Chapter 7 : Training

Rippling muscles. Flashes of tattoos. Glistening sweat. The sight of Julian throwing a flurry of punches and kicks was honestly impressive. It was like a deadly ballet, each move planned and placed carefully. He showed no signs of slowing, a roundhouse kick landing beautifully to the center of the bag.

A right hook, an uppercut, a left cross. His fists were flying so fast they were nearly impossible to see. It was part of what had helped him get to his position within the military planning committee, his hand-to-hand combat skill.

With his final kick, the bag fell from the chains, landing with a thud on the floor.

Julian turned to look at her as if he had just now realized he had an audience. Amelia saw something register in his mind, but his expression was difficult to read.

"Come for a show?" he asked, cocky and insufferable.

What happened to the sweet, apologetic man she bumped into in the hallway two nights ago? It seemed his sympathy for her situation had expired.

"I came to ask a favor," Amelia called across the floor.

"Listen, if you're asking me to be your mate, you're going to have to break the news to Lucas on your own. Seems you had him pretty torn up this morning," Julian teased.

Amelia ignored the burning in her cheeks, positive her face was a bright scarlet. "You wish. I was coming to look for a little help with training."

"Oh, training for what?" he retorted, waggling his eyebrows in a way that had Amelia considering smacking the smirk off his face.

"Combat. The pack wants a strong Alpha, I'm going to give it to them," Amelia answered, ignoring his taunting, and the way it made her core heat traitorously.

"Hmm. I do like a challenge. What's in it for me?"

What was in it for him? Amelia had no answer for that. She hadn't considered he would ask for anything in return. Suddenly, she was standing on uneven ground again, clueless as to how to proceed.

"What do you want?" she asked.

Julian was making his way across the mat, getting dangerously close. His hair hung in his face, just a little, making him look like some sort of ancient warrior. His fists were still wrapped in black tape.

"How about you owe me one? One favor for me to call in at the time of my choosing," he answered, taking one of her hands into his.

Amelia looked down, noting how tiny her hands looked in his massive grasp. She looked up into his face, trying to figure out what in the world he was doing.

His dark eyes studied her, that mischievous light keeping the scarlet blush on her face.

"Fine," she agreed, looking back down to her hand in his. She couldn't bear the heat in his gaze.

"Atta girl," he said, pulling athletic tape from his pocket to begin wrapping her hands with.

When he was finished with that, he stepped back onto the mat, nodding for her to follow him.

"No shoes on the mat, Alpha," he called.

Amelia stopped and backed up a few steps. She slipped her socks and shoes off, cursing herself for forgetting the most basic rule in this training room. She jogged across the cushy red mat to catch up with Julian.

"Alright, posture up," he ordered.

The fallen bag lay on the floor next to them, Amelia facing the next bag in the line. She stood with her right foot slightly ahead of her left, her right fist just above her left as she held them in front of her face.

"Are you left-handed?" he asked abruptly.

"No." Amelia was confused by the question. She always boxed this way and no one ever had anything to say about it.

"But you box left-handed?" he continued.

"I didn't realize there was a left and a right hand to it," Amelia answered earnestly.

Julian let out a groan, but that playful smile never left his face. "I guess I have my work cut out for me. Let me see what you've got, Southpaw."

Amelia cycled through the punches she could remember. Jab. Cross. Right hook. Left hook. Right uppercut. Left uppercut. She was fairly certain that was the order they were supposed to go in, but she was doubting herself.

"Okay, alright, maybe you're not as behind as I thought. Give me a one-three combination." Julian studied her form as she lashed out at the bag.

A jab. A right hook. Amelia prayed she remembered it right.

"Good, good. Give me a little more power this time," he ordered. "I want to see a two-one-two now."

Amelia bit down on her lip. Cross. Jab. Cross. The bag shuddered at the impact.

She felt a little swell of pride at that, hoping she might impress Julian and wipe that stupid smirk off his face.

"Great. We can come back to combinations. Let me see you get a good roundhouse in."

Amelia gritted her teeth and stepped back a step, gave a little hop, and launched herself into a spinning kick. Her leg landed a little sideways, and the side of her shin took the brunt of the impact.

"Fuck," she grunted. It was a sudden throbbing pain that indicated she hadn't rotated her leg enough.

"Form could use some work," Julian commented.

"Thanks, jackass," Amelia shot back.

Julian raised his hands in front of his chest. "Easy, Southpaw. You're the one that asked for the favor. I'm just trying to help."

She rolled her eyes, furious that he was right.

