Page 6 of Lone Wolf (Red Rivals)

CHAPTER 6

Sunny

I’m never late to training, but I’m frequently the last one in the room. It’s like that today, so that when I jog toward the training room to grab my stuff from my locker, I’m only a few moments ahead of Lyssa and Scarlett.

I’m retying my shoelaces—bright yellow against my purple sneakers—when I hear them talking quietly, just outside the locker room door. The chattering of the recruits is loud and echoing in the large training area, which means they also have to raise their voices a little to be heard as they murmur their plans for the day to each other.

I pause and prick up my ears, because I’m wondering if I’ll get another chance with Ariadne. When I catch Lyssa saying the word “sparring,” those hopes rise even further, a flutter of anticipation warming my chest.

But then my heart stops dead as I hear a snatched phrase from Scarlett: “...trafficking ring operating out of the south side…”

For a split second, the words freeze me mid-motion, my fingers still tangled in my laces. Then I move silently to the open door and press up against it, listening as hard as I can. “…hired to shut them down. Hadria thinks it would be a good starter mission for?—”

There’s a noise behind me—a clearing of the throat—and I jump about fifty fucking feet in the air, only to whirl around on landing to see Ariadne behind me.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice low and flat.

“What are you doing?” I demand right back, heart still racing—though now it’s for a different reason. At this close distance, her scent is wafting into my nose, clean and sharp, like winter air.

She gives me a long, cool look. “I was refilling my water bottle,” she says at last, holding it up in my face. I resist the urge to slap it away.

“ I was eavesdropping,” I tell her. Because it was pretty obvious what I was doing.

“Hear anything interesting?”

I think this is the longest conversation I’ve ever had with this woman. Her full attention is both exhilarating and unnerving, like standing too close to an electric fence. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

She just makes a small, contemplative noise—something between a hum and a sigh—and sweeps past me. A few seconds later, with a sigh of my own, I head out too.

Lyssa and Scarlett have moved away from the locker room now, but they’re still conferring with each other, fair and dark heads close together. I feel a twinge of envy. Must be nice having someone like that in your life. Someone you can trust, who can take care of themselves as much as you can, but who’s there for you if you need a soft place to land…

I shake off the weird mood building up in my gut and remind myself of what’s at stake. If what I heard means what I think it means, then I need to quit coasting and start proving myself. Make sure I stand out as a viable option for this starter mission.

I smile and nod at the others as I jog over to a padded training bench and start stretching out my legs, bending slow and low to make sure they’re nice and loose. And then I feel a prickling sensation at the back of my neck, the unmistakable feeling of being watched. I glance over my shoulder, scanning the room.

I’m pretty sure it was Ariadne. Even though she’s staring in the opposite direction when I find her at the edge of the crowd, her posture is too rigid, too deliberate. She’s positioned herself away from the other recruits, maintaining that careful distance she always keeps, but I catch the slight turn of her head, the way her eyes flick away too quickly.

I smirk and bend low again, offering her the best view of my ass, if she’s so inclined. I arch my back a little more than necessary, making the movement deliberate, inviting.

It’s a pretty decent ass, I have to admit.

But I need to focus. I’m not the only one who knows something’s up. The other recruits are muttering with excitement, too; this isn’t a regularly scheduled training session—we’ve been gathered here for some special reason.

And then the main door opens once more and I stand up straight at once, come to attention like every other recruit.

Hadria Imperioli has entered the room.

She crosses to the far end, her boots practically silent on the polished floor, and she’s wearing her usual black from head to toe. She takes a seat near the back of the room and watches us all with a calm, unreadable expression.

“Eyes here,” Lyssa says sharply, as everyone turns to look at Hadria. “You’re sparring again today.”

My head turns inevitably to Ariadne. I can see by the way her fingers flicker that she’s looking forward to taking out all of us again. She wants to prove herself to Hadria.

Just as much as I do.

“Pairs today,” Lyssa adds, and I think Ariadne looks disappointed. Yet when Lyssa calls out the pairings, I’m unsurprised to hear our names connected. It seems that Ariadne feels the same way, based on the slight roll of her eyes. I bounce over to her, determined not to be ignored.

“This is going to be fun,” I tell her. “Right?”

She rolls her head on her shoulders. “Just make sure you don’t go down in the first five seconds. I’d like a chance to show Hadria what I can really do.”

“Right back atcha,” I snort, hiding the sting of her dismissal with a bright smile.

Unlike last time, she won’t be taking us all on like some undefeated champion; we’re all sparring at the same time. Ariadne’s scowl suggests she’s not happy about it—she doesn’t have the chance to show off—but I’m just frustrated that Hadria doesn’t even seem to be looking our way.

As we begin, I can tell by Ariadne’s too-casual attacks that she doesn’t really see me as a threat, her movements holding back, barely engaging. Her strikes come at half-speed, her kicks pulling short of their full power. It’s insulting, like being patted on the head. So I spend most of my time ducking and weaving, refusing to engage, my footwork quick and unpredictable. If she won’t take this seriously, why should I?

