Page 6 of Fated for Flames

5

Evelyn

Rushing from the cafeteria, I made a beeline for my dorm to switch into my leggings and running shoes. Tactical Defense Training was next. The counselor had practically begged me to reconsider when I informed her of my decision to add it to my schedule.

“It’s incredibly physical and intense,” she had warned. “Not to mention, it meets for an entire afternoon on Wednesdays, three hours straight!”

Yet here I was, Wednesday’s afternoon sun casting long shadows as I approached the training grounds. This was my first class, and I had a fierce determination within me to be physically strong, to be able to defend myself without relying solely on magic. Despite the counselor’s cautionary words, a part of me was excited.

“Well,” I said to myself, feeling a mix of anticipation and nerves, “it’s time to rumble!”

I sprinted toward the training yard, feeling the preemptive ache in muscles I hardly knew existed. In the past, my idea of physical exercise humorously bordered on stretching to reach books on high shelves or occasionally running…late to class. Yet here I was, driven by the need to fortify my body and summon physical strength I knew I did not possess…yet.

I neared the large shifters milling about, some lounging, others warming up with an ease that showed their raw power. They towered over the space; their presence alone was intimidating.

Interaction between witches and shifters at the academy was minimal, our paths rarely crossing outside the occasional, brief encounters in the cafeteria. And even then, the shifters were usually absent, preferring to take their meals to-go and shift during lunch hours to roam the surrounding woods.

Among my classmates were only two other girls, both shifters, their muscles just as impressive. It struck me that I was the sole nonshifter here. The only witch among predators.

“Did you lose your way, little witch?” One of the towering shifters approached, a teasing edge to his voice, his companion smirking beside him.

“Goddess, you guys are huge!” It slipped out before I could catch it. I was five feet seven and barely came up to their chests.

“We’re shifters. Everything about us is huge,” he retorted with a playful wink, his light-brown wavy hair catching the light and his megawatt smile almost blinding me.

“Ew, gross, I just vomited in my mouth,” I shot back, surprised at my boldness. Perhaps it was the close-up view of their bulging muscles and their even larger egos that unleashed my dormant sass.

I was seriously out of my element.

“You won’t be able to use magic here, witch, or play with worms,” another one sneered.

“Not planning on it,” I replied, my voice steady.

“Let’s make a bet,” a third chimed in. “How long do you think she’ll last?”

“Twenty minutes,” one guessed, crossing his arms, muscles bulging.

“Ten,” another countered, barely suppressing a laugh.

“Five,” a voice piped up from the back.

“She’ll bail as soon as Ryker shows up,” another concluded, and a wave of laughter rippled through the group.

I rolled my eyes.

Their laughter doubled as a large figure headed toward us, echoing louder across the yard. Unfazed, I squared my shoulders, my resolve hardening like steel. I didn’t care about their opinions or their bets. My presence here wasn’t about them or their approval.

I was going to be strong. Period.

As the towering figure approached, my breath caught in my throat. This shifter wasn’t just intimidating; he radiated danger. Layers upon layers of bulging muscles stacked upon his body and strained against the tight fabric of the tank top. He raked his eyes down my body, assessing, frowning like he found me lacking, before he halted just a foot away.

I had to crane my neck up just to meet his cruel dark eyes. Looming above his fellow shifters, he sported intricate tattoos that snaked along his forearms. This was most likely the son of the shifters’ gang leader, whose formidable physique I had heard rumors about. With his short, dark buzzed hair and intense dark eyes he had a certain appeal to him…if you were into the whole psycho look, that is.

The first shifter who had spoken to me bounced eagerly like a happy puppy to this new arrival’s side. Clearly the puppy-like guy was a wolf.

“What do you think, Ryker? How long will the little witch last?” he asked, a big smile on his face.

Ryker looked at me like I was less than a speck of dirt on his shoe, his eyes practically rolling with disdain, his nostrils flaring. It was clear he thought I didn’t stand a chance. Sure, he was scary, like, nightmare-level scary. The old me would have bolted with one look, but backing down wasn’t in my game plan anymore.

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