Wraith takes a step forward. Just one step, but when you're his size, one step covers a lot of ground. The message is clear.Back off.
Valek doesn't flinch. “Perhaps I could join your workout?” Valek suggests, his tone light but his eyes sharp. “I find myself restless this morning.”
It's a challenge. Plain and simple.
“Speaking of restless, isn’t the point of you being here that you’resupposedto rest?” I ask pointedly.
“I’m an alpha,” Valek says with a sly grin. “I can manage.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah. Sure,” I say before Wraith can do something we'll all regret. "We were just about to move to weights anyway."
Valek strips off his shirt in one fluid motion, revealing a lean, scarred torso. Not bulk like Wraith, but pure lethal efficiency. There's a nasty scar across his ribs that looks like a knife wound. Another on his shoulder that's definitely from a bullet. A few round burn marks like someone put cigarettes out on his skin.
What the fuck was this guy doing before hockey?
Wraith moves to the bench press, loading it with an obscene amount of weight. Four plates on each side to start. He positions himself under the bar, lifts it off the rack with no apparent effort, and pumps effortlessly.
He's showing off. Making a point.
He racks the weight and adds two more plates per side. Six fucking plates. That's over five hundred pounds. And I know he can do more.
Valek watches with apparent appreciation. "Impressive. Though I've always believed technique trumps raw strength."
"Your turn," I say to Valek as Wraith climbs off the bench, swiping a cloth across his damp forehead, curious to see how he'll respond.
Valek approaches the rack, studying the loaded bar. "Perhaps we could make this interesting? A small wager?"
"What kind of wager?" I ask doubtfully.
"Information." His silver eyes gleam. "For each successful set, we get to ask one question. The other must answer honestly."
Wraith's growl is louder this time. His massive frame tenses like he's about to launch himself at Valek.
"Just training questions," Valek adds smoothly. "Techniques, strategies. Nothing personal."
Bullshit. Everything with this guy is personal. He's hunting for information about Ivy, and we all know it.
But backing down now would confirm his suspicions.
"Fine," I say. "But same weight for everyone, relative to body weight percentage. Keep it fair."
Valek inclines his head in agreement, moving to adjust the weight. He strips off four plates and positions himself. His form is perfect. He completes ten reps without breaking a sweat.
"My question," he says as he racks the bar. "How often does the team train together during off-hours?"
Safe enough. "Three times a week, usually. More during pre-season."
Wraith loads his bar back up to his insane weight, then grabs four more plates. I open my mouth to stop him before he fucking hurts himself or breaks the pack house in his quest to prove a point to Valek, but it's too late. He's going for it. The bar bends under the load as he lies back, positioning his hands. He explodes the weight up with a low growl, controls it down, then presses it again. And again. Ten perfect reps at a weight that would crush most alphas.
He sits up, his tank top now completely transparent with sweat, every scar on his torso visible through the fabric. His burning blue eyes lock on Valek.
My turn,my brother signs to me, and I translate for him. "Where did you train before this?"
"Various places," Valek replies smoothly, glancing at Wraith. "I've always believed in diverse training environments."
Not really an answer, but Wraith doesn't push it. He's made his point. The display of raw power was the real message.
I move to the pull-up bar, knocking out a quick set while my mind races. How much longer can we keep this up? Valek's not stupid. He knows we're hiding something. And with Wraith looking ready to tear him apart at the slightest provocation, it's only a matter of time before this powder keg explodes.
