Page 33 of Shifters Awakening

“What time will Dr. Wise be here?” I asked.

She placed her phone and shoes on top of the cubby. “Just after lunch.”

After a few mental calculations, I said, “That should give me enough time to get back to town.”

Olivia whirled. “Back to town?”

I crossed my arms and squared off with her, ready to stand my ground. “Logan said I could leave whenever Iwanted to leave, and I have patients tomorrow. We’re not all rich shifters.”

Her sigh-groan cut through the silence. “You can’t really think Willow Creek is the safest place for you.”

“Safe has nothing to do with it. Until I decide to make a change, it’s my home, and I’ll be sleeping in my own bed tonight.”

“Fine.” She marched toward the section of sticks hanging on the wall and gestured toward them. “These are bo staffs. We’ll start your training with these since they’re safer than swords, and bullets are always our last resort. At some point, you’ll use shifter skills far more often than weapons anyway.”

“We’re not going to try shifting?”

She put her hands on her hips and stared past me as though carefully searching for her next words. “We must assume that being under attack is a part of what triggered your shifting ability the first time. Maybe it had something to do with how fast your heart was pumping. Maybe it was the adrenaline. Maybe it was the fear.”

“So, maybe fighting you will trigger it again?”

She gave me a sly look. “Possibly. Are you scared of me?”

“Not at all.”

“So, maybe I have to run you around the room and beat the shit out of you first.”

My thoughts ground to a halt, and I stared at her, mouth agape. “Did you really just say that?”

She snickered. “Did you really tell me you’re not into obedience training?”

“Touché.”

Despite my initial dislike of her, Olivia was growing on me.

She crossed the mats. “Once you’ve managed to summon the shift once or twice, we can forego the fighting and only work on your magical abilities.” She took a short stick from the wall, flicked her wrist, and extended it to three times its initial length. “Collapsable graphite,” she said. “You can grab whichever one.”

“Does it matter?”

“Have you ever had marital arts training before?”

I shook my head.

“Then, no, it doesn’t matter. You’ll be bad with all of them.”

“Understood.” I selected a multi-colored one, painted in intricate gold pinstriping, and turned to face my opponent.

“Hold the stick up, suspended between two hands.”

The moment I did so, she brought hers down on mine. Hard. It immediately fell from my grip. “Shit.”

“Hold it up again.”

I raised the staff, and she repeated her actions. My weapon slammed into the mat and smashed into my toe. I hissed in pain. “What are you doing?”

“Again,” she said.

By the fifth time, the impact didn’t make the stick slip from my grip. though the sensation jarred my arms, and I’d grown irritated enough to hear my pulse pounding in my eardrums.

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