Chapter 4

He’d never thought to have a fated mate. Everyone in the Hamptons pack had assured him that just because he hadn’t been born wolf didn’t mean that he couldn’t find a she-wolf to take to mate or that his fated mate might be out there. He shook his head. Leave it to him to find a fated mate who was a witch/wolf-shifter who had been turned without her consent and was a descendant of the banshees. Not only that, but according to her she felt a mate bond with Decker Rhys-Davis, the enigmatic captain of the guard. Decker was the kind of romantic hero most she-wolves seemed to prefer.

Frustrated and confused, he turned away from the door. There were times when he doubted if he was truly a member of the vaunted wolf pack in which he’d lived since he was turned. He too had been given no choice, but he couldn’t fault Oliver Halsey for having done so. Greg had been dying. Oliver’s only choice had been to turn him or allow him to die. All in all, he was glad Oliver had made the choice to have him live. For the most part, his life as a wolf had been good, certainly better than dying, but still there were moments when he wondered if he truly belonged.

In the moment that Colby had spoken about perhaps him and Adriana being fated mates, he wondered if that wasn’t why he’d come to St. Piran’s. True, the clan here had a greater need of a doctor than the Hamptons pack, but he’d almost convinced himself that his life would not include a mate and children. Then, when he’d helped Adriana from the helicopter and the first inkling of a mate bond had reared its head, he’d wondered if perhaps his real purpose was to be the mate to the powerful witch.

He might not be some deadly warrior, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t fight at her side and keep her safe. God knows she was probably going to need more comforting than a man like Decker could give her. He was all alpha male, dominant warrior, and Greg knew he wasn’t. Hell, even their names bespoke of their roles—Greg wasn’t exactly the kind of name that instilled fear and reverence—something the captain of the guard inspired in spades.

The problem was: what the hell was Adriana doing feeling the same fated mate symptoms—only more strongly—around Decker as he felt for her? Did she not feel the same discomforting signs that he did? Greg knew that she-wolves could have more than one fated mate. He had only to look at Skylar Granger to know that. She had been fated to Micah who had been killed by hunters. After many years, she had been called to Dylan, and they were as bonded as Greg’s former alpha, Oliver, and his mate Roz.

The whole thing was a bloody mess. Greg grinned. He had taken to using ‘bloody’ as his favorite adjective. It was so descriptive and seemed to fit a variety of situations. The whole thing was majorly fucked up. What did it all mean, that Adriana was his fated mate, but he wasn’t hers? Was Decker hers, but she wasn’t his? Did both mates need to be fated to one another? The whole scenario was bizarre and confusing.

He reminded himself that Colby had brought him on board to be the chief medical officer, not some love-sick swain. He had a small group of people out in the waiting room that needed to be seen. For the next hour, he got people seen to and his staff up and running to get them cared for. He had to admit that Colby had spared no expense in setting up the medical facility. Greg had been able to add to not only his equipment but his staff and felt well able to handle whatever was coming.

When they finally had a break in the flow of patients, Greg announced he was headed to the abbey’s gym down in the old catacombs and left his staff to deal with anything that came up for the next hour or two. The paperwork could wait. He needed to work out some of his confusion, and perhaps if Decker was there, he could get a feel for what he would be like in terms of competition for Adriana. That last thought was new and spurred him on. In that moment, he knew he would fight for her in whatever form that ‘fighting’ might take.

The gym at the abbey was impressive. It was set up to be used by both humans and animals. There was a kind of indoor cross-country course that could challenge any of the myriad of species that called St. Piran’s home. The gym contained a weight room, an aerobics room, and just about any exercise machine known to mankind. There was also a rifle range, a sword fighting area, an archery range, and Greg’s personal favorite, an old-school boxing ring with heavy and speed bags surrounding it.

When first turned, Greg had found it difficult to process and control some of his wolf’s more feral leanings. Oliver had taught him how to use those feelings to his advantage and how to take the edge off in a boxing ring with a worthy opponent. Once he’d changed into his gym clothes, he entered the boxing area and spotted Decker working out with a heavy bag. Now there was a worthy opponent. The big guy might have size and muscle on him, but Greg was lightning fast and knew how to make his punches count.

Greg looked around the dimly lit cave that had been carved out of the rock more than a thousand years ago. It was in the older part of the abbey—a place where time seemed to have stopped. He watched Decker going at it. The guy was a beast, literally and figuratively. It occurred to him that they were prime examples of the different types of wolves. Greg was leaner and had more of a runner’s musculature. Decker was all size and strength. He had bulging muscles and a square jaw you could probably cut your hand on if you punched him there.

Greg knew that boxing and in particular working with a heavy bag was an exceptional form of both aerobics and strength-building. Plus, in their circumstances, it honed the warriors’ skills in hand-to-hand combat. Unlike many forms of exercise, it was also incredibly engaging and for most it was something they looked forward to.

