Page 25 of Brutal Alpha's Sold Mate
Soon enough, a few more stragglers arrive: some younger boys, a middle-aged woman who looks half-embarrassed to be seen, and one older teen who clearly snuck away from chores. They gather in a small cluster, exchanging skeptical glances.
“All right,” I begin, turning to face them. “Let’s be clear: I’m not offering official pack lessons. This is off the record. If you can’t commit to keeping this between us, go home. If your higher-ups wanted you to learn this stuff, they would’ve taught you by now. I don’t care to get caught up in their crossfire, but I do think this is what’s best for all of you, individually and as a pack.”
Nobody moves. Good.
I start with the basics: posture, keeping a balanced stance, arms up, fists ready. I demonstrate a simple jab, then have them do it. Some are timid, others too eager. The girl who first spoke up tries punching like she’s swatting a bee.
I circle them, adjusting elbows, telling them to breathe through the motion, to follow through. My wolf stirs a bit in my chest, pleased that I can pass on what I know, even if I’m not at my strongest. A pang of longing hits me, recalling how back in my old pack, I taught new recruits whenever I got the chance. But that’s a memory I bury fast. I’m not ready to share my full story here.
One of the women steps aside, looking flushed. “I feel silly. What if my husband finds out I’m doing this?”
I tilt my head. “What if he does? You have the right to defend yourself. Are you going to let a spouse decide whether you’re allowed to protect your life?”
She purses her lips, then nods slowly. “Guess not.”
We continue. After a while, I notice they’re all sweating, and their limbs are trembling from the unfamiliar use of muscles. I stop them, offering a grin.
“Not bad for your first day. Come back tomorrow at the same time, and we’ll add footwork.”
They disperse, still chatting among themselves. That weird flutter of pride warms my stomach. I’m not here to save the world, but teaching them makes me feel useful. And a little less alone.
***
By midweek, word has spread that I’m giving lessons. More people appear, including a few who are older. A couple of moms are bringing teenage kids, and there’s even a father with a shy daughter. It’s funny how quickly they crowd into the space once they realize I won’t bite their heads off. I keep the sessionssimple: jabs, hooks, front kicks, and some dodging techniques. A lot of them have never thrown a punch in their lives.
My greatest challenge is to keep these lessons hidden from Reed or Jacob’s minions. I don’t want to incite more drama. I’m still determined to stay out of the sibling feud. This is purely for self-defense, nothing else. If Theo finds out, maybe he’ll blow a gasket, but he said I’m free to do what I want. Hopefully, that includes teaching half the pack to protect themselves.
I’m drilling a small group on blocking combos, showing them how to keep their arms up, when a deep voice behind me says, “You’ve got quite the class here.”
A jolt of alarm zips through me. I turn to find Theo standing with his hands at his sides, observing the group. My heart thumps for a second. I’m ready for him to frown, lecture me, or worse.
Instead, he nods at the ragtag bunch. “You folks practicing counters?”
A few of them nod, suddenly nervous in the presence of the so-called future alpha.
I narrow my eyes at him. “What are you doing here?”
He steps forward, observing their stances. “I heard rumors that someone was teaching self-defense classes. Didn’t realize it was you. Thought I’d check it out.”
I cross my arms. “And?”
He shrugs. “Seems like a good idea, given how many untrained shifters we have.”
Not the reaction I expected. “You’re not upset?”
He meets my gaze. “Why would I be? Strengthening the pack is part of our survival. The only reason they haven’t been trained so far is because my father was too concerned about someone getting stupid ideas about usurping him.”
The watchers behind me shuffle, surprised by his calm tone. I’m still suspicious. “So, you’re not here to shut me down?”
He shakes his head. “No. Let me help.”
That leaves me speechless for a second. Then I wave him over. “Fine. We’re working on blocks.”
He moves among them, demonstrating how to angle an arm for maximum protection. He’s direct but not condescending, correcting people with efficient pointers. I study him, startled at how gently he handles them. The stern alpha melts away, replaced by a patient teacher.
During a short break, he looks at me. “You do a decent job of explaining technique. You said you picked it up in your old pack?”
I swallow hard, recalling his question. I’m not ready to tell him who I really am: the sister of an influential beta in East Hills, the fighter who’s known for taking down rogues with ease. The orphan who had to learn to take care of herself much too young if she wanted to survive in this world.
