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I crumple, eating mat hard.
“Lilah!” Hunter dives to my side.
“I’m so sorry.” Brock hovers over me. “Sir. She was going to block, and—”
“Get out of here,” Hunter barks.
“Right away, sir.” Brock scampers off.
“Everyone dismissed!” Hunter yells. He waits for the alphas to clear the room. I peek from under my lashes, praying he punts me to the med bay or better yet, all the way back to the basement where I belong.
My jaw stings, but the hit’s the kind that’ll bruise hard and fade fast.
It’s weird.
The hits that don’t bruise, the ones that are the easiest to hide? Those are the ones that always hurt the most.
When the door slams, Hunter pins me with a scowl instead of the pity I wanted. “What the shit was that?”
“I think I have a concussion.” I fake a wince, cradling my head.
“Bullshit.”
My eyes pop open.
“You’ve trained.” His gaze narrows. “Muay Thai? Boxing?”
“No.”
He snorts.
“We do jazz aerobics at the Center.”
“That wasn’t dancercise, Killer. You were about to flip Brock on his ass. Why would you let him hit you?” He cups my chin, his palm so big and warm and safe—but his touch is lies.
All lies.
Hunter’s the opposite of safe.
There’s no deadlier danger than the way Hunter’s head cocks to the side, the way he examines me like a puzzle he’s determined to pull apart and twist into shape until all the broken pieces fit.
“I’m not a fighter,” I say, straight-faced.
“That’s not what your school records say.”
“Those were omega tantrums. Not real fights. Didn’t you see my combat marks?” I bet the trainers don’t even remember my name.
Once I wised up, I only watched class, never joining in. Then I held my own battle practices after hours. In the gym, pounding the bag until my knuckles ached, or in the dark when two or ten jealous omegas cornered me in one of the campus dead zones, with no cameras to witness the beating whether I was the one giving or taking the hits.
“Really,” he says flatly.
I relax, and he reads the change in my body, stealing the chance to haul me to my feet. I thump against his chest, forehead bumping a wall of warm, firm muscle. I suck in a smoky mouthful, and my toes curl in my sneakers.
Hunter starts to purr.
The sound is soft as a rabbit fur brush, tickling the deepest part of my soul. I go soft for him. So soft my knees relax and I can’t help sinking deep into his arms.
“Lilah,” he rumbles, wrapping me in an illusion of safety so perfect I almost forget it’s fake. “You’re lying to me.”
