I never wanted to punch Damien in the face more than when I saw him next. He stood, those stupid, meaty arms crossed over a jutted-out chest and legs locked in an aggressive stance. His brown eyes gleamed as soon as I swung the gym door open.
"So," he greeted me as I approached him. If becoming a werewolf was my death sentence, then Damien was the executor of my will.
"Ready to try something new, Princess?"
At the teasing tones in his voice, I looked at his face. He made no attempts to mask his amusement. Behind light brown strands of hair hanging across his forehead, the sparkle in his eyes made me believe he'd known all along. The slight upward curl of his lips into a smirk showed a sadistic amount of pleasure in knowing that I was going to become a monster.
He must know... How can he be so casual? Unless..
My jaw dropped to the gym mats beneath our feet and eyes stretched wide. "Are you a..a..."
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours."
In a blink, his eyes flashed. Brown-hazel irises filled with yellow before his pupils dilated and flooded his entire eyes a solid black. With a second blink, they pooled a bright cobalt blue.
Before my silent gasp passed between my lips, Damien's eyes were back to hazel, creased at the corners from his resumed smirk. On wobbling ankles, I took a few steps back from him like an unrecognizable stranger.
"Welcome to the pack, Princess." One eye, still brown-hazel, winked at me. "Now let's really get started. We're doing hand-to-hand combat and defensive positioning until you transform."
"Transform?" I echoed.
There's that word again.
He nodded, then pointed to a set of black mats spread out on the gym floor, two inches thicker than the usual gray ones we stood on. After standing off-center, he squeezed two fists in a defensive boxing position. Knuckles positioned up near his chin, he smirked in a silent challenge.
With heavy steps, I came over and stood across from him. My thin, spindly arms and tiny, pale fists were laughable across from his.
"Now what, Damien?" My forehead tensed as both my eyebrows arched upward.
In a dry, crass tone, he spat out, "Fight me."
I blinked at him over my knobby, pale knuckles. While we'd done boxing training as I punched a bag or handheld target, Damien didn't realize I'd never hit anyone with a fist.
Never ever.
The red striations etched over my right hand's knuckles reminded me of the obvious.
Unless you count my reflection.
That punch was an act of rage, in reaction to a five-year-old lie. At this moment, I felt hollow inside, as if my emotions had been scooped out and discarded as insignificant. The evaporated emotions left me physically weak, like an empty and abandoned shell.
"I can't.."
"No choice, Princess." The way Damien's full lips puckered inward, then popped out while forming that word bothered me.
My eyebrows drew together and nails bit into my palms.
I'm not a princess. I never was and will never be one.
"Good, get angry, maybe then you'll actually hit me." Damien retorted like he encouraged my anger. I narrowed my eyes in annoyance at how he baited me. "Before I fall asleep standing up."
My chin lifted and nostrils twitched as they flared open. Heat rose up the sides of my neck, pooling in my cheeks. I squeezed my fists tighter.
"That's it... Princess." His emphasis was all I needed.
With fast-twitch leg muscles, I lunged forward. My fist aimed for his face, but he caught my wrist with a side-swept palm block. With one arm circled across my chest, he pushed me face-down on the mat. Pain burst in my nose, followed by a smacked sound where my palms caught my fall and the smell of rubber filled my nostrils.
The contact gritted my teeth and frustration surged through me. With a loud exhale, I knew I was still weak but rolled my head in his smirking direction. After one glare up at him, he removed his hand.
"Don't lunge. Again." With inward-curling fingers, Damien motioned for me to stand.
I hate his form of encouragement.
My heels grounded and calves tensed, I sprung forward. Again, he twisted my advancing fist away from me, redirected my forward momentum as if I was weightless, then pushed me down from behind. His movements were so fluid, borderline gentle, like we walked past each other on an afternoon stroll.
My cheeks burned upon smacked impact.
"Again, Princess," Damien's voice goaded above me.
I put my hands on my knees and stood with a grunt. Resetting my feet, I huffed and repositioned my hands. With a turn, I faked right then lunged left. Despite a change of tactic, Damien caught me easier than a viral cold, shoved me down again as if I were an annoying insect that he swatted away.
"Stop lunging." In the first crack of his impassive, bored expression, Damien frowned. "You're not listening. Move around my blocks... hit me."
Believe me, I want to!
My nails bit in deeper, slicing half-moon shapes into my palms.
"Again." This advance, Damien repositioned me so my butt hit the mat.
Trembles shook my fists and I exhaled with a hot, slow breath. My jaw rattled as I face-planted... again.
"Again, Zira." Damien flicked his fingers. "Hit me."
This is beyond embarrassing.
"Again," he groaned and rolled his eyes when I belly-flopped down like a dead fish. "Get up."
"Ugh." Red splotches decorated the impact spots on my pale skin, but I lifted my now-throbbing arms into fists.
"Again." Damien's only acknowledgement of my efforts was a quiet scoff and my left cheek pinned until my lips puffed out.
"I'm trying!" I cried out, slamming my fist into the mat.
This escalated to becoming the icing on my 'worst day of my life' cake.
"Again."