Julian drilled her on form for the next twenty minutes. By the time he was satisfied, her chest was heaving with the effort of breathing, and she was desperate for water. He was merciless, calling combination after combination, critiquing her form at every step.

What was even worse was that it was working. She could feel her posture correcting, getting more effective with each strike.

"Get some water. You look pitiful," Julian dismissed. "But you've got sixty seconds. Then, we're going to start sparring."

Amelia let out a groan but jogged off the mat to get water. She felt as brittle and dry as the ground outside.

Hurrying back to where Julian stood in the center of the mat, Amelia grimaced.

"Oh, what's the matter? Afraid you can't handle me?" he taunted, one eyebrow raised.

Did the man just have infinite nerve? Was that supposed to sound sexual? Could someone be so exhausted that their brain made everything an innuendo? Amelia gritted her teeth and shook her head.

"You're insufferable, you know that?" she snapped.

"I don't believe you think that at all," Julian retorted. "As a matter of fact, I think you're into me."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Amelia seethed. "The only way I want to touch you is to smash your teeth through the other side of your skull."

"I guess I picked the wrong day to forget my mouthguard." Julian shrugged. "But you're welcome to hit me in the mouth if you can."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Amelia demanded, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Let's just say after watching you warm up, I'm not too worried about getting hit in the face today." That infuriating smirk must be his default expression because it was pasted across his face even now.

Amelia couldn't stop herself. She swung, throwing a jab straight for his chin. He parried her strike, knocking her off balance. She tried to recover by throwing a kick with the opposite leg, but he saw it coming, pulling his leg up to block her.

They met, shin to shin, and her nerves sang with pain. Julian was unphased, tossing a flurry of strikes at her head that had her fighting to block each one. Finally, she blocked from the outside and swung a right hook to his back, getting in a good shot to the kidneys.

It forced a wheeze from Julian, the only sign she'd actually accomplished anything. She had no time to celebrate though, as he recovered in an instant. Grinning like the devil, he raised his knee to her gut, knocking the breath out of her.

She slipped a strike, dodging out of the way of his fists. Amelia couldn't help but smile in return. As she started to get her feet under her, analyzing his fighting style, she started to get more confident. She got closer and closer to getting a good strike to his teeth, her new goal.

It felt like dancing. It was an intricate display of prowess and power. She knew full well that he wasn't hitting her at his full power, and she could only be grateful for that. Amelia hated to give the man any credit, but there was some semblance of the gentleness he had displayed a couple of nights ago.

Sparring with him felt like a drug. It had to be the endorphins flooding her system because despite the fact that an ugly purple bruise would be blooming across her shin and probably another on her left ribs, she was having the time of her life. This was the perfect way to blow off all of the pressure that had been building over the last few days.

Amelia started to feel like she might have the upper hand for once. She was tracking his habits. He would throw a jab and then dodge out, just far enough to throw a kick. Every now and then, he would try and do something impressive, like a roundhouse kick, which would catch her in the side and blow her off her feet. She waited, watching him gear up and telegraph his move to his feet.

She turned into it, catching his kick with both hands and flipping him onto his back. He was quicker than she counted on though, and he had her around the waist as he fell. She collapsed on top of him.

Julian flipped her onto back, pinning her to the mat.

Both of them drug in ragged breaths, panting with the effort of their sparring. His face was only inches from hers, lip curled up into a dangerous half smile. He was stunning, and up close like this, she could smell the intoxicating musk of him.

Later when she replayed the incident over and over again in her memory, she would blame her attraction on the endorphins. She refused to acknowledge that perhaps he was just stunningly handsome on his own. She couldn't stand his cocky attitude, and yet, at that moment, all she wanted was to feel his lips on hers.

He tilted his chin down, lips so close they were almost brushing against hers when he spoke.

"We both know you'll be dreaming about this, Southpaw," he growled, his voice hoarse and breathless.

Amelia licked her bottom lip, trying to formulate something clever to say. His eyes dipped to her mouth, flicking back to meet her stare. Her lips parted just a fraction of an inch, begging for him to just commit and kiss her.

Instead, he climbed to his feet, pacing away from her in an instant. Amelia was confused, still trying to slow her heartbeat. Ignoring his odd behavior, she clambered to her feet and downed another cup of water. She left the training room without another word.

She barely made it a few steps down the hallway before she heard Lucas' familiar staccato steps.

"Amelia," he called, sounding not the least bit friendly.

Amelia turned to face him, curious about his tone. He planted a palm against the wall, boxing her in there.

"Be honest with me. Do you have feelings for Nathan?" he demanded.