Chapter 19 Learning to Fight
Jolie POV
I wake up alone.
For a moment, I panic, thinking last night was a dream. But then I see the dried blood on my pillowcase and the first aid kit still open on my dresser, and I know it was real.
I healed him. Actually healed him.
My hands still tingle with phantom warmth as I drag myself out of bed. Everything hurts—not the bone-deep agony of shifting, but a hollow exhaustion like I gave away too much of myself.
The compound is busy when I stumble outside. Wolves are everywhere, working on bikes and carrying supplies. A few glance my way, but no one stares neither do they whisper.
They don't know. Thank god, they don't know.
"Jolie." Knox appears beside me, his massive frame blocking out the sun and casting me in shadow. "You look like hell," he observes bluntly, his eyes scanning my face with concern.
"Good morning to you too." I rub my eyes, trying to clear the exhaustion that clings to my vision. "Have you seen Ryder?" I ask, hoping my voice doesn't betray the desperate need underlying the question.
"He's in a meeting with Cass. Should be done soon." Knox studies me with sharp eyes, his gaze too perceptive for comfort. "Are you okay? You seem off."
"Just tired." The lie comes easy, slipping off my tongue like I've practiced it a thousand times. "Didn't sleep well."
"Well, snap out of it." He jerks his head toward the training yard, the gesture dismissive but not unkind. "You've got work to do."
I blink at him, confusion furrowing my brow. "What?"
"Training. You and me." He's already walking, his long strides eating up the ground, clearly expecting me to follow. "Boss's orders."
My stomach drops, anxiety coiling tight in my gut. "Knox, I can't fight. I'm not"
"Not strong enough?" He stops and turns, one eyebrow raised in challenge, his expression a mix of amusement and impatience. "Yeah, I've heard. Everyone's heard. But you're still here, so either you learn to defend yourself or you become a liability."
The words sting, pricking at every insecurity I've ever had, but they're true. I trail after him to the training yard, a patch of packed dirt behind the garage where pack members spar, my feet dragging with reluctance.
Knox tosses me a water bottle, and I catch it clumsily, nearly dropping it. "Drink. Then we start," he commands, his tone brooking no argument.
"Start what exactly?" I take a sip, the cool water doing nothing to ease my nerves, stalling for time I don't have.
"Basic self-defense. How to not die if someone comes at you." He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his stance wide and confident. "Look, I'm not going to lie to you. You're small, you're weak, and you've got no training. In a fair fight, you'd lose every time."
"Thanks for the pep talk." I set down the bottle with more force than necessary, frustration bubbling up. "Really inspiring."
"But." He holds up one finger, his expression turning serious, almost gentle. "Fair fights don't exist. And small can be an advantage if you're smart about it."
"How?" I ask, skepticism heavy in my voice as I cross my own arms defensively.
"Come at me." Knox spreads his hands, inviting, his stance relaxed and open like he's asking me to dance rather than fight. "Try to hit me."
I hesitate, my body tensing with uncertainty. "I don't want to"
"You couldn't hurt me if you tried." His smile is all teeth but somehow reassuring. "Come on, little wolf. Show me what you've got."
Anger flares in my chest, hot and sudden. I've spent my whole life being told I'm useless, and now this giant is mocking me for it. I charge at him, swinging wild, my form nonexistent and my movements clumsy.
He sidesteps easily , and I stumble past him into the dirt, my palms scraping against the rough ground.
"Pathetic." Knox offers me a hand up, his tone mocking. "You telegraph every move. Plus, you're fighting angry, and anger makes you stupid."
I take his hand and let him haul me to my feet, dirt clinging to my clothes and pride. "Then how am I supposed to do it?" I demand, frustration bleeding into desperation.
"Smart and dirty." He demonstrates, moving slowly so I can see his body study at a controlled pace. "You don't have strength, so you go for weak points. Eyes, throat, groin. You don't try to overpower someone. You hurt them enough to run away."
"Running away is winning?" I ask, the concept foreign to everything I thought I knew about fighting.
"Running away is surviving." Knox steps back, giving me space to process his words. "Try again. This time, aim for my throat."
We drill for an hour. He shows me how to use my size to slip under someone's guard, how to target vulnerable spots, how to turn and run without getting grabbed from behind. My muscles protest every movement, already sore from yesterday's exhaustion.
Every time I mess up, he corrects me. Not gently, but not cruel either. Just matter-of-fact, like he's teaching me to change a tire rather than how to survive an attack.
"Better," he says when I finally land a decent strike to his ribs, my knuckles connecting with satisfying force. "Still sloppy, but better."
I'm breathing hard, my chest heaving as sweat soaks through my shirt, making it cling uncomfortably to my skin. "Why are you helping me?" I gasp out between breaths.
