Chapter 6: Sparring Partner

Wyatt’s POV

During the witching hours of the night, Wyatt could sense Priscilla’s anger. It wasn’t an unusual emotion for her. She kept her cards very close to her chest, making it difficult to know what she was thinking.

The matebond was the only thing that gave him any indication of what was going on in that magnificent head of hers.

What he did know, however, was that Priscilla had more skeletons than a graveyard.

The most unnerving part of that was she didn’t seem haunted by them at all. She seemed to be able to let her horrific actions go without a second thought, but she refused to let her complicated feelings regarding her sister go.

That woman was a mystery. A mystery that occupied every free thought he had.

Wyatt kept his distance, giving her space to figure herself out. Come to peace within herself. He just wished she would do it quicker. But every time he would extend a piece of himself to her, she would retreat further away.

He never gave away how much it hurt. The woman that he was fated to love, entangled with like a web of yearning, rejected him repeatedly.

Regardless of that, his dreams were full of her. The only time she would willingly let him get close to her. Her skin was but a ghost of how it really felt under his hands, but it was enough.

It had to be enough.

Everything he did or said was like walking on eggshells. Any wrong move and it would crack. Wyatt thought that maybe he had made some progress after that night Priscilla was attacked by shifters, tending to her wounds like he would be happy to do any time.

The scent of her blood sent him into a frenzy, an insurmountable tidal wave of rage like he had never felt before. He usually had such unbelievable control over his emotions, his actions, his body’s reactions, but Priscilla threw him for a loop.

He never experienced such pining in his life.

Wyatt wanted Priscilla more than he wanted a cold glass of water on a hot summer day. He would wake up exhausted, hot to the touch, her name on his lips. It was unbelievably frustrating. His wolf would claw right under the surface, begging and pleading to let him touch her.

But Priscilla needed her space. Wyatt just wished it wasn’t so hard. She didn’t make it easy when he could scent her desire all the way from her room.

So maybe something snapped within him when he felt her anger. When he heard her leave the lodge. When he smelled the sweat beading on her skin.

He knew that sometimes Priscilla would leave in the middle of the night and go to the gym, but he would never follow her. Just entertain thoughts of what she was doing, but not tonight. He was compelled to figure her out.

Watching her unleash against a sandbag, the form of her fists, unveiling a vicious rage that he knew she had caged inside of her. He took in the sight of her, noticing fang and hash marks scarred across her forearms.

The nature of being a blessed one was cruel. Blood as currency. Worth and a weapon. It pained Wyatt to think about how many times Priscilla would cut herself open as the only way to save herself. Her blood was a curse.

He noticed her stitches were gone. She must have removed them herself.

She usually wore long sleeves or a turtleneck to hide as much skin as possible. As she stood there, practicing her hand-to-hand, Wyatt got an eyeful of coveted skin. Marred, but beautiful, nonetheless.

What he wouldn’t do to taste that skin, kiss away any apprehension she had. But he couldn’t. His wolf grumbled under the surface of his skin. “Say something. Stop staring at her like a creep.”

A smile twitched on his lips at his wolf’s commentary. Priscilla suddenly seemed to sense his presence and she spun around, fists up, clearly ready to fight. Her heart pounding against her ribs.

But whenever she saw him, Wyatt noticed the slight sag of her shoulders and felt the relief wash over her. Her eyes lingered against his bare skin, her scent thickening the air around him.

But she turned back around before Wyatt could see the alleviation touch her eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Wyatt asked, leaning against the doorframe.

“Obviously,” Priscilla retorted. The slight pink flush on her cheeks was not lost on him. “What do you want?”

Wyatt shrugged. “From you? Nothing. Is it so unbelievable that I also couldn’t sleep?”

Priscilla’s back was to him, making it even harder to read her. “No. I suppose not. By all means,” she gestured to the equipment around her, still not looking at him. Wyatt noticed goosebumps pebble against her skin, her hands unconsciously trying to hide the scars on her arms.

“Do you need a sparring partner?” Wyatt wolf spoke boldly from his lips, aching to run his hands along her flesh. Internally, Wyatt reprimanded the creature, worrying the statement would send Priscilla running for the hills again.

