Chapter 16

Tobias

"Heading out?" I asked Brett, barely looking up from my copy of Pheromones and the Imprint Trigger: Your Body and You .

Everyone was leaving for Thanksgiving now that the feast was over. Since my parents were away at some fancy gala and Tamara was celebrating with friends at college, I opted to stay at the school. I looked forward to the next four days without distraction. It would give me time to research and figure out my next experiment to rid myself of this fucking imprint since the last one was a spectacular failure.

Dinner with everyone tonight had been brutally uncomfortable. Arya hadn't spared me a single glance, and our friend group was clearly struggling under the thick tension between us. Especially when fucking Kendall had decided to join our table. The jealousy that simmered at watching them openly flirt right in front of me threatened to burn a hole through my chest!

The sooner I could break this bond, the better things would be for everyone. Arya could go off with fish boy and live happily ever after for all I fucking cared, and I could continue a solitary bachelor life the way I'd always planned.

"Please tell me you're not gonna do homework all weekend?" Brett said, then slung his bag over his shoulder.

I laughed. He was half right.

"Seriously." Brett plopped next to me on the couch in the Avian common room. Most of the students had left already, but a few still trickled out. "Find something fun or time-wasting to do. Play video games or watch porn like a normal dude."

I put my book down to look at my friend and smiled. "Porn aside, you're actually encouraging me to beat your high score on Zombie Raid?"

"If it'll get you out of your shell, you're welcome to try," he said, slapping my shoulder with the back of his hand.

"Meh," I said with a shrug.

Brett held his hands up in surrender, and he looked like he was about to leave when a rare expression flashed on his face. "Have you told the general about the Arya thing and you giving up?"

I cringed at the memory of my epic fail of a date. I damn sure hadn't said a word to my father about it—I'd decided to take a "don't ask, don't tell" approach with Arthur; he hadn't asked, and I had no idea what I would tell him when he did.

I hadn't gone into detail about what happened with Niko and Brett, and, not for the first time, I wished I could open up to them about it. But that would mean telling them about my family's curse, and I couldn't share that with anyone.

"Here's the thing," Brett said when I didn't answer. "You two being at odds is really fucking up our group dynamic. You're clearly obsessed with the girl, so why don't you man up and fix it?"

Whoa! This conversation had taken a complete one-eighty. And in a direction I never would've thought Brett would venture. Niko, maybe, but not Brett.

"I am not obsessed with her," I lied. "And I'm trying to fix it."

"By avoiding her at every turn?" he quipped. "You know it's girls who're supposed to play hard-to-get, right? It doesn't really work unless you have a vagina."

I rolled my eyes. "You wouldn't understand."

"No, I understand vaginas pretty well," Brett countered with a smirk.

I cut him a flat look. "Don't you have a flight to catch?"

Brett chuckled and stood up off the couch. "I'm just saying, fix your shit, or we're gonna have to split up the group. No one likes it when Mom and Dad fight."

I frowned at his ridiculous analogy of me and Arya, and he shrugged and sauntered out of the room with his surfer boy swagger.

Picking up my book, I disappeared into my studies once more.

I understood now why the naga hypnosis hadn't worked. Imprinting wasn't a psychological condition but a chemical one, so I couldn't just be compelled into not wanting her because those desires were bodily needs, like the need for oxygen. And I couldn't just erase my memories of her because those synapses in my brain were fused with her pheromones.

What I needed to figure out was how to unfuse them, how to nullify that chemical dependency on a cellular level. If only it were as simple as detoxing from a drug. I'd take heroin withdrawals over this misery any day.

After an hour of reading, I snapped the book shut, finding nothing of value in its pages. I tapped my cell phone screen for the time, and the numbers nine-o-nine illuminated. I was too wired to even attempt to sleep, which was a struggle all its own these nights. So, I decided to change into workout clothes and hit the gym, hoping to exhaust myself into a coma.

I walked into the gym, surprised to hear the telltale thumping of someone punching a bag. The last thing I'd expected was to find anyone else in here, especially at this time of night. Hadn't everyone else gone home?

As I entered the open area, I felt the tickle and tug of that possessive thread inside me before my eyes fell on her.

The raven-haired beauty looked over her shoulder at the sound of the door swinging closed, spotting me before I could snap out of the trance her appearance never failed to produce and decide to run.

She rolled her eyes and went back to throwing punches like I wasn't even here, though the smack of her mitts was audibly more forceful than before.

I should have left. I urged myself to turn around and head right back out that door, but my legs wouldn't obey. The aching longing in my tissues and bones was a dull hum at this distance, and no part of my anatomy was willing to abandon her proximity.

