Andrea Glandt
Assuming that I had to have heard him wrong, I asked the question Coda hated most: “What?”
He glared at me. “Are you deaf? I said to run two laps instead of one each time and double everything else also.
“Two laps in the lake, six sets of a hundred jumps, one hundred push-ups, and ten repetitions of ten lifts.”
“And you are deducting one of my breaks too?” I seethed.
This was so unfair. It was ridiculous.
This amount of exertion was unreasonable.
“Are you giving up?” His face was blank. I had no idea what he was thinking.
Was that his goal? To make me give up? It wouldn’t work.
“No, I am not giving up. How am I supposed to do this?” I demanded, curling my hands into fists.
“Stop whining, pup,” Coda hissed. “I hate whiners, and even more than whiners, I hate self-pity. Get your ass into the water and give me two laps or I’ll make you do triple.”
“This is crazy,” I argued. “None of the others had to do anything close to this. You are being—”
“Unfair?”
He finished my statement, and the disgust was evident in his tone. He seized the front of my shirt and pulled me closer. “But you aren’t like all of the others, are you, little pup?” I glared back into his eyes challengingly.
“If you don’t like it, then quit. I have better things to do than babysit a spoiled little brat.”
I yanked myself from his grasp and stomped to the bank to begin my laps, grumbling about it the whole time.
It was torture, insane to ask of a twelve-year-old. My father may have been one of the strongest alphas to have walked the earth, but I had inherited none of his greatness.
My muscles ached and screamed, and Coda continued to shout at me to correct my form and run faster.
I didn’t know how he was able to read his book and shout at me at the same time, but I wished he was more interested in his reading and less in me.
I finished my training without a word to Coda and stomped my way down the trail back to my house.
“Bring a new attitude tomorrow,” Coda barked after me.
“Fine!” I shouted back angrily, and screamed in my mouth at the arrogant, bossy beta.
The following days were the same, and no matter how much I improved, I never heard a word of approval or praise from Coda’s lips.
I was in the middle of doing my rope jumping when Coda said, “I’m thirsty, little brat. Go grab me something to drink.”
You can get your own damned drink, I thought about saying, but I feared what his punishment would be.
I tossed the jump rope to the side and made my way to the trail.
“This counts as one of your breaks, by the way. So make it quick,” he hollered after me.
I wanted to pick up a pinecone and whip it at his smug face, but that wouldn’t help my cause. I ran to my house and grabbed a bottle of water before sprinting back to the lake.
I tossed it at him, hoping to hit him in the head, but he caught it with one hand, never looking up from the book he was reading.
“Twelve minutes and thirty-eight seconds. Might as well use the rest of your five-minute break.”
I huffed and sat on the log, looking out at the serene view that had become my living hell.
“What’s this? Water?” Coda snipped. “I don’t want water. Go get me a soda.”
I grumbled and stood, not surprised. “Does this count as one of my breaks too?” I sassed.
“Yes, and that attitude just earned you another lap around the lake. Chop-chop.”
The following day was the same. In the middle of my workout, he stopped me and told me to go get him something to drink.
This time I asked him what he wanted, and he told me a lemonade, but by the time I brought it back he had changed his mind and wanted a smoothie instead.
A smoothie that I had to put together and blend for him using whatever frozen fruits were in the freezer. I learned to stop talking back, as all it ever did was earn me more work.
When I got home, I packed a cooler filled with ice and many different drinks and stashed it in the woods not far from the lake. When Coda demanded that I get him a beverage, I was ready.
I brought back what he wanted in under two minutes, much to his surprise.
He demanded something different, and again I retrieved it from the cooler in under two minutes.
Then he told me he was hungry and wanted a sandwich.
I couldn’t win with him. Every day he wanted something different, and every day I added something to my growing collection in the woods.
By the end of the week, he had a small table to place his drinks on, two pillows—a round one and a square one—an umbrella over his head, and a variety of sandwiches and drinks in my cooler.
I made the mistake of asking him if he wanted me to build a palace for him while I was at it, earning myself one hundred extra push-ups.
The days dragged on longer and longer, as Coda was always able to think of some extra task for me to do.
He always made everything harder.
Making me run around the lake until he told me to stop. Increasing the weight of my dumbbells by ten pounds.
Trying to make me do five push-ups with one hand and not letting me stop until I could do five in a row.
I didn’t dare ask him when he would actually teach me to fight. I wondered if he ever would. By the end of two months, I was as muscular as the other apprentice wolves, much to their dismay.
I wasn’t necessarily as strong as them or as fast as them, but I was closer than they had ever expected.
When my thirteenth birthday came, I had high hopes that today would be the day my wolf presented itself.
It had to. I couldn’t just be a human. There had to be something.
When Coda came for me at dawn like he usually did, I was ready. I watched him walk up to the house, and I opened the door before he could let himself in.
“Growl at me,” I commanded him.
He blinked, which was as much surprise as he’d ever show. He slid his hands into his pockets. “For what purpose? What’s the point? You don’t have a wolf, Cleo.”
“You don’t know that,” I shot back. “Now growl at me.”
