Page 7 of Fated for Flames

He could take his bad vibes somewhere else because they weren’t enough to scare me off. I was here to get strong and learn, no matter how much he or anyone else looked down on me.

Before he could say anything, the instructor arrived, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

“What are you all standing around for?” she barked. “Warm up, five laps, go!”

She then turned her attention to me. To my surprise, the instructor was a female, her demeanor as stern and commanding as any male shifter I’d encountered. Professor Tamsin, as I would come to learn, was known for her rigorous training methods, demanding the best from her students while maintaining a strict but fair approach.

“I heard you’re looking to learn self-defense,” she observed, her tone implying that she doubted this class was where I belonged. “The local community center offers a course that might be less…intense, more suited to your…abilities.”

I straightened, meeting her gaze squarely. “I appreciate the suggestion, but I want to be strong, and I want to learn,” I replied, my voice confident.

She nodded. “In that case, let’s start with laps. Then we can assess your level.” She waved to the track field.

“Whatever level you’re thinking, bring it down by a hundred,” I replied, half-joking but entirely honest. “I have no physical endurance whatsoever, but I’ll do what it takes.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Professor Tamsin said. “Lap time.”

With a determined nod, I joined the others, my heart pounding not just from the impending physical exertion but from the challenge I had set for myself. I was out of my element, surrounded by individuals far stronger and more experienced than me. Yet, as I began my first lap, something within me stirred, a burgeoning sense of resolve, a determination to not only meet but exceed the expectations set before me. This was more than just physical training or a test of endurance; it was the initiation of my grand, albeit somewhat vague, plan. A mix of pride and anticipation surged through me, propelling me forward.

I was unstoppable.

By the end of my first lap, my lungs screamed for air, my legs felt like Jell-O, and the concept of death seemed like heaven.

The others?

They were practically finishing their final lap, their pace unfazed and steady, talking among themselves as they ran.

And that was when it happened: my foot caught on absolutely nothing but air, a testament to my stellar coordination. Arms flailing in a desperate bid for balance, I reached out for the nearest shifter shirt, hoping for a lifeline before I could kiss the ground.

But he just spun out of my reach with a slick move, running backward, then around me, chuckling, “No cheating, little witch.”

Great, it was the happy-go-lucky puppy guy.

The next thing I knew, I was eating gravel, every bit of me screaming in protest.

I just lay there, taking a personal time-out, as the ground kindly imprinted itself on my face.

The whistle’s shrill call brought me back to reality, marking the end of our so-called warm-up and the beginning of sparring time. I groaned, peeling myself off the ground, and shuffled over to where everyone was gathering.

“Thought you might be dead there for a sec,” Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky Puppy quipped.

“I think you should observe this first class, Evelyn,” the professor said.

Everyone snickered, but honestly, I could’ve hugged her for that.

“You need to up your stamina and get some muscle on you if you want to keep up here. I’m assigning a TA for extra workouts; class alone isn’t going to cut it for you.”

All I could do was nod, grateful for the out but dreading the extra work. Speaking was beyond me at this point; my body was too busy wondering what the hell had just happened.

Daily workouts with a TA?

Guess this was what I’d signed up for when I’d decided I needed to be strong.

Bring it on…tomorrow.

6

Evelyn

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