Page 44 of Unhinged

The mat’s already worn to hell from me and Arrow throwing each other around like feral dogs, but it works. Judge steps up like he’s about to take on the damn world, shoulders squared like he's not eight with a Minecraft Band-Aid still on his elbow.

“Alright,” I say, crouching down to his level, “first thing you need to learn—how to get out of a rear grab. It’s how most adults’ll come at a kid. Quick. From behind. Arms pinned.”

He watches me. Serious. Focused.

I move slowly, showing him how it’ll feel—one arm tight across his chest, locking down his arms.

“If this happens, you don’t pull away. You’re smaller, they’re stronger. Don’t fight stupid. You go down. Drop your weight. Get low. Hit ‘em hard in the ribs with your elbow—fast and mean.”

I feel his little heartbeat under my arm. It’s fast. Nervous energy, not fear.

I step back. “Try it.”

He nods and sets up. Face scrunched with effort. I reach for him again, and he stiffens instead of dropping.

“Nope,” I say. “You froze. Again.”

We go over it. Again and again.

I adjust his stance, tap his elbow where it should hit. “Here. Use this like a weapon. No half-assed jabs.”

“I’m not half-assing!” he shouts, cheeks red.

“Then prove it.”

This time when I grab him, his elbow slams into my side harder. Still not enough to knock the wind outta me, but enough to get my attention.

“Better. Again.”

He starts sweating, breathing heavily, but I don’t let him quit. We go until his hair’s stuck to his forehead and his shirt’s clinging to his back.

“One more,” I say. “No warning this time. Close your eyes. You won’t know when someone’s gonna grab you in the real world.”

He shuts his eyes tight, arms loose at his sides, trying to be ready.

I wait. Let him get bored. Let his body relax. Then I move.

Fast.

I grab him from behind, hard and sudden. He jerks and lets out a startled noise, elbow flying back.

It catches me in the ribs—dead-on. I grunt, impressed, about to tell him he nailed it?—

And then everything shifts.

A flash of scent hits before anything else.

Jasmine, bright and bitter. Orange sliced clean through copper. Not perfume. Not pretty. Primal.

A growl rips through the air, and then I’m fucked .

A petite but strong arm wraps around my neck, while a knife slides cold and deadly along my ribs. Her body’s pressed up behind mine, all fury and instinct.

“Let him the fuck go, asshole,” Brydgett snarls into my ear.

My heart lodges in my throat. I raise my arms, palms open.

Fuck.

“I’m letting go,” I mutter.

Judge stumbles out of my grip and spins around, eyes wide as dinner plates.

Brydgett doesn’t loosen right away. Her scent’s everywhere—pouring off her like a wave crashing into mine.

I can’t even smell myself under it. She’s drowning me in it—jasmine and blood-metal copper, sharp and wild and protective in a way that makes my alpha instincts bristle and submit at the same time.

“Brydgett,” I rasp. “It was a drill. He wanted to learn.”

She holds another heartbeat.

“You stay the fuck away from my son,” she rasps like she’s not sure of anything right now.

“Mom!” Judge yells. “He was showing me how to defend myself!”

Everything stops.

Just like that, her arm falls away from my throat.

I step forward, hands still up, dragging in a shaky breath as I cough once to clear my airway. My scent starts crawling back up, mango curling sweet and sharp, uncertain but steady.

She doesn’t move.

Doesn’t look at me.

Just stares at her kid.

And gods—there it is. The shame. It creeps across her face like she’s trying to fight it off and failing. She blinks fast, like she’s shaking off fog. Her jaw flexes. Shoulders square up like she’s bracing to get hit.

I don’t say anything. Neither does Judge.

She finally looks at me—really looks. And it’s not fire anymore.

It’s sorry.

“You didn’t think to tell me?” she asks, but the bite’s gone.

“Didn’t think I needed to. We weren’t doing anything wrong,” I say, still rubbing my throat, the skin hot where her arm had pressed tight.

Her eyes flick to Judge again. She swallows hard.

“You alright?” I ask him, shifting my stance like I’m not still a little rattled.

He nods, chest rising and falling fast. “I think I got you.”

“You did,” I say, and try to smile a little. “And your mom nearly took me out, so… you both win.”

I glance at Brydgett again. Her eyes meet mine. No threat. No heat. Just tension, like she doesn’t know where to aim it now. Like maybe she wants to aim it at herself.

Her scent’s still all over the room—jasmine and orange, vibrant and hot, with that sharp edge of copper cutting through it. But there’s something else now too.

And for a second, we’re just standing there.

“I should have been told,” she mutters, looking away.

I tilt my head. “Told what? What exactly did you think I was doing to your son? My Kismet’s son—may I remind you—even if you haven’t accepted that part yet.”

She flinches.

“I—I thought…” Her voice breaks up and she waves it off like it doesn’t matter. “It doesn’t matter. He’s my kid. My whole heart. And it’s my bad, alright?”

“No,” I growl. “Not alright. I want to know what the hell you think I was doing to him.”

“I thought you were hurting him!” she explodes. “Trying to hurt him—fuck, I don’t know! I saw you from behind and I saw red. I panicked. I reacted. I fucked up.”

She doesn’t wait for me to say anything else.

Just turns and storms off like she’s gotta outrun the way she messed up.

Her boots hit the floor hard, every step loud and pissed off.

Her scent follows her out—jasmine and copper, still strong, still her.

But that orange part? It’s off even more now.

Sour. Bitter. Like something that used to be sweet, but sat too long and turned.

It’s regret. All over her. Pouring off her like she’s bleeding guilt.

I stare at the door even after it slams shut behind her.

Judge does too. He looks kinda small now, shrinking into himself like he’s not sure what just happened or if he’s supposed to say sorry for her. He kicks at the edge of the mat and won’t meet my eyes.

I shake my head, trying to shove all that weird ache in my chest down where it belongs.

I look at him. Force a half-smile. “So,” I say, clearing my throat, “wanna try again?”

He looks up. Grins a little. “Yeah. I think I almost knocked the air outta you.”

“Almost,” I smirk, stepping back onto the mat. “Let’s see if you can finish the job this time.”

He follows me, already squaring his stance, ready to prove he can do it.

But I’m only half there.

Because part of me is still standing in that doorway, watching her walk away, all twisted up in scent and guilt and fire.

And fuck.

This made me want her even more.