Filed to story: The Alpha’s Pen Pal Book
I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response, though. Instead, I walk away, heading down the hall to the back door of the packhouse.
“Where are you going?” Sebastian asks, his footsteps echoing mine as he follows me.
“Gym. I want to get a workout in before we lead training later.”
“I’ll join you,” he says, gulping down the rest of his coffee and dropping the mug off in the kitchen on our way through the packhouse.
I grit my teeth and hold in a groan. That’s the last thing I want. The last thing I need. Especially when he’s the reason I need to work out some aggression in the first place. Him and his stupid bets.
I was hoping to imagine his face as the punching bag. I suppose his actual face is a much better alternative. But if he’s there, that means listening to his taunts for most of the morning. Or he may choose to go the silent route, baiting me to bring it up on my own.
He sticks his hands in his sweatpants pockets as we cross the lawn dusted with snow, his face turning towards the rays of the bright sun. The subtle warmth will melt the minuscule dusting of snow we had last night before lunchtime rolls around, but it’s only a matter of time before the snow sticks, and we have a winter wonderland. Which is what Haven wants for the wedding in a few weeks.
Seb breathes out, little cloudy puffs of condensation forming in the air, and I roll my eyes and wrinkle my nose. He’s either oblivious to the tension building inside me, or he’s using his lack of words to get a rise out of me and put me on edge.
Who am I kidding? It’s for sure the latter. It’s what Seb does.
He just knows. He knows what makes others tick and knows how to get people to do what he wants. It’s how he lured me into all these stupid bets over the years, before I learned betting against him on anything is the worst idea ever. It’s how he knew the only way Haven would give Wes a chance was if she saw how important she always was to him, as opposed to being told how important she was to him.
And now, he’s trying to get me to acknowledge my failing, my shortcoming, trying to get me to admit that I, once again, lost a bet. He’ll be all silent and smirky and smug, never saying “I told you so” but thinking it beneath the gleam in his eyes.
Well, two can play that game. If he’s not going to bring it up, I won’t either. He thinks his silence will annoy me, will make me blurt it out and fess up, and beg him to let me off the hook.
But I won’t let it get to me. I’ll ignore him and his dumb face and his superiority. It will be the fuel for my workout. I’ll make him be the one to talk first instead of the other way around.
We reach the gym and change in silence, neither of us breaking. He’s waiting for it. Waiting for me to give in to the pressure he’s putting on me. His keen eyes watch me when he thinks I won’t notice. I yank the laces on my shoes harder than normal, and Sebastian’s lip twitches, but I continue on my merry way over to the indoor track.
Throughout our stretches, he keeps watching me, not saying a word. I clench my teeth, and I’m sure the vein in my forehead is as large as a branch from the redwoods surrounding the pack, but I hold out.
I’m tempted to start my run without a warm-up, but the importance of stretching before a workout is too ingrained in me, too much a part of my workout routine to skip it. We may be werewolves and we may have advanced healing, but that doesn’t mean we’re immune to illness and injury. Just like our extended lifespan doesn’t mean we are immortal. We can still die. We can still be killed.
It is a reality I know all too well.
“Run or spar first?” Seb asks once our warm-up is complete, breaking the silence between us.
I stand there, hands on my hips and eyes pointed at the turf on the floor of the gym, waffling between the two. Do I want to pound his face first or kick his ass in a race around the track first?
Both sound appealing, and both will bring me satisfaction, especially with the knowledge of what is coming. But if we race and then spar, I’ll get the extra enjoyment of ending my workout with a sparring pin, which at the moment sounds much more exciting than ending with a racing win.
“Run first,” I grumble, and his lips twitch, making that vein in my forehead pulse again. “Last one to finish five miles buys lunch,” I say, taking off before he can respond or get ready.
Too late, I realize my mistake. Too late, I realize I shouldn’t have uttered those words. But it seems I never learn. That, or I am a glutton for punishment. Or both.
Sebastian catches up to me with ease, not breaking a sweat, using a speed I haven’t seen him use in almost fifteen years. The speed he used that day he raced Wesley before Wesley shifted into his lycan almost six months before he should have.
“Goddess, damn it,” I say under my breath, picking up my pace to stay with him.
How did I forget Seb is a master deceiver? That he puts out the barest amount of effort needed for every workout or training or sparring match, but in truth, he is much stronger and more powerful than he lets on?
I know how. Because I am too fucking cocky at times, that’s how.
I try my best to stay with him, but after the third mile, I have to tap out and slow my pace. I’m fuming by the time I finish mile five and join Seb at the water station. It’s my own damn fault, but that doesn’t make me any less mad. It just makes me more mad.
I chug my water, then crush the cup in my fist, enjoying the sound of the crunching paper and the way it feels in my hand as it collapses. My face drips with sweat, a river of it running off the tip of my nose, but Sebastian is fresh as a motherfucking daisy, his forehead barely glistening with moisture.
“Still want to spar?” Sebastian asks, chuckling as he sips his water, his eyes flicking to the crushed cup in my hand.
No.
“Yes,” I say between my teeth as I move to wrap my hands before we spar.
Like I said, we heal quickly, but I prefer to not have bloody, bruised, and broken knuckles all the time.
I won’t win. Not against Seb. Not when he’s giving it his actual best. But I am sure I can get some good hits in, so I can get at least some fulfillment from the feel of my fist meeting his face. Especially since he’s still giving me those smug looks, waiting for me to cave and bring up the bet.
But I won’t. I won’t give in. I won’t give him that satisfaction; give him something else to hold over me. His head doesn’t need to get bigger than it already is. He’s too damn sure of himself in everything he does. Someone needs to knock him down a peg or two.
I wish it could be me.
I shake out my muscles and roll my neck, stalking to the sparring ring with Seb hot on my heels, ducking under the ropes as he hops over, stretching his arms across his chest and behind his back. I yank my shirt over my head and toss it aside. It’s soaked with sweat from my run and will be more of a hindrance while we’re sparring, sticking to my skin and making it easier for Seb to grab me.
Seb crouches into a starting position, and I launch myself at him, not waiting for an acknowledgment that he’s ready. I need to get my hits on him in and let the frustration and annoyance out before he has a chance to take me down.
Of course, once again, I overestimate myself and underestimate Sebastian.
I get one hit in, square on his jaw. But he gets the upper hand on me, getting me in a chokehold in seconds and taking me to the mat. I squirm and fight against him, but there is no point. He has me pinned.
I swear there is smoke coming from my ears as I tap the mat, and he releases me. I hop up to my feet and shake the loss off.
“You’re a little slow today,” Seb says, head cocked to the side.
“I’m still warming up!” I snap, and then I pounce for him again.
New Book: Veiled Desires of the Alpha King Novel
Dayson was the alpha of the largest pack in North America. Powerful figures from other packs sought to offer gorgeous girls as potential mates for Dayson. He steadfastly rejected these advances, he was not a pawn to be manipulated. But eventually there came a mysterious girl he could hardly say No. Who was she?