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

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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

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Life in Westwood

distance.”

opportunity for extracurricular sports, what with being locked away in a pack that didn’t see any point in allowing any enrichment in my

my tongue, knowing any excuses will only earn me another scathing

on her hips, glaring at Jericho. “Well, excuse us for not being born with an innate knowledge of track and field. How about you enlighten us instead of standing

a laugh, shaking his head. –“Fair enough. Twelve laps around this track is roughly five miles.

I

keep count.”

it. But I straighten my

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in Westwood

my voice steadier than

it is.”

eyes. “Good. Now get

us, the air thick with humidity, but I push

survived.

Stronger.

want to

don’t want to depend on anyone for rescue, ever

again.

moans, even

five feet.

in what little air I manage to gather.

pants,

laugh escapes me, turning into a wheeze. Too

used not enough coming in.

in Westwood

human, anyway.”

and the pounding of our feet against the track. I stumble. She stumbles. It’s inelegant and I’m starting

break, and it’s only

our feet hit

voice booms from behind us. “You call

My grandmother could outpace

been dead for

gasping at the effort. Jericho catches up, his

effortless.

on the balls of your feet, not your

it easier.”

to appreciate it. I adjust my breathing and stride, surprised to find it

I’m starting to like him,” I mutter.

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in

I think he might actually be good deep down.”

laugh bursts from me, and