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"The two sides of your nature are uniquely disconnected," I answered. "That's why you're so insatiable in your wolf form. And why you can't control it, assuming you're telling the truth about that."
"I am," he cried, indignant. "I mean, I couldn't control it before, but since I've been here…"
"Yes, I know," I said, not terribly eager to go down that road, especially since Father Marius had made it clear he believed I was the reason for that change. I was more inclined to believe it was the bloodletting, or at least, that was what I wanted to believe. "Even with the collar, you should be capable of mounting more of a defense than you are. Since you have to remain in the collar for the time being, you're just going to have to work that much harder."
"I will," he said in his usual earnest way. Utterly absurd, this kid. But what was I supposed to do? Absurd or not, he was mine to turn into a halfway decent hunter, even if it did feel like Father Marius was intentionally setting me up for failure. That, or testing my resolve. Knowing him, it was probably both.
"Good," I said, beckoning for him to come at me again. "Because we have a lot of ground to cover."
That was the understatement of the century.
ChapterTen
EDDIE
Ihad been training with Castor every day, all day, for the past two weeks, and my body was littered in cuts and bruises. Each time one of them healed, another would spring up to take its place. I wasn't healing as fast as I should have been, but I could only assume that was because I still had to go to Dr. Kelly's every other day or so to give blood.
If I never saw another needle for the rest of my life, it would be too soon. Not that that was a realistic wish. Recruit or not, I was still the resident lupine pincushion.
While I wasn't living in the dungeon anymore, I was still kept separate from the others, which meant I had my own room. It wasn't in the barracks with the other recruits, but rather in what I had determined to be the administration wing of the Abbey, not far from Father Marius's office.
Office, sanctuary… I really wasn't sure.
Every morning, I woke up at four and went to the gym to meet Castor. The routine itself had become comforting, even though I knew he resented the fact that he had to train me.
Hell, I was pretty sure he resented the fact that I existed at all, but that just meant I had to work harder to gain his approval. It mattered more to me than I wanted to admit, and I was pretty sure he could tell. And that it pissed him off.
To be fair, just about everything I did pissed him off, so there wasn't much I could do to help it.
Usually, Castor was already there by the time I arrived, so I was surprised when I found the gym empty that morning. I didn't want to let him catch me sitting around being idle, so I decided to get started on warming up.
“Look at you, Don Quixote," a familiar and utterly unwelcome voice said from right behind me. "Fighting windmills, I see."
I turned around to face Arrow, frowning. I hadn't heard him come up behind me at all, which made his appearance all the more unsettling. Not only was he psycho and stupidly powerful, even for a hunter, but he moved like a cat. That hardly seemed fair.
And here I was, trapped alone with him in the gym with no sign of Castor. I knew none of the other hunters would be here for another hour at least.
"What do you want?" I asked warily.
"That's no way to talk to the guy who spared your life," he said with a wicked smirk, taking a step toward me.
I moved back, staying in a ready stance in case I had to defend myself. Running, even if it was equally futile, was probably a safer bet.
"You wanted to kill me," I reminded him. "Castor is the one who saved me."
"Oh, right," he said, as if he had forgotten. "All the hunts kind of blur together after a while."
He was wearing training gear rather than a cleric’s uniform. I had never seen him in anything but his usual clothes, and he was leaner than I had expected, but still plenty muscular enough to kick my ass if he wanted to. And given the way he was looking at me, I had to assume that he did. Pretty fucking badly. I wasn't sure what I'd done to deserve his ire, either, but earned it, I had. That much was abundantly clear.
I noticed the set of dog tags hanging from his neck. It made sense hunters would wear those, considering how likely it was for them to be maimed beyond recognition by the things they went after. Unlike most of the other hunters, his body wasn't covered in scars, save for the massive one on his right forearm. I couldn't help but do a double take when I saw it, because it looked like a werewolf had chewed him up right down to the bone. There was only a thin layer of skin and sinew covering the majority of his forearm.
He caught me staring and frowned, a dangerous look coming into his eyes. Not that they were ever fully devoid of madness. "Wanna take a picture, mutt?"
"Sorry," I mumbled. "That looks painful. Was it one of us?" That would certainly explain why he hated me so much.
The question only seemed to further enrage him, his nostrils flaring as his eyes narrowed. "You think I’d let one of you fleabags get a hit in on me?" he sneered. "I'm insulted."
I gulped. "Sorry."