Knox wipes his forehead with his arm, barely winded despite the hour of training. "Because Ryder asked me to. And because I like you," he admits with casual honesty.
"You don't even know me," I protest, confusion and something like gratitude warring in my chest.
"I know you've got guts." He tosses me the water bottle, and this time I catch it cleanly. "Most wolves who got treated like you did would've rolled over and quit. But you're still here, still trying. That's worth something."
The praise makes my chest tight, emotion clogging my throat. "I'm not brave. I'm just scared of the alternative," I confess, the words barely above a whisper.
"Same thing sometimes." He sits down on a nearby bench, the wood creaking under his weight, and I join him, grateful for the rest. "You know what your problem is?"
"That I'm weak?" I offer the familiar refrain automatically.
"That you believe you're weak." Knox shakes his head, disappointment flickering across his features. "Strength isn't just about muscle. It's about not quitting even when everything hurts. And you, little wolf? You're stronger than you think."
I want to argue, but my throat closes up, words dying before they can form.
"Knox?" I stare at my hands, studying the new calluses forming on my palms. "If someone had a gift they didn't understand, how would they learn to control it?"
He's quiet for a moment, and I can feel the weight of his attention shifting, becoming more focused. "Depends on the gift. Why?" he asks carefully, his tone neutral but his eyes sharp.
"Just curious," I lie, poorly, my fingers twisting together in my lap.
"You're a terrible liar." He bumps my shoulder with his, the contact friendly and grounding. "But I'll play along. If someone had a gift, they'd need practice. Controlled practice with someone they trust, so they don't hurt themselves or anyone else."
"And if that gift was dangerous? If people would want to use them for it?" I press the questions spilling out before I can stop them.
Knox turns to look at me fully, his expression serious and searching. "Then that person would need protection. Real protection, from people who care more about them than what they can do."
I meet his eyes, and something passes between us. Understanding, acknowledgment, an unspoken promise.
"If that person existed," Knox says slowly, "they'd have the whole pack standing between them and anyone who tried to take them. We protect our own."
My vision blurs with tears. I refuse to let fall, pride and relief mixing into something that threatens to overwhelm me. "Even if they're weak?"
"Especially then." He stands and offers me his hand again, his expression soft despite the hard lines of his face. "Come on. Let's go another round."
I take his hand and let him pull me up, determination replacing exhaustion. This time, when we spar, I don't hold back. I go for every weak point he showed me, fighting dirty and smart, using my size as an advantage rather than a limitation.
I still lose. But I lose slower.
"That's my girl," Knox says with approval, pride warming his voice. "Keep that up, and you might just survive whatever's coming."
I want to ask what he means, but Ryder appears at the edge of the training yard, his presence like a shift in the air pressure. His eyes find mine immediately, and the relief in his expression makes my heart skip, warmth flooding through me.
"Can I borrow her?" Ryder asks Knox, though his gaze never leaves my face.
"She's all yours, boss." Knox claps me on the shoulder, the impact nearly knocking me forward. "Same time tomorrow, little wolf. And bring that attitude with you."
I follow Ryder away from the yard, very aware of the pack members watching us, their eyes tracking our movement. He doesn't touch me, doesn't pull me close, but he walks like there's an invisible wall between me and everyone else, his body angled protectively.
"How are you feeling?" he asks once we're away from listening ears, his voice low and intimate.
"Tired. Sore." I glance at him, studying his profile. "You?"
He lifts his shirt slightly, showing me smooth skin where the gash used to be, the muscle beneath unblemished. "Completely healed. Like it never happened," he says, wonder threading through his tone.
"That's good," I murmur, though unease twists in my stomach.
"It's dangerous." He stops walking and turns to face me, his expression grave and intense. "We need to talk about what you did last night."
My stomach drops, guilt and fear flooding through me. "I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."
"Don't apologize." He cups my face in his hands, his touch gentle despite the calluses on his palms, his thumbs brushing my cheekbones. "You saved me from weeks of pain. But we need to understand your gift before someone else figures it out."
"Someone like the Council," I say, the name tasting bitter on my tongue.
His jaw tightens, a muscle ticking beneath the skin. "Yeah. Someone like them."
"What do they want with healers?" I ask, though part of me doesn't want to know the answer.
"Everything." He drops his hands, the loss of contact making me feel suddenly cold. "And I'll tell you all about it. But first, you need to eat. You look like you're about to fall over."
"I'm fine," I protest weakly, though my body contradicts me by swaying slightly.
"You're running on empty." He starts walking toward the main building, his hand hovering near my elbow without quite touching. "Come on. Doc made breakfast, and if you don't eat it, he'll lecture us both."
I follow him, but my mind is still on what he said. The Council wants healers. And now I'm one of them.
Which means everyone who wants power will want me too.