Tangled

98 Ava: Life in Westwood (III)

After several rounds of Jericho demanding we attack him, only for us to end up on the ground with new bruises every time, I collapse onto the dusty ground, chest heaving, lungs screaming for air. Sweat pours down my face, stinging my eyes. Lisa lies beside me, equally drenched, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

Jericho looms over us, his scarred face impassive.

“Pathetic. You’d be dead the moment a wolf looked at

you wrong.”

I glare up at him, too winded to retort. He jerks his head, motioning for us to rise. “On your feet. Follow

me.”

-Somehow, I stagger upright, my muscles trembling with exhaustion. Lisa groans as she pushes herself up, her face flushed and hair plastered to her forehead.

Jericho leads us to the track, his stride purposeful. “You’re so weak, you’d probably break your necks running through the woods. From now on, five miles around this track every morning.”

I gape at him, but he’s not finished. He rattles off a list

19:31 O

112

98 Ava: Life in Westwood (III)

of exercises–push–ups, sit–ups, something called burpees, some lunges that I’m not entirely certain how to do without a visual–that we’ll be doing daily to

build strength. Lisa makes a noise of despair beside

1. me.

Jericho’s piercing gaze finds mine. “Alpha Westwood will be gone at least another month dealing with the Blackwood situation. Don’t expect him to swoop in and

save you.”

Something hot and defiant rises in my chest. I lift my chin, meeting his stare head–on. “I wouldn’t want to be saved anyway.”

For the first time, a hint of a smile tugs at Jericho’s lips. “You’ve got guts, girl. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

-Lisa stares at the track, dejection dripping from her pores. “How many times do we have to go around for five miles?”

I shrug, just as clueless. “No idea.”

Jericho scoffs, his lip curling in disdain, I’m starting to think that’s his default look. “Unbelievable. You two are so sheltered you don’t even know how to track

217

C

Ava Life in Westwood

distance.”

in a pack that didn’t see any point in allowing any enrichment in

tongue, knowing any excuses will only earn me another

us for not being born with an innate knowledge of track and field. How about you enlighten us

her. But then he barks out a laugh, shaking his head. –“Fair enough. Twelve laps around this track is roughly five miles.

I

keep count.”

My legs ache just thinking about it. But I straighten my spine, determined not to show weakness. If this is what it takes to become strong enough

13.32

in Westwood (III)

voice steadier than I feel. “Twelve

it is.”

to approval flickering in his eyes.

lap. The sun beats down on us, the air thick with humidity, but I push through the discomfort. Each step, each breath, is a

survived.

Stronger.

want to be

on anyone for rescue,

again.

moans, even though we’ve gone maybe

five feet.

burning as they expand to hold in what little air I manage to gather. “Come

she pants,

me, turning into a wheeze. Too

used not enough coming in. “Shifters

Life in Westwood

human, anyway.”

sound our labored breathing and the pounding of our feet against the track. I

a water break, and it’s only been a

feet hit the

booms from behind us.

My grandmother could outpace you, and

been dead for a decade.”

push myself harder, gasping at the effort. Jericho catches up, his strides

effortless.

on the balls of your feet,

it easier.”

even look at me to appreciate it. I adjust my breathing and stride, surprised to find it does help. Beside me, Lisa

to like him,”

13-32

617

Life in Westwood (III)

“I hate him. But… I think he might actually be good deep down.”

laugh bursts from me, and Jericho’s head snaps