Chapter 91: Who Needs Couples Therapy When You Have Fists?

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I’ve never been so aware of my heartbeat before. It felt so loud that I was sure everyone in the room could hear it thudding against my ribs, like it was trying to break free.

I stood across from Lorenzo in the middle of the training hall, my feet firmly planted on the smooth floor, my hands up, and every muscle in my body tense with anticipation.

It felt way too much like that charged energy that had been building between us for weeks.

I took a slow breath through my nose, reminding myself of the plan. I’d spent the last three days gearing up for one specific edge.

I stopped taking my usual suppressants and ditched the blockers, fully aware of the risks in letting my natural scent build up and concentrate. I wasn’t looking to overpower Lorenzo; now that would be silly.

He was stronger, more experienced, and could probably take me down with one arm if he really wanted. No, I needed him to underestimate me. I needed him to feel comfortable.

I needed him close. Most importantly, I needed him to believe the fight was going just as he anticipated until it suddenly wasn’t.

Those green eyes of his were fixed on me, amusement dancing in them, warm and knowing. I couldn’t stand those eyes. They made me feel so damn exposed. I hated how much attention they drew me in.

"Ready?" Lorenzo’s voice was low and steady.

I swallowed, feeling the dryness in my throat. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

The familiar grin tugged at his lips. "That doesn’t sound very reassuring."

"I’m just trying to manage expectations."

A few of the guys chuckled. I managed a faint smile. Good. Let them laugh. Let them think I was nervous.

Let Lorenzo believe I was nervous, even as my pulse raced harder at the sight of that little smile and the memory of how his mouth had felt against my skin just nights before.

The signal was given. Lorenzo moved first. Not quickly, which surprised me, he didn’t rush in; instead, he stepped forward, watching my feet and shoulders, gauging the distance between us with the same patience he applied to everything else.

That controlled power in such a simple move sent a shiver down my spine.

I stepped back, maybe a little too slowly. He followed. I raised my hands defensively, but my stance was off.

Nikolai had spent weeks basically beating proper form into my ass, and now I purposely allowed myself to look slightly awkward, shoulders just a bit too high, weight uneven, while every nerve in my body screamed at me about how close he was getting.

Lorenzo’s gaze sharpened. He threw a light strike towards my shoulder. I barely blocked it.

I let his impact push me back, feeling the brief press of his knuckles against my skin linger longer than it should have, heat blooming beneath the contact.

A few murmurs rustled from the crowd. Lorenzo tried again. I reacted just a beat too late. His fist brushed my ribs. Pain shot through me, sharp yet clear, but beneath it was the undeniable awareness of his strength, the controlled force behind the blow, and my body’s reaction to his proximity—even when it hurt.

I stumbled back and took a few moments to catch my breath. Someone amongst the men chuckled quietly.

I heard Mateo mumble something...probably some kind of encouragement or maybe a jab. With Mateo, it could’ve been either.

Lorenzo watched me, his green eyes dark with assessment. "You alright, dear?"

I rubbed my side, the lingering heat from his strike feeling like a brand. "Peachy."

His eyebrow quirked up. I forced myself to look nervous while my pulse raced harder under the intensity of his gaze. "Your punch is heavier than I expected."

"That’s unfortunate."

"For me, yes."

He smiled, and I nearly smiled back.

Instead, I let my shoulders drop a little, playing the role even as the air between us thickened with something that had nothing to do with physical exhaustion.

Lorenzo moved closer. I backed away. He attacked. I blocked, then he struck again, and I was too slow. His knuckles grazed my jaw.

I let my head snap to the side, the brief scrape of contact sending an unwelcome heat through me that didn’t belong in the middle of a fight.

The room reacted with another murmur. Lorenzo stepped back. He wasn’t even breathing hard, that irritated me. I wanted to wipe that calm look off his face. But not yet.

I had been counting. One...two...three...four. Every movement and every step. Each time he shifted his weight.

Each time he drew closer made that controlled power in his body more impossible to ignore. Lorenzo was careful, but he was also getting comfortable, and that was just what I needed.

He thought he had me figured out, that I was just surviving instead of fighting. Perfect.

I backed away again. Lorenzo followed. He threw another combination. I blocked the first strike, let the second clip my shoulder, and stumbled purposefully, feeling the heat of his body as he stepped in, closer...exactly where I wanted him.

His expression shifted slightly, like he’d decided it was time to end this.

He came at me with more force, and the air between us seemed to tighten with the closeness.

I waited, one more step. Closer. Closer. Then I let it go. My pheromones filled the space between us, concentrated and intentional, the built-up weight of days poured out toward him instead of dispersing into the air.

It hit him like a drug.

The change was instant...Lorenzo froze. Not all at once, just enough.

His breath caught in his chest, pupils dilating as his whole body seemed to lose its rhythm for a split second, the precision of his movements faltering under the sudden influx of omega pheromones.

The air thickened with it, heavy and intimate, and I could see the startled recognition flash across his face before his mind caught up with what his body was already responding to.

I moved fast. I ducked under his next strike, twisted away from his reach, and hit his side.

Pretty freaking hard.

The impact made him stagger, a low sound escaping him that was half surprise and half something darker. I didn’t wait.

I pivoted, caught his arm, and used his momentum against him, feeling the muscle flex beneath my hands and the warmth of his skin even through the fabric of his training clothes.

"Did...did he just land a hit in the Don?!" I heard someone in the crowd say.

"The master’s omega is surprisingly stronger than I thought!"

"You say he’s only been training for two weeks? And he’s that good at fighting?!"

"He still has done areas to improve on, but he could definitely take down a few rookie opponents on his own!"

Yeah...that’s right. You bitches keep watch as I prove I’m more than you ever thought I was!

Lorenzo quickly recovered from the pain before I could complete my move. He really looked at me...straight into my eyes.

Then slowly, a smile crept onto his face, not the teasing smile from before, but something sharper that made my stomach twist, for reasons unrelated to fear and everything to do with the challenge he welcomed.

"Clever," he said, his voice rougher than before.

I grinned, even as my pulse raced with the heat radiating from his body so close to mine. "Thanks."

"You planned that."

"Maybe."

His eyes darkened further, lingering on me with an intensity that made the space between us feel more confined. "You’ve been hiding your scent and your skills."

Lorenzo chuckled softly, the sound low and warm, far too intimate for the situation. "You evil Omega."

I almost smiled, but then he was on me again, and this time it felt different, a new edge, darker and more focused, signaling that the game had shifted.

This time, I was prepared. I moved sideways. His fist brushed past my shoulder, the heat of his arm close enough for me to feel the power in the near-miss. I ducked.

His hand reached for me. I twisted, hyper-aware of the muscle flexing beneath his skin as my fingers briefly locked around his wrist, the scent of sweat and alpha pheromones rising between us now that my own scent had saturated the air.

My body moved almost instinctively, every lesson from Nikolai rushing back. Don’t fight strength...redirect, move, use angles.

I caught Lorenzo’s wrist and turned with him, using his momentum to throw him slightly off balance, feeling the solid heat of his body against mine for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before I pushed away.

He quickly recovered then I struck his ribs, he blocked me. I kicked at his thigh.

He dodged. I followed. For the first time that morning, the crowd fell completely silent.

They weren’t laughing at me anymore. Good.