Well, if she was going to ignore my presence, then maybe I could stay. Not like I had anything better to do, and I could savor her company in silence without repercussions for as long as she would let me.

I went to my usual treadmill and set my gym bag down on the floor beside it. Niko routinely gave me shit about being picky with my gym equipment, but this was the only treadmill that didn't have any issues—one had a glitchy screen whose numbers weren't always correct, one had rough spots on the handles from overuse, and the tracks on the others were either too loose or too tacky.

This one was just right—my Goldilocks treadmill.

I stepped onto it and began to move my feet, tapping the speed up until it was at a pace that made me work for it. While I tried to keep my eyes fixed on a spot on the wall across the room, I couldn't keep them from straying to steal glances at my reluctant gym partner.

She looked fierce as she swung punches at that leather bag, even if her form could use some improvement. The beads of sweat basting her face took nothing from her loveliness. If anything, the ferocious expression she wore made her even more provocative—a force to be reckoned with.

Also, I was glad to see her training on her own. After how close she came to losing in the Simulation Room, she really needed it. I suddenly remembered it had been my intention to train her myself, but that had been before I messed everything up. The realization had guilt and regret seeping through me, slowing me down.

Whether I remained imprinted to her or not, I still cared about her safety—you know, as a friend. I still wanted to know she could defend herself if she ever needed it. And honestly, there weren't many students at this school who could match my skill in combat, who would make a better trainer for her than me.

Also, if she kept hitting the bag like that, she was going to sprain her wrist.

I turned off the machine, slowing my jog until the track stopped, then I plucked my water bottle from my bag and walked her way, chugging the liquid as I did.

She didn't look at me as I approached, nor did she stop punching and leave as I expected.

"Don't lock your elbow," I said, stopping behind her.

She halted her assault and turned to me, pushing a loose strand of blue hair from her damp forehead with her glove. "What?" she asked in an irritated tone.

"Your elbow," I said, gesturing to her with the hand that held my bottle. "You're locking it straight out when you punch, but if you do that in an actual fight, you could break the joint. You want to always keep a little bend in it."

The hostility in her narrowed eyes faded as she regarded me. "Oh. Thanks."

I nodded, my lips pursed into a flat line. She took a long breath in and out through her nose while she looked at me for a moment longer.

"Anything else you want to point out?" she asked finally. "I mean, I definitely don't want to hurt myself in the process of training, so…"

I cocked my head. "I don't know. Go ahead and hit some more, and I'll let you know."

She took a few swings at the bag, hitting a spot just a few inches lower than face-level.

"Pause," I instructed, and she did, looking over her shoulder at me expectantly. "You're aiming a little too low. If you actually punched someone like that, you'd hit them in the throat instead of the face. Not that it's a bad tactic to hit someone in the throat, but that takes a different kind of punch. So for now, let's focus on the face."

I came up behind her, placing my hands on the base of her gloves and situating them an inch away from her cheeks.

"If you make a practice of keeping your fists here, not only is it easier to aim for your opponent's face, but it also protects yours from them," I said.

Our eyes met for a moment, but I forcibly broke the connection, dropping my hands and stepping away from her. She turned back toward the bag and swung her fist, this time hitting the bag at face level.

"Perfect," I praised.

She threw a few more punches, repeatedly hitting the same spot.

"Don't let your resting hand lower from its position when it's not extended," I directed. "I know it's hard to remember to keep them raised and they get tired, but you need to protect your face. It's called keeping your guard."

She nodded, raising her fists back up to where I'd guided them.

"Good," I said.

After a few more minutes of pretty excellent form and execution, she dropped her arms and stepped back, panting. I offered my water bottle to her, and she eyed me for a moment before accepting it and finishing it off.

"Thanks," she panted, handing the empty bottle back to me.

"You did pretty good," I said. "Keep that form and you'll be a real contender in class."

She tipped her head in denial. "Maybe, but punching won't help me against a vampire." She shook her head. "If I couldn't beat a simulation, I don't stand a chance against a real one."

I furrowed my brow, an idea forming in my mind. "Do you want to watch me beat a sim?"

Surprise brightened her blue eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah. I need more practice anyway if I'm going to test out, which I absolutely intend to do."

"Okay, then. Sure." She shrugged, feigning indifference even as the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her—she really wanted to watch me.

I'd never had an audience while training in a sim before, and knowing that Arya would be the first one felt oddly intimate. Like I was inviting her to watch me jerk off or something. It excited me, but it also made me feel self-conscious.

It meant I had to be on top of my game. And as she followed me to the Simulation Room, I felt something that only this girl seemed capable of making me feel—insecurity.