Chapter Nineteen

I loved wearing Mav's mark, feeling for the first time in as long as I could remember that I was loved and cherished, having a future I looked forward to. It was a dream come true, but that didn't mean my life was perfect or that I could just walk around enjoying the sunshine and roses.

Just because we marked each other and made our commitment didn't mean the rest of our responsibilities fell away. There was so much to do. Not only did we have a warehouse full of omegas who needed a place to go that wasn't here—and also wasn't the so-called "safe houses," but we had to figure out how to help countless others who might be in a similar predicament.

I hated the guilt palpable within Mav's crew. They'd once thought the safe houses were actually safe. They had no reason not to. While the guilt wasn't deserved, we can't help how we feel. We can only control what we do about it.

And that was why everyone was doing their part to get ready for the next step. We didn't even fully know what it would be yet, but something had to give.

Coming into the warehouse and my mating, I had less skills than any of them. Unless scrubbing bathroom floors and cooking very basic meals was required, I was useless. Heck, I didn't even have strength or size on my side. That didn't mean I couldn't learn.

I spent my morning practicing my fighting skills with King. I pretty much sucked at it in the beginning being small and weak, with zero advantages. King had been trained in quite a few different types of fighting, including jiujitsu, and he focused on that with me. He said it was one of the few forms where I could use my size to surprise my opponent and then knock them out with speed and precision.

After teaching me quite a few specific moves, he said I was a natural. We eventually moved on to sparring. As good as he said I was doing, I hadn't understood just how much I learned until then. We sparred until nearly lunchtime, and quite a few times I was able to knock him to the ground. I even choked him out once. He might've been going easier on me than he could've, but he was trying. Like he said, people who weren't trained in these techniques wouldn't have a clue how to outmaneuver them, so, there was that too.

My body was tired to the point of exhaustion, but I didn't want to give up our practice when it was time. If I could grow that much in such a short period, imagine what I could do with a few more hours. He disagreed, saying I needed to eat and relax before coming back. He was right.

King promised we'd get together again soon as long as I didn't practice without him. I agreed, even though my initial thought had been to do exactly that. He pointed to the kitchen and, after I rolled my eyes like every good student does, I went to grab lunch.

Mav was already there and had made both of us sandwiches.

"Want to eat in the room or here?" The others weren't there yet, but they would be soon. He was giving me a way out of social overload and I both appreciated and accepted it.

We grabbed some fruit and pretzels to go with our sandwiches and worked our way back to our room for some decompression and alone time.

"This is delicious. Thank you." A sandwich someone else made had a flavor ten times better than one you prepared yourself. I wasn't sure why, but it was facts.

"Training like you were doing can leave you in a weird headspace and starving." He shrugged, acting as if this was a normal thing one might do for another. And, for him, it probably was. But for me? This was all new territory—having someone actually giving a shit about me.

I told him all about my work with King, and he prepared me for what our afternoon was going to look like. As much as I hated the idea of using a gun, I was practical about it and understood that the more trained I was, the safer it would be for me.

"We better get going, or I'm going to fall asleep." I was only half kidding. Sparring had taken a lot out of me.

Mav took me to where they all practiced their shooting and went over all the details of the weapons we were going to be using for the day. I knew more about the workings of a gun after his lesson than most gun owners. He was a great teacher.

And then, the real practice began. It was weird. My beast really loved shooting. He was the one with the claws and teeth, but, when it boiled down to it, he appreciated the power of the weapon. There was a lot to unpack there, but that was for another time.

I didn't relish the idea of shooting at someone, but when it was just little paper targets or clay pigeons shot into the air, I enjoyed it. And I was good at it. Real good.

At one point, I even made a comment about being a paper villain sniper.

Mav's reaction showed me, for possibly the first time, just how much the deception my mate and his crew had faced over what their tasks were—and who they were really working for—impacted him. It was meant to be a silly joke, but his recoil before he schooled himself showed me how much I missed the landing.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that," I said.

He didn't respond.

I set down my gun, got down off the platform, and went over to Mav, hugging him close. "I don't know why I said it."

"Because it's what you felt," Mav replied. "How about we put the guns away?"

"Yeah. That's probably for the best. I'm on the schedule to cook tonight anyway."