Lisa and I share a look before following Amara further into the gym. I can feel the eyes of the other shifters tracking our every move. Unease has my heart beating in rapid rhythm, like a frantic chicken flapping its wings. All the excitement I''d felt at meeting new people is now buried beneath the worries dashing through my mind.


    Do they hate me?


    Is their disapproval because I''m a Blackwood wolf?


    Do they know I can''t shift?


    Have there been complaints about me?


    What have they been saying?


    But, of course, I don''t have the answers, so I follow behind with my mouth shut.


    It will be fine, Selene assures me, but she''s very unconcerned about the thoughts of humans or shifters. In fact, I''m not sure she cares about anyone other than me. She isn''t even fond of our fated mate.


    Selene snorts. Fated doesn''t mean inevitable.


    Once we reach the mats, Amara turns to face us, her stance relaxed but ready. It''s hard not to focus on the lean muscles defined in her arms. I''d thought I was making improvement with my training, but compared to her? I look like a newborn baby, soft and squishy.


    "Let''s start with some basic defensive moves and see where you''re at."


    Amara launches into an explanation of a simple block and counter, demonstrating the moves with fluid grace. I focus on her words, trying to commit the steps to memory.


    Then it''s our turn to try. Lisa goes first, her face set in concentration as she attempts to mirror Amara''s movements. It''s a little clumsy, but she executes the block successfully.


    "Good," Amara praises. "Remember to keep your weight centered and your arm firm."


    Lisa nods, blossoming beneath her praise. Jericho snorts, but by some miracle manages to keep himself from saying anything terrible.


    I step up next, taking a deep breath to center myself. Amara nods at me to begin.


    I move through the motions, muscle memory from Jericho''s training kicking in. The block is solid, my stance steady. Amara''s eyebrows raise slightly, a hint of surprise flickering across her face.


    "Well done," she says. "You''ve clearly been practicing. Next time, commit to the movement. You''re hesitant, and hesitation will get you killed."


    I''m lacking.


    It makes sense, knowing they think of me as their alpha''s mate. Their future Luna.


    Don''t worry about what they think. They are all beneath you. Selene''s natural arrogance is probably because of her Lycan soul; I don''t know how she cares so little about how other people think of me.


    They are not our pack, she says, without me asking. How they think of you is inconsequential. If they have something to say, they can do it through a challenge. None of those pups is arrogant enough to challenge one who might become their future Luna.


    Still.


    It''s hard to let go of a lifetime of conditioning, where knowing how your pack feels on any given day could save you from a beating—if you run fast enough.


    When you are strong enough, there is no need to run.


    Simple words from a simple view. It must be nice to be a wolf.


    It is, she agrees, sounding only half-interested again.


    A fist flying toward my face reminds me it isn''t the time or place to be focused on discussions with my wolf.


    Giving up on any semblance of grace, I drop to the ground with a broad sweep of my leg, halting his advance. I can tell out of the corner of my eye that Amara''s unimpressed with the move.


    I already know what she''s going to say. Too flashy.


    The male shifter lunges at me again, undeterred. I block the first punch, but the second clips my jaw, snapping my head back. Pain explodes through my face. Shit, that hurts.


    My knees buckle and my stomach twists, nausea sliding in as a vicious response to the pain. I stumble back, shaking my head to clear it, setting my jaw against the urge to vomit.


    Breathe. You''ll be fine.


    Selene''s unconcerned but kind advice helps me power through as I stumble, shaking my head to clear it.


    He presses his advantage, crowding into my space with a flurry of hits. I backpedal, struggling to remember my training, to find my footing.


    He gets me in the ribs twice and again in the face, but at least this time I don''t feel like I''m going to vomit from the pain.


    Focus, Ava, Selene chides in my mind. You''re overthinking it. Let your instincts guide you.