To his surprise, she looked at him from over her shoulder, eyebrows raised in an expression he could only place as mischievous. “You just want to get your hands on me.”

A lump formed in his throat, but he gulped it down, responding coolly. “You can only get so much from a sandbag.”

“I suppose, but you’re much stronger than I am. Hardly fair,” she recalled.

“Says the woman who stands tall in the face of danger,” Wyatt replied. The puzzle of a woman in front of him feared very little, but despite that, he felt the urge to protect her from every little thing that went bump in the night.

Priscilla hummed. “The scariest evil is rarely ever paranormal.” Her dark brown eyes seemed to soften ever so slightly, a crack of emotion peeking through them. Something mournful. Buried. But it was gone as soon as he noticed it.

“If you can’t handle it, I’ll go easy on you,” Wyatt offered, sensing the phrasing would entice a biting remark.

And he was right. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to go easy on you.” By the flush that washed across her face, she was completely unaware of the connotation of her words until they slipped past her lips.

A ghost of a smile twitched against his lips. “I don’t want you to go easy on me.”

He was rewarded by the deepening of her cheeks once again, her intoxicatingly decadent scent thickening around him. Priscilla looked past him toward the door like she debated whether or not to leave, but her pride wouldn’t let her.

She turned around, her ponytail releasing a few flyaways of obsidian hair. It was exhilarating to see her look less than perfect, a competitive gleam that gave Wyatt some indication of who Priscilla really was.

Priscilla flicked her hair back, taking a defensive stance in front of him. “Show me what you got.”

Suddenly, Wyatt realized that Priscilla had never seen him fight before. Of course, this wouldn’t be a true fight, more like the play wrestling he would do with the pups.

It became very evident Wyatt was underestimating her early on. This is an ex-detective vampire hunter. Priscilla wasn’t a small woman either. At five-nine, she was above average height, lean but defined shoulders. She had an athletic build and could give any seasoned fighter a run for their money.

They dodged each other’s strikes. Priscilla was fast, but Wyatt was also going easy on her, not wanting to overwhelm her with his advanced capabilities. She swept her leg out, almost tripping him if he hadn’t moved out of the way fast enough.

She wasn’t pulling any punches and she didn’t have to. It’s not like she was going to hurt him. That didn’t mean that Wyatt was going to let her win.

As Wyatt touched her, wrapping an arm across her sternum to get the upper hand in the spar, she ducked, using her leverage to flip him over onto his back. He lay there, stunned for a moment. He didn’t have enough time to compose himself, but a part of him was thankful because he watched a smile pull across Priscilla’s face.

“Sorry. Do I need to go easy on you?” Priscilla taunted.

In an instant, he was back up on his feet, the kid gloves coming off as he knocked her back onto the mat, falling down on top of her when she grabbed his arm. Electricity shot up his skin, taking the breath out of him. He caught himself, an arm on either side of Priscilla.

Her chest was heaving as she caught her breath. Every deep breath caused her to brush against his bare skin, sending an onslaught of shivers up his body. Her scent sweetened the air around him, a sublime indication that his attraction wasn’t one-sided.

Wyatt had to fight the wolf inside. The creature clawing to get out, drag this magnificent woman into a searing kiss. Have her right here, make those fantasies a reality against this mat. He wanted to hear if his name sounded as sweet as he imagined it did.

Hooded eyes met his, those pink lips of hers drawing up between her teeth. Her doe-like eyes dropped to his mouth, her breath hitching ever so slightly as a shiver of desire coursed up his legs.

Then her eyes snapped away from him. “Get off of me,” she demanded.

The sharpness of her tongue cut through the tension like a knife, throwing a wet blanket over him. His wolf whined, but he obeyed just the same. Wyatt stood up, holding a hand out to her to help her up, but she ignored it, getting up of her own volition. “Sorry about that,” he offered.

Priscilla didn’t reply, but the coldness in her gaze told him everything he needed to know. As she stormed out of the gym, Wyatt was left in the wake of her rejection.

Again.