“Good,” the instructor says. “Fight fire with fire by using your own instincts, but never let alpha domination take the lead. The overwhelmed feral is relying on you to stay cool-headed.”
He offers me his hand, and I surge to my feet.
“Number three.” Eitan resumes pacing. “Your goal is to restrain. If you can get the alpha under control, then you have a chance of appealing to his other senses or for backup to arrive.” He gets us to repeat the three rules and then for the rest of the allotted hour takes us through basic holds for restraining an attacker’s movements.
I work up a light sweat practicing the movements. Most focus on getting behind the alpha through guillotines, shoulder hooks, or ground control. Once we’ve demonstrated each movement, Eitan calls us together again. He gets a devilish look in his eye as he thumps one fist into his hand, making the muscles in his shoulders roll.
“Gather round, newbies. The point of this class is to grow your confidence in handling an out-of-control alpha. Which means we’ll now bring one in.”
“A real one?” someone asks in a pitchy voice.
That can’t be ethical, right? Maybe I’m about to get a new client.
Eitan smirks. “No, he’s an actor, but a good one. The only thing he won’t do is kill you . . . but he might come close.”
The hair on my arms stands on end. I lift my hand and he nods. “Eitan, I really can’t get bruised today.” I cringe internally, knowing I sound like a wimp.
His brow jump. “Why, do you have a modeling session, brother?”
One of my OCB acquaintances comes to my rescue. “He’s a prosecutor. Probably due in court tomorrow.”
Fuck. Better not mention filming.
Eitan stalks closer and drops his hand on my shoulder. “Simple solution. Don’t get caught.”
I swallow a groan as he lifts a whistle to his lips.
He flashes his menacing grin again. “This is our last activity for today’s session. Anyone who restrains the feral for five secondscan leave for the day. If you can’t, you’ll have to keep trying until you can.” The whistle peeps shrilly.
The side door flings open, crashing into the wall, and a man runs in. My senses snap to attention as his dominant alpha energy pours into the room, thick and fierce. A sharp tang like ocean air streams around him as he barrels into the first participant, kicking the guy’s legs out from under him.
If I take him down fast, I can get going. Sucking in a deep breath, I launch myself toward the man who’s currently punching another trainee. He whirls when I get in striking range, growling and shooting his flat hand toward my throat. I slap his hand away and drive for his shoulder, trying to crank in a hold that will spin his back toward me.
He drops and charges, swinging side to side, in a move I’ve never seen. Unpredictable.
I barely keep my footing as he slams into me. Grunting from impact, I grab a fistful of his clothes like it’s a sparring outfit, and we grapple for the superior hold. He doesn’t give me time to plan, only to respond to his heavy surges. But those wild gyrations leave an opening. I hook my leg behind his and turn, throwing him down. Habit sends me grappling for an armbar, but the feral throws himself right over with impossible strength and slams a heavy fist into my thigh.
Pain sparks in my leg, reminding me why I’m here. Quickly I roll him over, hooking my arm around his neck and through his upper arm before cranking. In a match, someone would tap out by now, but he doesn’t budge, rocking and slapping with a stinging open hand to dislodge me.
Eitan starts the countdown.
Every muscle strains just to keep him down, and heat burns up my shoulders. Fuck, this brute is strong. My hold slips.
“Five. Callisto’s done!” the trainer shouts, arm shooting out like a baseball umpire.
The actor surges out of my grip, making me wonder if I had him at all.
Eitan catches my eye. “But I’m pretty sure you’re dead in the next second.”
I snort. He’s probably right.
“See you next week.” He hooks his thumb at me to get lost and turns back to watch the participants.
Breath hisses through my lungs, not just from the strain but the adrenaline dump as well. That was intense. But strangely, the vibes the actor gives off seem muted compared to the run-in I had with Zack. I pant softly, getting my breathing under control as I collect my shoes and gym bag. I’m lightheaded as I straighten, the mild dehydration kicking in.
The trainer’s words ring in my ears. Ferals don’t hesitate to deal death. In fact, driven by pure instinct, they aim to put threats out of commission as quickly as possible. But Zack’s had quite a few tussles that haven’t ended in fatalities. That fact might be more important than I realized.
Is Zack unique in learning to regulate so fast or is it the omega touch? His bond may have paralyzed his pack mates, but I’d bet my fortune that being so connected sped up his rehabilitation. Rickon was right to give him that chance.
