Chapter 120: Sparring with Ambrose pt1
*** Author’s note. Thank you My_Angel00 for the golden tickets. This Chapters for you***
~ODETTE’S POV~
Ursula left the table leaving just the two of us.
"So, tell me, how was it? Was it everything you missed?" he asked.
"It was even more, I never thought to about how similar our abilities work, and Ursula helped explain that to me. Learned a lot about how wolf shifters fight and their biology."
"Maybe that will help you when you get your ass kicked by me while we duke it out." He winked at me.
"You’re bold. You know that? Automatically assuming you can beat me." I sneered back, challenging his opinion.
I’ve been holding back until recently, and I wanted a chance to show him I wasn’t easy to beat.
"I am? Well prove to me you can handle a big bad wolf." He teased winking at me.
I scoffed and we took the last few bites of our food before we moved to the training grounds outside.
I didn’t even wait for him to say the word. The moment Ambrose stepped onto the training ground across from me, all that arrogance and that infuriating smirk I hate so much. I launched forward. My fist cut the air, aiming straight for his jaw. He caught it without flinching, his large hand curling around mine with an iron tight grip. His smirk was instant, sharp and smug.
"Still mad about last night, princess?"
The sound of his voice made me want to bite his face off. He was mocking me, like always, reminding me of the way he’d teased me before bed. My chest burned with it.
I jerked my hand free, refusing to give him the satisfaction of holding me still, and spun into another punch. This one slipped past his guard, grazing his ribs hard enough to make him grunt. A hint of satisfaction surged through me. My adrenaline started pumping. As my body fell into routine movements and habits built on years and years of endless training sessions.
His smirk didn’t falter, but his eyes flashed with something hotter. He stepped back once, rolling his shoulder like I hadn’t even touched him. "Good. At least you’re aiming right, have your head in the game, hmm?"
This time I didn’t go for his face. I ducked low, every ounce of fury boiling in my veins as I swept my leg in a clean sharp angle, aiming for his ankles. It should’ve tripped him, should’ve taken that cocky bastard down a notch.
Instead, he leapt. The size of him shouldn’t have allowed for that kind of grace, but he cleared my sweep easily, landing light on his feet directly behind me. Before I could recover, his arm looped around my waist, pinning me against his chest. His breath was hot against the back of my neck.
Goose bumps rippled down my spine.
"You’re distracted," he murmured, as if the whole world wasn’t spinning with my rage and the heat from his touch. From being so close to his body.
I slammed my elbow back into his ribs with everything I had. He grunted this time, the sound real, the hold around my waist loosening just enough. I jerked free, spinning to face him again.
"Not anymore," I snapped. My breath was gone and I found myself panting; my skin burned where his hand had been.
Ambrose just chuckled, rubbing his ribs like the pain amused him. "Better. Don’t make me carry you through this fight."
I curled my fists tightly, my knuckles turning white.
I’d show him who was carrying who.
We came together our bodies slamming into one another, chest to chest, my fists flying, his hands snapping up to catch my wrists. The world froze, like it was listening to the grind of muscle against muscle, to the heat between us, to the sound of my own ragged breathing.
For a moment, we were locked there, straining, our eyes burning into each other’s. His grip was fierce, his strength almost taunting me.
"Dinner was your fault," I hissed, rage spitting from my tongue before I could stop it.
Ambrose tilted his head slightly, his stupid smirk deepening, eyes glittering with amusement. "You look beautiful when you were angry. Don’t tell me you didn’t know."
The words cut through me, burning me hotter than his grip. I snarled and lifted my knee in a savage fast motion, slamming it into his thigh. He grunted, letting go of one wrist. I used the freedom to twist, driving my elbow hard toward his chest. He caught it at the last second, but not without effort.
He laughed, low and infuriating, even as he hissed from the impact. "Now you’re starting to make me work."
His mocking attitude only egged me on more. He was hurting my pride. I wasn’t giving him my all, but I wasn’t going easy either. And he was just playing with me. The nerve.
I moved faster this time, faking left and moving right, slamming a jab into his shoulder. It landed solidly, the shock running up my arm, but Ambrose barely flinched. He didn’t even stumble.
My next came faster than he was ready for, with an open palm pressed squarely to my sternum. I shoved, sending him stumbling back a few steps. He gasped; the air knocked from my lungs.
He choked, coughing to pull air back into his lungs. Regaining his composure. Dusting himself off and clearly his throat.
"You’re predictable when you’re mad," he said, his voice smooth, but I caught the heat in his eyes.
Predictable. The word boiled in my chest like a stew. I launched forward, again, ignoring the ache in my muscles from basically hitting something equivalent to a wall, throwing a storm of punches at him. He blocked each one, his movements sharp and efficient, not a wasted motion. Every strike I threw landed against the wall of his forearms or the steel of his palms. He made it look easy, and it made me furious.
"I’ll show you predictable," I growled, swinging harder.
Finally, one punch slipped through, landing a solid fist to his jaw, snapping his head to the side. His grin spread wide, looking way too pleased for someone who was socked square in the jaw.
"There she is."