Chapter 121 121

Chapter 121 121
The air didn’t just feel different; it felt heavy, charged with a frequency I recognized in my very bones. It started as a prickle at the back of my neck, that unmistakable sensation of being watched by someone who knew exactly where my weaknesses lay. At first, I tried to brush it off. I told myself I was just caught up in the rhythm of my workout, that my mind was playing tricks on me because I had been thinking about him more than I cared to admit. But then Alexa shifted.

My inner wolf wasn’t one for subtle hints. She didn’t just perk up her ears; she physically reacted, her presence surging to the forefront of my mind. She tilted her head, her metaphorical nose catching a scent that was burned into our shared memory. She let out a low, vibrating growl that echoed in my chest, a single word vibrating through our bond: Mate.

The word hit me like a physical blow, but I forced my muscles to stay fluid. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d startled me. I slowed my movements, the sweat slicking my skin, and finally allowed myself to turn.
There he was. Adrian.

He was standing far enough away that he could have been a hallucination, a shadow cast against the distance, but the way he watched me was too real. He wasn't moving, just looming there, his gaze fixed on me with an intensity that made my heart hammer against my ribs. I felt a surge of heat—part anger, part something far more frustratingly magnetic. My ego told me to look away, to prove that his presence meant nothing to me, that he was just a ghost from a chapter I was trying to close.

I turned my back on him. I went back to my lunges and my strikes, pushing my body harder, trying to drown out the sound of my own pulse. I focused on the burn in my thighs and the ache in my shoulders, but it was useless. Every fiber of my being was tuned to the space behind me.

Then, I felt it. The shift in the air. He was moving. He wasn't staying in the distance anymore; he was closing the gap, his footsteps silent but his presence expanding until it felt like he was right over my shoulder. The closer he got, the more Alexa paced in my head, a restless tangle of territorial instinct and longing.
I waited. I waited until the heat of him was inches away, until I could almost feel the breath on my skin.

In one explosive motion, I spun around. I didn't lead with a greeting or a question; I led with my fist. I threw a punch aimed straight for his solar plexus, putting every ounce of my frustration and my hurt into the blow. I wanted to wind him. I wanted to see him doubled over for every night he’d left me wondering where we stood.
But Adrian was fast. His hand shot up, his fingers wrapping around my wrist with a grip like iron, stopping my fist halfway to its target. He didn't squeeze, but he held me firm, his eyes locking onto mine. I saw the corner of his mouth begin to twitch, the start of that arrogant, victorious smirk he always wore when he thought he’d outmaneuvered me. He thought he had me. He thought he’d won this little exchange.
He was wrong.

I didn't pull back. Instead, I used his grip as a pivot point. With a sharp, practiced jerk, I twisted my captured wrist in a way that forced him to adjust his balance, and before he could blink, I launched my other hand. My left fist connected squarely with his stomach.

The sound of the impact was dull and heavy. I felt the air rush out of him as he buckled. He stumbled back, his grip on my wrist failing as he tried to catch his breath.
"That's for playing with my emotions," I snapped. The words felt raw coming out of my throat, spoken through gritted teeth. I wanted to feel triumphant. I wanted to stand there and gloat while he realized that I wasn't someone he could just glide back to whenever he felt like it.

But he didn't say anything. He didn't fire back with a witty comment or an apology.
He just stood there for a second, then his knees gave out. He dropped to one knee, his body hunching over. His head was bent low, his hair falling over his face, hiding his expression. Both of his hands were clutched tightly over his stomach, right where I’d hit him. Then came the sound—a ragged, pained cough that sounded like he was struggling to get oxygen back into his lungs.

The anger drained out of me so fast it left me feeling cold. My stomach did a sickly somersault. I hadn't hit him that hard, had I? We were both Shifters; we were built to take hits that would kill a normal person. But the way he was shaking, the way he looked so broken down on the ground, sent a bolt of pure terror through me.
"Adrian?" I whispered.
He didn't move. He just let out another choked sound.

That was the last straw. My pride, my resentment, my "workout"—none of it mattered. I lunged forward, dropping onto both knees right in front of him. My hands were shaking as I reached out, grabbing his shoulders, trying to see his face.
"Adrian? Adrian, look at me!" My voice was rising, cracking with a panic I couldn't control. I reached up and cupped his face, forcing his head up. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I didn't mean... please, just look at me. What’s wrong? Did I hurt you that bad? Talk to me!"

I was blabbing, my mind racing through a thousand worst-case scenarios. I was thinking about internal damage, about freak accidents, about how I would never forgive myself if I’d actually caused him real harm. My heart was breaking right there on the dirt as I stared into his downward-cast face, waiting for some sign of life.
Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Adrian lifted his face.