CHAPTER 102: ONE HUNDRED & TWO

*Valka

*"Again."*

Sweat runs down my temples, my muscles burning with fatigue. To think he’d called this a honeymoon trip, when in truth, it’s been nothing but torture in this past week.

We haven’t heard back from any of the missives we sent and the restlessness to make a difference has driven me back here, again and again, even if it always leaves me so beat up, I can barely move from my bed the next day.

I run for the ledge and leap high in the air, managing to reach six feet high, missing the handle by three damned inches before falling hard against the training mat, nearly cracking my spine.

I remain there, arm arched over my eyes, and I feel more than see Lucien’s figure looming above me as he hums pleasantly. "You’re doing great--"

"Don’t fucking patronize me."

"Someone’s in a mood today," he croons and drops a water skin on my face, smiling knowingly when I catch it with lightning fast reflexes. "What’s crawled up your ass this morning?"

"A bug named Lucien."

He flashes me pointed fangs, mischief dancing in those violet eyes. "You would know if I was in your ass, darling. And it most definitely wouldn’t feel like a bug." He looks over the wrings. "Thirty more laps and we can call it a day."

I groan inwardly. I hurt everywhere and my body protests against the very idea of rising from the mat. I couldn’t still communicate with this other Lycan inside me, but I did see the changes, physically.

Every day I open my eyes, colours seems richer, more vivid. And I hadn’t quite noticed before with the stress of fleeing for my life amongst everything else, but at some point, my hearing got keener. My sense of smell sharper.

And it didn’t end with my senses.

My body is changing, subtly but noticeably. When Lucien had explained that Lycans mating with wolves resulted in the wolves bodies being adjusted to fit with the Lycan’s, it hadn’t registered that he meant I would begin to look like them. Him.

I’d noticed while we were traveling that my breasts had begun to strain slightly against my shirt, but I’d thought nothing of it. Until I’d looked in the mirror a couple of days ago, trying to fit into my bra and it was unbelievably tight.

I’d spent a great amount of time then, wondering why they were perkier. Still small, but fuller somehow. I considered it being a result of the pregnancy. But that has long passed and this is a new development.

I’ve never been worried about my ass before, but I’m beginning to. My hips are wider, my ass curvier. I don’t think I’m getting any taller, but I could live with that.

The curve of my ears have begun aching slightly, itching. Lucien says it’s normal during th change, but it is beyond aggravating, because it’s hard to fucking chew when at odd times, my canines stretch and become fangs. Like I’m a babe that’s teething.

I roll off the mat, taking the water skin and I just about empty the bottle, panting and wiping my chin. "Thank you," I mutter, before taking a running lap along the hall, lungs burning as I grab the first ledge and swing onto the the next, three feet harder the the former, and like that. And like that. And I manage onto the twenty-ninth lap and the second to the last wring before hitting the ground in fatigue.

"Water," I gasp.

Lucien dangles the skin farther than I can reach, all the way across the hall. "Make me give it to you."

Annoyance cramps my stomach tight and I try tapping into that power that enslaves people to my will. "Give it to me."

He cranes his neck likes he’s suddenly gone deaf. "What was that?"

I hiss through gritted teeth, embarrassment at my failure heating my cheeks and I stomp across to take it from him, only he moves with that maddening speed, appearing several feet away.

"Stop," I say in frustration, taking another step, but for each one, he takes three back, eyes brightening with excitement. *Play with me. Catch me,* they seem to say.

Not in the mood, I turn around, intent on heading to the kitchens instead but he’s suddenly at the door, blocking out the exit. "Two options, Val. You can either take this from me, which would entail matching my speed at some point. Or you will me to. And until that happens, you aren’t getting out of here."

"I’m not playing your games," I snap, irritated. "I’m hungry and tired and--"

He dematerializes, for the lack of a better word. And in the next second, I feel a hard yank on the back of my hair. I whirl, gripping the stinging spot, only to have him yank my braid again.

My head snaps to where he’d been a second ago, but I miss him again, too fast of a blur to catch, and before I can sight him again, I feel his fingers on my ribs, tickling me.

I gasp slips from me. "Stop it, Lucien," I say, stuck somewhere between crying and wheezing. "I said, *stop!*"

He freezes in front of me, violet eyes widening. His lips split into a fierce grin as he seems to shake off the effect of the direct compulsion and he pushes the water skin into my hand. "Very good." He ruffles my hair a little, earning a growl from me, and he laughs deeply. "Sudden bursts of emotions seem to be the trigger for now, but having emotions rule when your powers manifest is heavily unreliable. Which is why we will keep at this until you find something else as an anchor. Not all of that wonderful frustration you keep bottled up inside."

Understandable. I lift the bottle to my lips. " And you? What was yours?"

He walks over to the far end of the hall where punching bags and dummies stand, and my throat closes as he begins peeling off his shirt. "Arrogant as it might sound, I never really tried. I just... knew."

The rhythmic thud of flesh meeting leather bleeds into the hall. A light exhale follows a grunt and a smack of fists too quick to follow.

The heel of my boots tip back and I rest heavily against the door, forgetting that this is the part I leave.

You can look. It’s all yours, anyway.

My eyes run down his taut muscles, glistening under the pale light. Wide shoulders roll with every punch, sweat coating his skin in bits, the first drop rolling down his torso, soaking the waistband of his black trousers, clinging low on his hips.

He adjusts, feeding me a full view of him. His abs flex with each breath. His chest rises and falls with the king of control and power that makes you light headed and your thighs clench. Violet eyes narrow with focus. A bead of sweat trails from his temple to his high-cut cheekbones, down this sharp, strong jaw, disappearing into the corded muscle of his neck.

I swallow, feeling parched, even if I’d only just quenched my thirst a second ago.

I just stand there. Watching.

And gods help me, I ogle him.

Every punch he throws seems to echo inside me. Him. His presence. The restrained violence in the way his fists land again and again. It’s enough to make my stomach flutter and my pulse jackhammer against my throat.

What would it feel like to have him unleash himself completely against me, that restraint he prides in completely gone?