Chapter 118

Hannah

It was bright and early, the sun barely having warmed the ground outside. I had been up for a while already—painstakingly preparing myself for today.

Training.

After Noah had agreed to Drake’s challenge, we had scheduled Saturday to begin. Today, I would be receiving a lesson from both Drake and Noah; and then I would choose one of them to be my sparring partner.

First, there was Drake; he was a certified personal trainer, and far kinder than Noah. But at the same time, maybe he wouldn’t push me as much as I hoped.

And then there was Noah; curt and impatient, but I knew he would push me to my limit and teach me real-world skills. I needed that, even though I dreaded having to train with him.

By the time I arrived at the training center, Noah was already there. He was in the ring up ahead, silently punching the air beneath a single spotlight—and he didn’t see me when I entered. I let myself linger in the shadows for a few minutes, watching as he warmed up.

His muscles, taut beneath his shirt, seemed to ripple with every move. His footwork was solid, his brow furrowed in concentration. A few beads of sweat had begun to form on his forehead, his dark mop of hair coming loose from its usual perfectly-groomed style and falling into his eyes.

I wished I could see more of this side of him: strong and calculated, but messy and breathless at the same time. Less of the flawless, cold Alpha and more of… whatever this was.

But it was over just as quickly as it had come. Noticing my eyes on him, Noah abruptly stopped and turned to face me.

“What are you just standing there for?” he asked, grabbing a towel off the rope and wiping his face with it.

I sighed and shook my head. Crossing to the bench, I dropped my bag on the floor and took a seat so I could slip my training shoes on.

“Where’s Drake?” I asked.

Noah seemed to bristle at the mention of his name and slid beneath the ropes, hopping down to the cement floor. “Late,” he grumbled. “What do you expect?”

I shot him a frown. “I’m assuming you’ve been here since the crack of dawn.”

He didn’t respond to that. I watched as he crossed over to the other bench and grabbed his water bottle. He drank deeply and fervently, head tipped back, water dribbling down his chin and neck. Goddess, how his muscles gleamed beneath those droplets of water. Every vein in his throat seemed to stand out, perfectly silhouetted by the spotlight behind him.

When he finished drinking, he snapped his head toward me and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. I quickly averted my gaze to my shoes, trying to pretend like I had been tying them this whole time and not ogling him. But despite myself, my fingers fumbled.

Noah sighed and stomped over to me, dropping to one knee in front of me. He slapped his knee. “Give me your foot.”

“I’m fine—”

“I can’t have you rolling your ankle because you don’t know how to tie your shoes. Give me your foot.”

With my face reddening, I slowly raised my foot and set it on his knee. He tied it tightly in a few jerky motions before gesturing for the other, and did the same.

“I still don’t see why you suddenly want to do this,” he said as he worked. “It’s not necessary for a Luna to know how to fight.”

I frowned deeply, my bashfulness momentarily forgotten. “I won’t be a Luna for much longer. What if I need to protect myself?”

Noah’s hand slowed on my shoelaces, his eyes flickering up to me. His lips pressed themselves into a thin line, and for a moment I thought he might bite out a retort—but then he quickly finished tying my shoe, perhaps a bit too tight, and stood.

“Sorry I’m late!”

The sound of Drake’s voice caused us both to look up. Drake was jogging through the door, his motorcycle helmet under his arm, a bag in hand, and his hair a bit ruffled.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Noah grumbled, turning away to rifle through his own bag.

Drake huffed as he set his stuff down on the bench. “Sorry,” he replied casually. “Hit traffic. Are you all warmed up, Hannah?”

“I only just got here myself.” I shot Noah a glance, but he wasn’t looking—his broad back now turned to me.

“We’ll start off slow, then.” Drake slipped his feet into his training shoes, not taking care to tie them tightly like Noah had, and then grabbed his gloves out of his bag. He nodded toward the ring as he slid them on. “Let’s go.”

With a deep breath, I rose from the bench and followed Drake to the ring. I climbed under the ropes and up onto the squidgy rubber mat, slipping on my own gloves as I did so. There, beneath the spotlight, I felt almost blinded—and far more intimidated than I expected.

Drake, noticing my hesitation, slid up onto the mat beside me and patted me on the shoulder. “Hey, it’s just training. We’ll go easy.”

I nodded stiffly, trying to ignore Noah’s piercing eyes on me as he leaned on the ropes. “Alright.”

With that, Drake and I got started. We began with a simple exercise, Drake holding pads in his hands and directing me to do various punches. I remembered the basics from my training as a kid, right and left hook, uppercut, high kick, that sort of thing.

“You seem to have this down,” Drake said, setting aside the pads. “We’ll try some hand-to-hand.”

Noah scoffed from the sidelines. “She’s not ready for hand-to-hand.”

I shot Noah a withering glare, but Drake cut in before I could speak. “Don’t worry, Noah. I’m not gonna hurt her.”

Noah pursed his lips and looked away, the tips of his ears reddening ever so slightly. Was that what he was worried about? Me getting hurt?

“Alright, Hannah,” Drake said, “let’s start with some basic grapples…”

Over the next few minutes, Drake and I practiced various grapples, both on our feet and on the mat. I was a bit more rusty with this, and although Drake was patient and gentle, it was a bit intimidating; he was a lot bigger than I was, and I was paranoid about accidentally hurting my stomach where my baby was safely nestled.

But it didn’t matter, because it was cut short anyway; just as Drake was teaching me how to get him into a standard headlock, Noah cleared his throat loudly and caused us both to stop.

“Drake,” he grumbled, hopping over the ropes, “this is ridiculous. She needs to learn more self defense maneuvers, not how to put someone in a headlock. She should know how to get herself out of something like a headlock.”

Drake, disentangling himself from me, sat up. “It’s best for her to know how to put someone in the maneuvers before learning how to get herself out. That way, she’ll understand how the different components work.”

Noah narrowed his eyes and placed his hands on his hips. “Yeah, right. Like an attacker is gonna follow all these standard grappling maneuvers. She should know how to escape any hold, then how to fuck someone up and run.”

“How can she know how to fuck someone up if she doesn’t even know the basics?”

“She knows the basics. You’re treating her like a moron.”

“I’m not. I’m just taking it slow,” Drake retorted.

Noah scoffed. “Is that so? Or is it just that you’re not as skilled as you’re making yourself out to be?”

By now, Drake was on his feet, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Still on my knees, I gaped up at the two men—their noses were practically touching. “Guys—” I began.

But they didn’t hear me. Drake was already pulling his gloves off and tossing them to the floor between their feet.

“Since you seem to be an expert,” Drake growled, “maybe you and I should just fight instead and decide who’s more qualified that way.”

“Guys—”

“I think that’s an excellent idea,” Noah replied, ignoring me. “I’ll show you how to really fight.”