He rolled his eyes. “Even if you did have a wolf, my growling won’t awaken it. I wouldn’t really be threatening you because you are no threat to me.”
I had expected him to spout this.
I opened the door up wide, wound my arm back, and launched the smooth rock my father used as a paperweight at Coda.
Because he hadn’t expected it and we were in such close quarters, the rock hit him square in the chest.
“Growl at me,” I demanded.
A low growl escaped his throat. “Little brat, what was that for?”
I picked up the rock again and threw it at his foot.
He had not expected it the first time, and he definitely did not expect me to do it a second time. The rock hit his bare foot.
He hissed at me, his eyes going black. “You are asking for it, pup.”
“Growl at me,” I repeated.
He took a step forward, but before he could cross the threshold I slammed the door shut in his face. With a roar, he ripped the door off its hinges and grabbed for me.
Seizing hold of my collar, he brought me toward him and growled threateningly at me. I waited for my wolf to make an appearance at the threat, but nothing happened.
“Dammit!” I shouted.
Coda released me. “Don’t swear, little brat.”
I crossed my arms and turned away, pouting. “You swear all the time, and I’m always around you, so it’s only natural I’d pick it up.”
“Don’t sulk because things didn’t go your way. I told you they wouldn’t,” Coda replied, ignoring my jab.
“Yeah, yeah. You told me so,” I mumbled and made my way to the kitchen. “Are you hungry? We have frozen waffles.”
Coda humored me, probably sensing my depression. “Sure, kid.”
Sighing, I opened the freezer, pulled out three frozen waffles, and popped them in the toaster, making two for him and one for myself.
“You’re not as mean of a trainer as I thought you’d be,” I told him, voicing the thought that had been flying through my head for the last three weeks.
He raised a brow. “Is that so?”
I nodded. “You’re just fussy, is all.”
“Fussy?” he fired back sharply.
I shrugged.
“Yeah, you just get annoyed when things aren’t done the way you like them. And you’re fussy with people too. If anyone shows a trait you don’t like, you snap at them.
“You don’t like lazy, insubordinate, challenging, whining, self-pity, or even pleasing. And I have a feeling that you are a little meaner when you actually teach your apprentices how to fight.”
He gave me a flat look.
“Okay, a lot meaner.” I conceded. “But right now, you aren’t so bad.” The waffles popped up from the toaster and I placed them on two plates, sliding the butter and syrup to Coda.
“Did you ever find a mate?” I had no idea where the thought came from, but it was a question I really wanted an answer to.
Coda stopped drowning his poor waffles with syrup and glanced up at me.
“Didn’t your father tell you that it’s rude to be nosy?”
I flicked a slab of butter from the knife onto my waffle. “My father doesn’t have much time to talk with me these days, so no.”
He sighed and set down the syrup container. He picked up the utensils I had placed before him. “Yes, I met her. She was already mated though.”
I nodded. It was rare for a male to find his mate already mated, but it did happen.
It wasn’t uncommon for two or three males to all find the same mate. They usually fought it out, and whoever won mated the female. It sounded rough, but it was just our wolf nature.
“I wouldn’t have wanted her anyway,” Coda continued. “She was too delicate. She wouldn’t have been able to handle an alpha.”
“Do you ever want to find another mate?” I asked before swallowing a forkful of waffle.
He sawed into the waffles. He put down his knife, and it dripped with syrup.
“I don’t think I’d mind either way. Having pups isn’t something I’ve ever really wanted. I have years to decide, so I’m not really in any rush.”
Although he looked like he was in his late twenties, Coda was nearly eighty. Werewolves usually lived for nearly three hundred years if they weren’t killed in battle.
“What if the female wanted to mate you, but you didn’t want her?”
Coda paused with his fork almost to his mouth. He turned to me, staring me down. “Are you asking out of curiosity, or for your own purposes?”
I looked away before he could see what was running through my head. Too bad he knew anyway.
He set his fork down. “Cleo.” His voice was stern—not angry, but disappointed and concerned. “Cleo,” he repeated, and I looked up at him.
“Do you think your mate will reject you? Are you worried that’s what is going to happen?”
I let my eyes fall back to the table. My shoulders rose and fell in a small shrug. “I don’t know,” I whispered.
“I know I’d probably find another one if it did happen, but what good is a human mate anyway?”
“Look, Cleo, you know your father would tear apart anyone who would dare hurt you. Don’t worry about it, okay? Someone who doesn’t want you isn’t worth your while anyway.”
“So help me,” I pleaded with him. “Help me to be someone who will be wanted. I know you are putting off my actual training because of my father.
“I’ve been conditioning for nearly three months now. I know I’ll always have to condition, but I want to learn for real, Coda.
“Be the wolf you are. Be the wolf my father picked you for. No more waiting. Lay it on me. Make me hurt.”
He shook his head. “You don’t know what you are asking for, Cleo. It would be nothing like this. You’ve barely scratched the surface.
“If we start, I will not let you stop until you are broken, like the other apprentices I had.”
I met his eyes. “I know what I am asking, Coda. This is the only way.”