My fist connects with the bag in front of me again and again. No matter how many times I pummel the bag, I don’t feel better.
My father lied to me for years. He kept me from my fated mate. No, not just kept me from. He made me hate the one person in this world meant for me.
“Son of a bitch!” I slam my fist into the punching bag, letting out a guttural growl.
When I was eighteen, the concept of destined mates seemed so sappy. My parents always told me to mate smart not just with my heart, but at the time, I cared more about who I was spending the weekend with, not the rest of my life. True mates sounded like some perfect little fairy tale that only girls and greeting card companies cared about.
Then I saw Josh.
Seeing him and understanding his connection to me was incredible. And when he fed the dragon a carrot and looked sodelighted, all I could think was that he was adorable. Beautiful. And maybe even... mine?
Walking away from him without saying anything was the hardest thing I’d ever done in my life. And I grew up with a cross between an Alpha werewolf and a strict drill sergeant as my father, so that’s saying something.
The impact of my fist against the bag reverberates through my entire body. Each hit does nothing to quiet the anger still coursing through my veins.
A throat clears behind me. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is.
“Are you aiming or just swinging wildly?” my father wonders as he steps inside our home gym.
I grit my teeth, keeping my eyes focused on the punching bag in front of me. “Go away.”
“The power comes from planning an attack and seeing it through.”
I whirl around, eyes narrowing. “The last thing I need right now is your advice.”
“We need to discuss this, Bane.”
I put my focus back on the punching bag and ignore my father. That way I won’t punch him instead. I settle for imagining the bag is his face.
“Son, please. I was only looking out for you.”
“Looking out for me?” I snarl. “You lied to me! You kept me from Josh all these years!”
“As the future Alpha, you need a strong mate by your side. Your true mate couldn’t measure up. The Clover Pack have lost their way. They lack purpose and discipline. I was trying to protect you.”
I lash out, my fist slamming into the punching bag with such force that it tears through the leather. The bag splits and sandflies everywhere. The tiny grains scatter across the floor and a small pile forms at my feet.
Fucking hell, this is a mess. Not just the bag, but my life. Josh and me. My father and me. It’s all a giant mess.
“Fine,” he says after a moment. “Beat things up, be disrespectful. Just get it out of your system. Then snap out of it.”
I clench my jaw, my fingers curling uselessly into tight fists at my sides now that there’s nothing to hit. “It’s not that easy.”
“Don’t lose focus now. No matter what else is going on, your twenty-third birthday gets nearer. You must be prepared for the fight.”
The fight. As if I could possibly focus on that with everything that’s just been revealed.
Moving to the nearest machine, I yank the barbell off the stand where it rests. The bar connecting the weights groans as I apply pressure and then snaps as I bend the metal in half. The weights clatter loudly as they tumble down, crashing heavily against the hard floor.
Elias raises an eyebrow. “Are you finished?”
“I could do this all night,” I fire off, but it’s a lie. Ripping apart the barbell—and being in the same room with my father without decking him—is draining me. The anger is still there, but destroying things suddenly seems like more effort than it’s worth.
I sink down onto the weight bench and let out a weary sigh, running a hand through my sweat-dampened hair.
“Can’t believe everything you did,” I say as I think back. “You tracked Josh down, destroyed his bike, and framed me. It was diabolical.”
“You’re being dramatic.” He makes a face. “What self-respecting werewolf rides a bike anyway?”