It’s not long before Lyssa calls a halt and tells us, “We’re done with the warm up. Next: two-on-two. You and your partner will spar with another couple.”

Ariadne puts her hands on her hips and takes a step away from me.

“Problem?” Lyssa asks coolly. I didn’t even think she was looking our way. Which gives me hope that maybe Hadria is actually watching us, too…

But I’m also pretty mad at Ariadne right now, because I know exactly what she’s thinking. Her words confirm it.

“I don’t want my partner to get hurt if she gets in my way,” she says, in—for her—a sweet and considerate tone, aka just this side of glacial.

“You control your strikes, we won’t have a problem,” I tell her.

For a second, she looks taken aback. So does everyone else, for that matter. Usually I’d crack a joke about a comment like the one Ariadne just made, get everyone laughing, but right now I only have one goal.

Getting on this team.

“I simply prefer fighting alone,” Ariadne says, staring me down.

“What’s the name of our organization?” Scarlett’s voice rings out from the side of the room.

With a slightly puzzled wrinkling of her brow, Ariadne replies, “The Styx Syndicate.”

“Syndicate,” Scarlett repeats. “By definition, a group of individuals combining to work for a common goal. A team .”

“That’s right,” I say, my usual grin coming more easily now. I rock forward on the balls of my feet. “We’re a team , Frostbite. I’m your backup.”

This is how I know I’m getting under Ariadne’s skin: normally, she would fall in line as soon as one of her superiors smacked her wrist. But she just glowers at me. “I don’t need backup.”

“Okay, Frostbite,” I tell her, deliberately provocative, “then you can be mine, and I’ll take the front seat.” I cup my hands like I’m holding an imaginary steering wheel, hamming it up for the audience. There’s a ripple of laughter.

“Stop calling me that,” she snaps.

“None of this is up for debate.” Lyssa’s voice is loud and impatient. “And if you two don’t shut the fuck up, you’re both out.” It’s enough to silence us. “Okay. Clear the mats. We’re doing this in rounds, two-vee-two, so we can see what you’ve got.”

Ariadne and I move to help form the circle and watch the first two pairs square off in the middle. In the center, the four circle each other, testing defenses, looking for openings. The sounds of combat resume—the quick shuffle of feet, the sharp exhale of breath with each strike, the thud of bodies hitting the mats.

But my attention is focused on Ariadne. I can feel the tension in her body even as she stands next to me. She wants to be in there, is impatient to show what she can do.

Good. Because we need to kick some major ass today. But together .

“You looking forward to this, Frostbite?” Enzo asks. He’s sidled up behind us, leaning down from his superior height to drawl into Ariadne’s ear.

“Don’t call me that,” Ariadne says calmly, not even looking at him.

Enzo starts humming Frosty the Snowman under his breath, and I have to clench my fists tight not to turn around and punch this motherfucker in the nose. “Can you not?” I hiss. “Some of us are trying to focus.”

I’m irrationally pissed, even though I’m the one who started that stupid nickname. And now I feel like an asshole about it.

At least Enzo fucks off, still humming, back to his partner—Vanessa, who is twirling her hair and smiling up at him like he’s a comic genius. Her laugh, high and artificial, carries around the circle.

Unfortunately, when our names get called, the pair we’re sparring with is, of course, Enzo and Vanessa. “Don’t kill him,” I mutter at Ariadne as we head into the middle of the mats. “Not in front of Hadria, at least.” I spare a moment’s glance to where Hadria sits, her attention now fixed on our quartet.

“Try to keep out of my way,” is all she says back.

Lyssa calls a start, and Enzo rushes Ariadne at once, predictable and poorly judged. His bulk moves with surprising speed, but there’s no finesse to it, just raw aggression. Ariadne pulls into a defensive stance, precise and calculated like everything she does. Her weight shifts subtly, hands rising to guard position, her expression never changing.

Me? I move on instinct. I know my forms are shit, my technique sloppy, but it’s because I need to follow my gut. My body knows what to do before my mind can process it, my experience in street fighting and my survival instincts taking over. So with Enzo charging like a bull at a red rag, I spring forward just like him, diving low to trip him before he reaches Ariadne.

He falls hard, awkward, and rolls a few feet before staggering to his feet, dazed?—

Only to find Ariadne’s foot driving into his gut. He flies a few more feet, lands on his back, and gives out a wheezing choke, winded.

“Nice one, partner,” I say brightly, springing back to my feet. Our eyes meet for a split second, and I swear I see something like surprise in hers, quickly masked.

We both turn on Vanessa. She’s been trying to flank Ariadne, but I’m already there, ready to meet her strike with my arm, so it goes glancing off. The impact vibrates up my forearm, but I barely feel it through the rush of combat high.

