Pack or Prey (Wolfblooded book 1)

Chapter 14

July 12th 2011 10:26 a.m.

Frank's little call kept me on edge to say the least. Every sound made me turn and look behind me. Every head of sandy-brown hair walking in front of me made me reach my hand into my purse. I had gone to classes, work, and even the post office with my 9mm tucked away in my bag, loaded and ready for anything. The sound of a motorcycle passing me on the highway nearly made me swerve off the road as I reached for my purse.

This was no way to live, and I hated Frank even more for stealing away the little bit fortitude I'd managed to build over the last few months.

If those had been his intentions—and I'd be stupid to think they weren't—then he succeeded. I hated that he had. He robbed me of my sense of self; something that I was only just beginning to discover.

I went to class, but couldn't concentrate. I went to work and was only half there. The only time I managed to throw myself completely into something was when I went to train with Marcellus, and even then, Frank was the driving force behind it. I even arranged to meet with him two extra days a week. If I could get away without using the gun I would be a lot happier, and the only way of doing that was getting a handle on the stuff Marcellus had been trying to literally beat into me.

I tied my shoelaces on the bench, my skin coated in sweat. My breathing was heavier than normal, and Marcellus took notice.

"How long you been smoking again?" he asked casually, handing me a cold bottle of water.

He was the reason I quit to begin with. Complete anti-smoking advocate. Plus he'd refused to train someone that couldn't breathe halfway through the session. On that, I didn't really blame him. It was a complete waste of his time and effort.

"About a week, maybe. Really bad the past couple days," I had no reason to lie to him. Not about something as inconsequential as that.

He nodded and took a drink of his water, pressed his towel to his forehead. He didn't look at me, and I couldn't help but wonder if I was seeing indifference or disappointment. Did I really care at this point? Yeah. Sad to say, but I did.

"Everyone has weak moments. It's picking yourself up that makes you strong."

"Has anyone ever told you you kinda talk like Yoda?" I teased him because his words actually settled me slightly. He wasn't judging me for picking up a bad habit. He just wanted what was best for his student.

His laugh was rich and real and it made me smile. "Mmmm... two packs a day you smoked and your lungs, blacker than Mickey's asshole they were"

I laughed. That was unexpectedly playful for Mr. Discipline.

"Wow," I said through the laughter. "That was, uh...impressive... and really, really, gross." I giggled and took another sip of my water. "Seriously, though. I know it's not good. I don't plan on picking back up the two a day habit, you know. Just... trust me."

He smiled at me and shrugged, pulling the towel off his shoulder and slinging it to the bench.

"Alright. I'm just saying. This too shall pass. Now finish up this break, and let's hit the mat again. I don't know what's gotten into you, but you're killing it tonight. I want to show you some new moves."

"Alright, I'm coming," I said as I finished my water.

Though I knew my body would be screaming at me for hours, I also knew this was a necessary evil. Knowing how to shoot was nice, but I needed to be ready for anything Frank might pull.

July 12th 2011 8:40 p.m.

Two days had passed since he called. Two full days of anxiety and paranoia. Sometimes I would let myself think it was just a bluff, but then I would look down at my forearm. The scabbed up 'F' set me straight. Frank didn't bluff. He threatened, he warned, but he never bluffed.