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“Hopefully, it won’t happen again for another year, right?” I pushed the mug closer to her.
She reached for it and took a sip. One side of her mouth quirked up in a smile, and my heart leaped for joy at the sight.
Clearing my throat, I sat down at the place across from her. I didn’t want her to realize that I was still fighting to keep my hands to myself.
“You really did get caramel sauce,” she said. “It does improve your coffee.”
I chuckled. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Listen, about last night…”
I put a hand up. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
“Thank you for getting me here and keeping me safe,” she said.
“Of course.”
“You have no idea how rare you are,” she said. “I don’t think any other male would have done what you did.”
My stomach twisted uncomfortably. “I’m not the good guy you keep making me out to be. Kidnapper, remember?”
She shrugged.
“Hey, I thought maybe we’d do some basic fighting exercises today.” I had to change the subject. “Punching things always helps me work things out. In case there’s any lingering… um… frustration.”
“That sounds good.” She took another sip of the coffee. “Where’s Jasmine and Zoe?”
“They’re setting the trap,” I said. “Trying to see if they can lure your dad into meeting with you.”
“Already?” She looked nervous, and I hated myself. If there was a demon inside her father, she would be at such a great risk when we tried to get him out. As if her own father wasn’t bad enough already.
“I’ll let you know when I hear anything,” I assured her.
She nodded, then focused on her drink. We sat in silence a long while until she stood and walked to the sink to take care of her mug. When she was finished, she turned to me. “Okay, I’m ready.”
The garage had been converted to a gym of sorts. We had several punching bags, racks of weights, and some mats on the floor. It wasn’t pretty, but it got the job done.
“Let’s see what you can do,” I suggested, leading Morgan over to a punching bag hanging from the ceiling. I grabbed the back of the bag, holding it still for her. “Go ahead.”
“And do what?” she asked. “You want me to just hit it?”
“Punch it. Let me see what we’re starting with.”
She shrugged, then balled her hand into a fist and hit the bag. “Ouch.”
I released the bag. “You’re going to break your thumb that way. Didn’t your dad teach you how to punch?”
She lifted a brow. “You think the guy who didn’t tell me about how alpha power transfers bothered to teach me how to throw a punch? I’m pretty sure he liked that I was defenseless. It made it so I was an easier target to marry off.”
“I’m glad that didn’t work out the way he wanted it to,” I admitted.
I took hold of her hand and helped her move her thumb to the correct position. “Use the power from your back when you push through. Make contact with the first and second knuckles. Follow through, like you’re going to punch through the bag. Don’t just stop as soon as you feel it.”
She nodded. “Okay, let’s try again.”
Her next punch landed much better. I helped her made a few adjustments, then we worked on the other arm. After a while, she was panting and sweating.
“Who knew how much of a workout this was,” she said.
