Stepping out with my right foot, I faked a body shot before trying to connect my left foot with Ryan’s face. He danced out of the way leaving me overextended. I spun around with the momentum, doing a complete three-sixty, before facing Ryan again.
“Nice roundhouse,” Ryan conceded.
I dipped my chin to acknowledge the compliment. Then I pounced. We exchanged a fury of blows—most didn’t land. I flung up arms and legs, blocking his strikes. It didn’t take me long to figure out we both excelled in defensive tactics. I didn’t like that I wouldn’t be able to take Ryan in a real fight, at least not in human form. My mountain lion might overpower his Werewolf, but not without sustaining considerable damage. Ryan was old and powerful. No wonder he was Wick’s second.
Fuck. I probably couldn’t take Wick either. Would I even want to? Heat trampled through my body. Oh, I definitely wanted to do something with him.
“Karate?” Ryan asked, interrupting my thoughts. We went back to circling each other. He’d been trying to guess my martial arts background since we started.
Nodding, I unleashed a few combos to give him a hint. He blocked them all.
“Shotokan?”
I shook my head. “Goju Ryu. Shotokan’s a good guess. They’re pretty similar after the third dan.”
Ryan grunted and aimed a number of kicks to my legs and midsection, but I blocked them using my legs. My shin protested. “I should’ve picked up on the snake and crane movements. I thought you might have dabbled in Kung Fu.”
“I have. Kempo, too.”
I turned, setting up my favourite spinning jump kick. Ryan laughed and stepped to the side, his Werewolf reflexes too good to be taken by surprise by a Shifter. He attacked and I switched styles. Ryan’s eyes widened, then he smiled slowly.
Growing up, my parents saw a pretty girl in a rough neighbourhood. They enrolled me in karate classes, hoping to give me a means to protect myself. By twenty, I recognized the limitations of traditional karate and joined a different martial art. This one practiced the theology, “reach out and break someone.” The objective: incapacitate the opponent as quickly and quietly as possible. I loved it.
It also helped in my line of work. I wrote my membership off as a business expense on my yearly taxes.
“Huh.” Ryan circled me. “Krav Maga?”
I nodded.
With a blur of motion, his body slammed into mine. Air wooshed out of my lungs. I grunted on impact with the floor and tried to find a defensive position.
“You need to work on your ground game.” Ryan batted my hands away.
“Clearly.” I tried to shift my hips and throw him off. The effort failed, the man an immovable slab of rock. “What style was that? Jujitsu or wrestling?”
The grin on Ryan’s face spread. “Rugby.”
A bubble of laughter escaped my lips.
Ryan blocked the leg I tried to hook around his head. “Nice try.”
“Would’ve worked on a norm.”
Ryan smiled and caught my wrists. He pinned them over my head. His legs slipped down as he moved from full mount to a completely different position—missionary. Leaning his face down to mine, he spoke softly. “I’m not a norm.”
With his lips close enough to kiss, I stared at Ryan in fascination. My body lay limp beneath his. No heat, no stirring of the loins or quickening heartbeat. No anticipation, nothing. Only perspiration and exhaustion. Why didn’t my body react?
Ryan noticed what held my attention, or at least what he thought did, and licked his lips slowly. The spicy coconut scent of arousal flooded my nose. Ryan’s body had no problems reacting. How could I break it to him that I wasn’t interested?
“What style would you call this?” Ryan asked. His voice deepened.
“X-rated,” Wick harsh, loud voice penetrated the silence and echoed off the basement walls. “And one that will get your ass handed to you when you’re supposed to be on guard duty.”
My muscles tensed and warmth flooded my veins. I swallowed and tried to ignore my racing heartbeat.
Ryan stumbled off me so fast I bit my lip to stop the nervous laughter threatening to escape. Red blotches spread across his face and travelled to the tips of his ears. He nodded to acknowledge Wick’s presence. His body posture so rigid, I expected him to salute any minute. He didn’t.
With the scent of Wick’s anger palpable, I got to my feet and looked around. Nowhere to run. Dammit.
“Sparring?” The word came out clipped, not so much a question as an accusation.
Ryan hesitated. “She’s a guest.”
“An imprisoned guest. She could have escaped.”
“If she managed to take me out. She’d still have to get through the others and the locked doors.”