His Wolf

Forty- Nine

The burning in my chest came not only from the wound that still bleed with every movement I made but also from the rage that I felt. It ate at me with every hit I took, with every sneer in my direction. My opponent was large, with arms twice the size of mine, and a chest as thick as an oak. Scars decorated it like fine jewels. His grin stretched his thin lips, pulling skin so tight over his sharp cheekbones I waited with morbid curiosity to see if they would slice through the flesh. It sure would make my day.

 Trainer wanted to see how well I could fight in this form. He wanted to know if his killer was still inside somewhere. I knew it was. I could feel it clawing at my insides, it wanted out and it wanted to taste the blood of this bull of a man that repeatedly slammed his closed hand against my face with no mercy. I wanted to let it out. I wanted to tear out his throat and watch as he choked on his bitter blood.

But I couldn't.

Trainer wouldn't let me return to my fur even if I knew how. He wanted me to fight but in this strange skin form, but my coordination was lacking. My limbs felt strange and awkward, long and heavy making me wonder how this bull can keep pulling his back and throwing them forward with all his body weight.

Another jarring hit to my ribs had me gasping for air, the ache of the hit sending a spike of pain through my body, causing me to fall back and prop myself up off the ground on a shaky arm. While I was distracted by greedy lunges and aching bones, he sent another hard hit to my jaw. I heard the cracking in my ear before the ringing downed it out. The room spun, lights fading in and out before I hit the ground. Cold cement meets my aching and bruised skin, but it couldn't cool the agony I felt. I lifted my hand to cradle the burning ache of my face, but the touch only sent another sharp stab of pain through the bruising bone. I clenched my teeth, hoping to stifle the sounds of pain, and quickly pulled my palm away, taking quick notice of the small trace amounts of dark blood on my fingers. My vision flickered for a moment before the room we were in came back into focus.

I moved to get back on my feet, but the room jerked and tilted to the side causing me to fall back to the ground.

Before I could try again a sharp whistle cut through the air. I instantly froze, canceling my intentions to get back up and fight. 

"That's enough Callan," Trainer's voice was sharp and commanding, "I don't need my prized fighter with any more brain damage than she already has."

The tree man snorted, "This meek thing is your prized fighter?" His face was blurry, but I could just make out the disgusted face he shot down at me.

The ringing in my ears was beginning to dissipate, but I still had trouble focusing on the world spinning around me. I heard a faint shuffling sound, boots against a stone. I flinched when I looked in its direction to see Trainer crouching down beside me. My eye only lifted to his waist, but I knew he saw that as too high. He had always told me they belonged on the feet of those above me. And everyone was above me.

He chuckled darkly, his hand reaching out causing me to duck my head slightly out of instinct. He placed his heavy hand on the top of my head before proceeding to run it down the length of my hair.

"She may not look it now, but this, meek, creature as you put it. Is capable of mass destruction," his fingers curled themselves in the ends of my hair, gripping them tightly before pulling harshly. I let out a whimper of surprise but made a point to keep my eyes away from his, "but that's when she was in her fur. It seems I underestimated my other pet's abilities, now I have to retrain this mutt from scratch."

I wanted to flinch away from his touch, from the harshness in his voice, but yet I found a part of me wanting to lean into the harsh grip against my head. A voice yelled inside my mind to run away from him. Run from the calloused hand that fisted my hair. From the man that pulled my head back so he could look down at my face.