Blood in the Sand

POV: James

"Alright, guys, pair up for sparring." Henry's whistle cut across the training yard. His voice carried the easy authority of a guy filling in for the Gamma, who was off somewhere handling pack business.

He paired Richard with me, and Richard couldn't hide the shit-eating grin spreading across his face. It had been a while since we'd sparred, and I could tell he planned to make it count.

I'm winning this one. He's been off his game for weeks.

We circled each other, sizing up old habits and new tells. Richard opened the mind link before either of us threw a single punch.

So, Alpha. I see you've found religion. Trying to redeem yourself, are you?

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I scoffed out loud, though a flicker of unease crossed my face before I smoothed it away.

Just saying. You were pretty hard on those pups the other day. All they knew was Trash. They didn't mean anything by it.

I growled and lunged, the words hitting harder than I wanted to admit. Richard let himself grin. That reaction told him everything he needed to know about how well his plan was working.

I mean, you nearly tore their heads off over one honest mistake.

Richard threw a punch that I blocked clean, the impact jarring up my arm. "They need to learn to follow orders," I snapped, my voice tight, each word clipped with the effort of holding my temper. "Disrespect doesn't fix itself if I let it slide. Their parents should've corrected them long before I had to."

Richard came in with a few jabs, testing, prodding, before an uppercut landed clean across my jaw. I ran my tongue over the split in my lip, tasting copper. The sting hit sharp and immediate before the skin knitted itself back together.

Nothing to worry about. Heals in a few minutes.

I shifted my stance and waved Richard forward, baiting him into another attack. Richard obliged, faking right before whipping his left leg up into my ribs hard enough to knock the air out of me. I doubled over, sucking in a sharp breath, refusing to let the pain show on my face.

Careful, old friend. Keep hitting me like that and I might start enjoying it.

"Funny how mad you get over a nickname you gave her yourself," Richard said, casual as anything, like he hadn't just landed a solid hit.

That did it. Something in my expression cracked, the careful control I'd held onto all afternoon finally giving out.

My control snapped clean in half. A growl tore out of my chest, raw and guttural, bones cracking and reshaping, too angry to be graceful about it. I charged at Richard without thinking, blind fury driving me forward, and never saw the handful of sand coming until it was already in my eyes.

Blinded and furious, I had no chance to shake it off before Richard shifted too and lunged straight for my throat, jaws closing around my jugular hard enough to hold. Richard wrestled me down into the dirt, pinning me with the ease of someone who'd planned every step. I fought the grip, instinct screaming at me to keep struggling, before I finally forced myself still, conceding with a low, frustrated whine.

Richard let go and stepped back, satisfaction written all over him, not bothering to hide it.

Both of us shifted back, breathing hard, chests heaving with exertion and something unspoken hanging between us. Henry gave me a long, questioning look, clearly sensing there was more to that fight than met the eye. I just shook my head, waving him off, unwilling to explain myself. Henry let it go and moved on, breaking down the fight for the rest of the group before calling up the next pair.