Enzo is up again, more cautious this time. He and Vanessa regroup, and all around me the recruits—who have been hollering and hooting the other matches—grow silent. Almost like they’re holding a collective breath.

The only sounds for the next few seconds are the strike of hand on flesh, foot to gut, pants and grunts as Ariadne and I figure out this deadly dance. Because that’s what it is: a dance. We’re not really fighting, the two of us. We’re dancing.

Flirting, even.

I duck, and without looking, I know she’ll be there to strike high. She blocks, and instinctively I’m moving to exploit the opening she’s created. She steps left, I step right, creating a perfect flanking maneuver that leaves our opponents confused.

We’re toying with our prey, both of us together. We might have started out trying to impress Hadria, but now?

Now we’re trying to impress each other.

Pretty soon Enzo is on the floor again, not getting up this time, and I have Vanessa in a hold on the mats with her arms pulled back.

“What was that about getting in your way?” I ask Ariadne with a grin. And I can see it in her eyes—the surprise.

The confusion.

We didn’t just move well together. We were unstoppable together. And she knows it.

“Enough,” Lyssa says. “Next pairs.”

I see a flash of irritation cross Ariadne’s face, and I know how she feels. I’m not done yet. I want to keep going, keep fighting, take on the fucking world ?—

But she retreats, stepping backward to rejoin the circle of recruits, and I follow her lead, just like I have the whole time we’ve been fighting. I just hope we’ve done enough to prove ourselves to Hadria Imperioli. But when I glance over toward where she was sitting, my heart drops.

The chair is empty and Hadria is nowhere to be seen.

Ariadne and I are the last ones in the changing rooms again, and I feel like we’re both doing it on purpose, hanging around as an excuse to spend a little more time around each other, both of us trying to figure out why it was we were so damn good together as a team.

I’m on a high. The air is humid and fragrant after all the recruits have been running hot showers, using various shampoos and body washes. Ariadne and I are both still damp in the changing area, each wearing only a towel. Water droplets are clinging to her collarbone and her short blonde hair has soaked darker from the shower, smooth against her head in a sleek cap.

“Girl, we were incredible out there,” I say at last. “The way you anticipated that?—”

“Don’t,” Ariadne says, still messing around with her toiletries. She’s been packing and unpacking them in a small toiletries bag, almost as if she doesn’t realize what she’s doing.

“Don’t what?” I ask, genuinely confused. How can she not want to talk about what just happened? The chemistry between us— everyone saw it.

She zips up her toiletries bag so hard I think she might have broken off the tab. “Don’t pretend we’re friends. We fought well together. That’s all.”

Fuck this girl, seriously. No matter how much heat generates between us, she always finds a way to freeze me out again. “Oh, yeah?” I say. “I bet we’d do a whole lot of things well together, if you gave it a chance. But whatever you say, Frostbite.”

Her head swivels like she’s in that Exorcist movie and she glares at me. The look should intimidate me, but instead, it sends a thrill down my spine. Getting a reaction from her—any reaction—feels like victory.

And to counter, I just pull off my towel and let it drop on the bench seat, stretching, giving her my cheekiest smile. I don’t care about nudity. I lost any shame I had about my body a long time ago.

And then the weirdest thing happens.

Ariadne’s hands creep up to where she’s tucked her towel firmly over her breasts. Her blue eyes never leave mine, something like defiance flashing in their depths. She loosens it…

And lets it fall.

It drops to her feet, leaving her gloriously naked. My eyes drink in the map of silver traces across her skin, the faded scars…and the few newer ones, too, pink and still raised. She has fewer than I expected, but more than I’d like. They speak to a brutal past. But under them, her skin is smooth and tan over strong, lean muscle. Her breasts are small and perky where mine are larger, softer. She’s staring at mine, her gaze almost hungry, and my nipples tighten up in response. She keeps her thatch trimmed and under control, just like every other aspect of her life, but the soft, light brown curls look so inviting, I?—

“Hope I’m not interrupting.” Lyssa’s voice is as dry as a desert, and for the first time I get to see Ariadne jump. But since I did too, I can’t enjoy the moment as much as I’d like. I scrabble around for my clothes, just like she is, but Lyssa’s already moving on, completely unfazed by our state of undress. “You two —you’re coming out on a mission tonight for the Syndicate. Eat light at dinner and come to the war room at ten.”

Both of us nod, but Lyssa has already turned to leave. I pack up my things with a fast-beating heart, hands a little shaky as the reality of what just happened—both the nudity and the mission assignment—sinks in. I’m pretty sure I feel the same energy from Ariadne—but when I turn to her with a conspiratorial and congratulatory grin, she’s already pulled on her clothes and won’t look at me.

Well, if she refuses to be happy about this, I’m not going to let it stop me. “See you tonight, Frostbite,” I call after her.

“Call me that again and I will eviscerate you,” she tosses over her shoulder.

But there’s no real heat in the threat, and I just laugh, because I’m pretty sure I’m figuring her out now.

Death threats are her way of flirting.