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Whispers echo. The alphas’ scents mix with the strong tang of sweat. Their attention digs my flesh like needles. I want to duck and hide, but Atlas’s broad back doesn’t offer any shelter.
At least, not to me it doesn’t.
“Scorpio wanted her to sit in on classes,” Atlas answers. “Have a tour. Do some team bonding.”
“He wants an omega loose in the training center?”
“I’m not loose,” I mutter.
A trainee snickers.
Ignoring him, I step past Atlas, gravitating to Hunter, whose mezcal scent tastes disturbingly comforting when it should be anything but. “I’ll stay out of the way. Is there a corner where I can hide?”
“You’re not hiding.” Hunter sighs. “Full eval?” he asks Atlas.
“Grade her on hand to hand, then send her to Finn for marksmanship. We need to make sure she can handle herself.”
Wait. What? “Train?”
Also, I’m right here, assholes.
Atlas stalks off. I half turn to follow, but Hunter catches my sleeve. “You’re with me, Omega.”
“Why?” That’s what I don’t understand. I’ve taken self-defense and martial arts from dozens of different trainers, but combat for omegas is mostly about running away.
I’m all about the escape, especially today.
I have no business in a GD military school for the most elite of alphas. Especially because I don’t want them knowing how good I am. How much I love fighting. It’s the same as dance, the way I want to throw myself into motion, just to the rhythm of hard breaths instead of pounding bass.
“Did anyone say you could stop?” Hunter hits his trainees with a bark, and the stinking eavesdroppers jump back into action.
He pulls me to the edge of the gym, lowering his husky voice. “We’re stuck with the dads’ bullshit, which means you’re stuck with us and our enemies. You’re going to need to know how to fend off an attacker.”
The shiv in my waistband says I’m ready anytime, anywhere, but that’s not a factoid Hunter needs. “Fine. What do you want me to do?”
“Switch pairs!” Hunter calls. “Brock, to me.”
A smaller alpha jogs to our corner of the gym. Small being a foot taller with arms bigger than my waist.
“You’re with Lilah,” Hunter says.
His eyes bug. “Sir. She’s an—”
“I noticed,” Hunter says drily. “I need to evaluate her skills. Just do some basic movements.”
“Yes, sir.” He squares up to me, mouthing a soft sorry.
Me too, buddy.
Brock is lean and agile, already bouncing on his toes. That long reach is going to be a problem. He’s so much taller. If he’s any good at grappling, I’m screwed. But if I duck and—
Shit.
I catch myself just before Brock lunges. I don’t need to beat him. I need to lose.
Instead of dodging his slow-ass right hook—he’s totally taking it easy on me—I throw up a clumsy block and clench my teeth to take the hit. Brock’s fist busts my cheek.
A flash of pain, and my head snaps back.
