He falters just enough.
I twist myself free and spin low, sweeping his leg, but he hops back. His hands are up again, his laugh light.
“Almost gotcha,” I call, laughing with him.
“Cut me some slack, pretty girl. Never had to fight with a hard on before you came along.”
He shoves me backwards and executes a perfect version of the leg sweep I just attempted. It’s fast, clean, and has me hitting the mat with a surprised grunt.
He doesn’t waste a second.
He’s on me before I can recover, pinning me under his immense body, my hands restrained in one of his above my head.
I pant, looking up at him breathlessly.
His pupils dilate.
“Fuck…” he groans, squeezing his eyes shut. “You make it very hard to concentrate.”
I lick my lips. There is a solid bulge pressing insistently against my stomach.
“Uh-huh,” I nod and squirm under the guise of trying to escape his hold. “Very,veryhard, LT.”
“Hey! Would you two knock it off. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can get back to the nest,” Shade calls from the sidelines. He doesn’t sound too put off, though. I think he likes watching me with the Pack as much as I like them watching me.
It takes just under an hour for the shimmering, ethereal headspace to arrive.
For a moment, I’m thrilled. I’m making progress.
“Now try to use the Command. Something simple to start with,” Shade coaches, and suddenly, the warmth in my chest turns brittle, and a cold wave of dread crashes down like a warning.
Something simple.
There is no such thing when it comes to my Omega Command.
My body doesn’t forget.
It remembers how quickly the Command sank its claws into me, back in Rheamont. How it blurred the edges of my mind until I couldn’t tell where I stopped and it started. How it twisted what I believed in, until my morals felt warped and rotten.
My body remembers the pain, too. The nausea, the backlash, the piercing headaches, the sting of blood dripping from my nose.
I flinch and backpedal, feet stumbling off the mat.
“I can’t,” I say, shaking my head.
“You can,” Shade replies gently. There’s no frustration in it. He’s not pushing, but it’s too late. I’m already unraveling.
That night, I curl against Shade in the nest, tucked into the curve of his body where it’s warm and still. His breathing is slow, deliberate, like he knows I need something predictable to hold on to. It keeps me from spiraling into self-doubt and loathing.
Barely.
The next day, Blaze decides I need a push.
Does he tell anyone his plan? No. Of course not. That would require something resembling impulse control, and Blaze has never been accused of that.
I’m settling onto the sparring mats, still catching my breath from warm-ups, trying to focus. Shade’s off to the side reading my latest blood test results on his tablet, Viper’s halfway through a protein bar, and Knox is away on guard duty… again.
I’m mid-sentence, about to ask what drill we’re running today.
