Chapter 1
Ember
“Hit harder!”Authority laced Rawson’s deep voice. His intense eyes narrowed, assessing how far he could push me.
Grunting, I breathed heavily through my nose, needing to stop and catch my breath, but I nodded, not willing to show any weakness to him—or anyone.
Cain Rawson was in his mid-thirties, lean, fit, and one tough son of a bitch alpha. He was the one who pulled me off the streets and offered me a safe place to stay. Yeah, he was officially my saviour—my married saviour. And that was cool with me. I mean, sure, he was hot; six feet three inches of ripped muscles, confidence, and when he wasn’t being tough and bossy—kindness. But “hot” wasn’t how I saw him. He was my lifeline, along with Lyss, his wife, who was one of the sweetest and most beautiful people, both inside and out, that I’d ever met.
“Now!” His grey eyes flashed.
I jumped, my heart banging in my chest. I gave him a dark scowl, but he just raised his brows. My arms shook, and my chest heaved, but I took a deep breath, curling my fingers inside the training gloves. Then, as instructed, I twisted my body and dropped my shoulder exactly as he had taught me and smashed my fist into the pad.
“Now front jab!”
I did.
“Reverse punch!”
I did.
Noisy breaths escaped from my mouth and nose, and sweat dripped down my face and neck, soaking my cropped sports top. I was no stranger to fighting or hard physical workouts. I loved them. But the training regimen Rawson had me doing, after my classes at the Supernatural Bureau’s Academy ended, was exhausting. Not that I’d tell him. I would never tell a soul if I was struggling. No matter your age, if you showed weakness, you became prey. The vipers of this world struck when they thought you were down and vulnerable, and I had vowed, years ago, I would never be vulnerable again.
“Now, kick! Roundhouse. Go!”
The pain of my past drove me just as it always did. It kept me going every single day. It gave me purpose; to be the strongest, fastest and most vicious version of me that I could possibly be. Lifting my chin, I adjusted my body weight and turned on my standing foot. Lifting my knee high, I swung my leg. Slam! My instep connected with the pad. The force rocked Rawson’s big arm sideways, even if it was only a couple of inches. Before I could even snap my strike back, he was ordering me into my next move.
“Spin. Back kick. Now, Ember!”
Sweet Jesus,he was relentless.
My kick landed, and I spun my head around, bringing my body and the other leg with it. Using the momentum, I smashed my heel into the pad with a solid whack, a grunt exploding from my lungs with the effort.
“Well, look at you. A regular firecracker now, aren’t you?” drawled a deep voice from behind me.
My whole body instantly stiffened, going on alert. Gods, but I loved and hated that deep, smooth voice. I whirled around, my heart thumping even harder in my chest. Connor, another one of Rawson’s strays, stood there grinning at me. He lounged against the training room door frame, looking sexy as sin. His bright blue eyes twinkled, wrinkling slightly at the corners. He was too near Rawson’s age to be considered a foster son; still, Rawson had pulled him off the streets and given him a home and a purpose—one that I’d heard he was good at; really, really good at, to the point he now ran his own squad of agents. The fact he was a total asshat while he worked at being a top notch, undercover Supernatural Bureau of Investigation agent didn’t matter to me—not anymore. Even so, my stomach lurched at the sight of him, and I was glad my cheeks were already flushed and sweaty. At least I had an excuse when they heated further under his way too intense gaze.
“Piss off!”
Connor might be beautiful and tie me in knots, but as soon as he opened his mouth, my hackles went up. He’d moved out of Rawson’s a few years ago, and on the rare occasions I had seen him since, it was as if he always found me amusing in some way; like he found all my efforts to be independent and strong a joke.
“Arsehole,” I mumbled under my breath. And he was. I had been an idiot to trust him—to rely on him in any way in the past. I had learned my lesson though...
“Hey! Language! No swearing in my house.” Rawson tapped my temple with the focus pad.
I glared at him. “That wasn’t swearing, that was name calling. Anyway, you let him swear.” And I pointed at Connor with my gloved fist.
Both men laughed and exchanged a look. I just rolled my eyes at that typical show of male solidarity.
“Yeah, but only because I can’t stop him opening that big mouth.” Rawson flashed his perfect white teeth in a wide grin. “And once he does, which is a given, considering how much he likes the sound of his own voice, it means I can kick him out on his arse.”
Connor’s brows raised and his chin dipped. “Really. I’d like to see you try, old man.”
“Bro’ there’d be no trying, and you’d be out fast enough to make even your thick head spin. Besides, I’m not old. I’m only thirty three, you shit.”
I tried not to smile at Rawson’s obvious disgruntlement, but just barely succeeded.
Connor just shook his head. He grinned, but kept quiet. It was true, it would be one hell of a fight, and I wasn’t really sure who would win if it came to it. Rawson wasn’t just any old alpha shifter; he was one of the SBI’s top agents—and had at least twelve years experience to Connor’s seven.
