends me sliding backward on the mat at least three feet. Although there’s a decent amount of power behind her strike for such a small thing, the blow doesn’t hurt much. There’s a reason I’m called The Tank.

“Well,” Yarr says, his tone smug. “How about that. You train to fight, Miss Amato?”

“My father taught me,” she says softly.

Yarr nods, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth. “You were on the run a long time.” He doesn’t ask; he states it. The tone of his voice is deceptively soft, more so than I’ve ever heard it, and I’ve known him for years.

He clears his throat and is back to business when he looks at me. “Modumo, grab the pads.” He looks at the Omega as I make my way to the back wall where additional equipment hangs. “Jab the pads for a bit, then we’ll move on to throws.”

Two hours. For two heart-pounding, sweat-inducing hours, I spar with the Omega. Every move she makes flings her delicious scent right up my nose, the battle to keep my dick limp just as difficult as keeping from sinking my teeth into her flesh. The beast inside me growls with approval every time she moves. When she finally sends me to the mat, it coaxes me to perform a reversal and flip us over so my body grinds hers into the mat, but I refuse to do it.

I could never.

Fighting the beast’s desires becomes more and more difficult with every reset of our stances until a wild thought races through my brain. A way to put an end to this madness, ensure this Omega stays far away from me.

As the beast inside me roars in protest, I send my fist to the Omega’s gut, knocking the wind from her before she drops to the mat in a heap.

“Modumo!” Yarr shouts, anger evident. “What the fuck are you doing? Hit the showers!”

Breath heaving, I walk to the locker room, not looking back, no matter how much I yearn to.

I can never have her. My desire puts our lives in danger.

It’s better she hates me.