Standing with his feet shoulder-width apart, Decker’s front foot was facing the bag so that he could easily dance around it as he threw punches and retreated. He hit the bag powerfully with snappy punches. Greg could see that Decker didn’t rely on strength alone. The captain was most likely a deadly opponent in either of his forms.

Decker wasn’t just slugging it out with the bag, he was moving around and using a combination of punches and kicks—mixing it up by feigning how an opponent might react and countering those moves. He struck high for simulated headshots and lower for body shots. Decker jabbed at the bag, using his weaker hand to keep distance and when in an actual fight, open an opponent’s guard. With his stronger hand, he followed his jabs with a cross shot, using the stronger hand to land more devastating blows. When he closed his distance with the bag, Decker used a series of hooks and uppercuts, aiming them to come around an opponent’s guard. Greg was particularly impressed by Decker’s ability to inflict a kidney punch, which was difficult to do, but when done correctly could be particularly devastating to the guy on the receiving end.

Greg watched as Decker danced backward using a combination of straight body shots and kicks aimed at what was the bag’s solar plexus. It was easy to see why Decker had been named captain of the guard and why those within the clan’s elite fighters followed him without question. Greg tried to remind himself that he was no match physically for Decker. The man didn’t just slug away at the heavy bag; he used it to perfect his techniques.

As he watched, he realized Decker didn’t seem to have his usual grace. In fact, he looked barely contained, as if something had gotten under his skin and he was looking for a way to excise it. Did that mean that even if he had feelings for Adriana, he didn’t want to? Would he welcome Greg’s intervention? Greg was fairly sure that if Adriana’s feelings for Decker weren’t reciprocated, it would be far less painful for Greg. His inner wolf snarled at him, showing him his teeth.

Easy boy. I didn’t say we wouldn’t take him on. I was just thinking Decker would be a formidable foe and if his heart wasn’t in it, he’d be much easier to defeat.Somewhat mollified, his wolf went back to pacing and prowling in the dark recesses of his mind.

Decker became aware of Greg’s presence and turned to face him, growling. It would seem Decker’s wolf, at least, had become aware of the threat Greg presented.

“Can I help you?” Decker asked in a restrained voice.

“I was wondering if you might like to spar.”

“With you?” Decker’s voice was incredulous, which was slightly insulting. Decker shook his head. “Sorry, Doc, that didn’t come out the way I meant it.”

“You haven’t answered my question,” countered Greg in a somewhat threatening tone of voice that he most definitely meant.

“Your funeral, Doc. I’m in a particularly nasty mood, but if you’re game, so am I.”

Greg followed Decker into the boxing ring and caught the gloves the captain threw his way. They squared off and Greg threw his best punch, which Decker danced away from and then double-tapped Greg in the ribs. It wasn’t a devastating blow by any means, and Greg knew it wasn’t meant to be. The arrogant captain wanted Greg to know just how badly outmatched he was. What Decker didn’t know was that Greg hadn’t just trained with Oliver’s warriors, he’d trained with the she-wolves led by Oliver’s mate, Roz, who had once been beta to an all-female pack. The she-wolves had known in a fight they would be outmatched by size and strength and so had honed their skills accordingly.

Greg feinted away and when Decker dropped his guard, Greg landed a solid body shot to the warrior’s solar plexus, not only making him grunt, but letting Greg know he’d felt the blow. From that point on, the two men went at it as if they both knew they were fighting for something important. Greg was fairly sure he knew what that was, but that Decker had yet to figure it out.

Interspersed with punches, Greg began to ask fairly pointed questions about Adriana and how the captain saw her fitting in at St. Piran’s, her not having been born a she-wolf and the like. The more Greg asked, the more forceful Decker’s hits became. Greg continued to press his attacks with questions, his physical fighting now being defensive only. The captain was getting pissed and it seemed only to sharpen his skills.

Decker drove Greg to the mat and had him pinned there. “What the fuck is with all the questions Doc? Why do you care about Adriana?”

“She, like everyone else here at the abbey, is my patient.”

Decker slammed his fist down. Greg was grateful Decker had chosen to hit the mat instead of his face, because it would have been completely ruined. “Try again.”

“I think what’s bugging you, Captain, is that you have feelings for her. I think you’re probably masking all of the symptoms of being her fated mate—nausea, dizziness, extreme attraction to, and preference for her. I think your wolf is on the prowl and barely under control. It wants to growl and rip and tear into anyone and everyone it perceives as a threat to your claiming her.”

Decker sat back. Granted he was still sitting on Greg, but at least he wasn’t doing so in a way that made Greg feel as though he was going to be first on the list of Decker’s annihilated opponents.

“How do you know that?”

“At the risk of having you murder me, because I’m feeling it, too.”

Decker rocked up on his feet, pulled his glove off, and then extended his hand down to Greg to help him up. “That’s fucked up.”

Before Greg could respond, Decker turned and walked away.