Page 36 of Psycho Shifters

During training, I had barely focused on my own battles. I had been distracted by the smallest shifter I had ever seen.

She was so short it was laughable. Her head barely reached my chest.

Not only was she short, but her limbs were so scrawny it was amazing she hadn’t already perished in the biting cold.

There was no way this pathetic slip of a girl was an alpha.

When I’d first met her, I’d completely dismissed her, thinking she would be dead in the first battle.

Now I wasn’t so sure.

Her unnatural red eyes should have warned me. I had never seen a rich ruby around someone’s pupils before, and I had seen a lot of different creatures.

She’d lived up to the sharpness of her eyes when she fought the betas.

Her small body had been pounded repeatedly by blows, blood had dripped down her face, and she had endured it all without flinching.

After fighting for that many hours, others would have crumbled at so many challenges.

She hadn’t crumbled; she’d fought like a beast.

I had never seen a shifter so small, so weak, who didn’t flinch.

Even with her cheek cut and foot broken, she had stood ramrod straight like she was completely unaffected by physical pain.

There were only a few people in all the realms that could take such a beating without a bat of the eye.

They were all trained killers. And they were the demons that haunted my memories.

The girl had smirked back at her fighting partners like she had wanted them to pound her harder, like she lived for the violence.

My pen stabbed through my paper, and I fought the urge to slam it into my thigh.

The emeralds and diamonds in my skin itched, like my beast was at the surface and wanted to break free. It was hammering at my subconscious, screaming something at me.

Jax’s fierce strength enraptured me because he gave as hard as he took.

With him, the broken part of my soul could bathe in the comfort of a bloody fight, in the endless peace of violence.

My knuckles flexed as I imagined the feel of the girl writhing beneath me.

She was the first woman I’d met who could give and take like Jax. She hadn’t crumpled underneath fists.

She took brutal hits and punished back.

Fucking Jax was a fight that soothed the void within me. My instincts told me that fucking the girl would be the same.

No.

She was a woman, and I despised them all.

For some sun god forsaken reason, I’d broken the vow I made to myself to never talk to a woman again.

A vow I had kept for over fifty-years.

All it took was a few snarky quips from her lush mouth, and I couldn’t help myself but snap back at her. Not talking to her was impossible.

I wanted to taunt her as I brought her to her knees.