The Hidden Princess At All-Boys Alpha Academy Chapter 27

“Ari,” Rafe hisses, trying to get my attention in the sparring circle next to me.

But I can’t take my eyes off of Jackson, who stares at the floor in front of us, rolling his shoulders back. God why is he even stretching – it’s not like he’s going to have to expend any energy at all to push me out of this circle – he could probably just growl at me and I’ll run screaming out of it myself –

“Ari!” Rafe hisses, and I snap my attention to him. “You can’t forfeit,” he whispers hastily, searching my face to ensure I understand. “If you do, you’ll be disqualified. Just – try not to fall, all right? Just engage once, stay on your feet, and let him push you out –“

“Begin!” the Captain shouts at the front of the room.

Rafe hesitates, glancing between me and Ben, who steps into the ring, his staff clutched in his hands.

I nod hastily to Rafe, letting him know that I understand.

Then I look at Jackson – or, more correctly, up at Jackson, whose eyes are on me now. God, he just seems to keep going up, like a mountain – did he get like, taller? Since the last time I saw him?

Did I shrink?

“Come on,” Jackson grumbles, his voice flat as he nods towards the center of the circle, telling me to get inside. “Let’s get this over with.”

I stare at him, my legs locking in fear – or in something –

Because, as much as I need to concentrate on surviving this – on doing what Rafe says and getting out of this ring as fast as I can – I just can’t stop wondering…

…what the hell my grandmother the Goddess was thinking when she picked this guy as my mate.

My eyes sweep over him again, and while he is obviously an impressive physical specimen, he’s just so brutal. There’s absolutely nothing about Jackson McClintock that looks capable of being soft, or kind, or making me laugh. Everything about him looks built for violence and cruelty – there is nothing there that’s sweet.

When I think about fated mates, I think about mom and dad, or Aunt Cora and Uncle Roger, whose personalities seem to have been made for each other. Mom’s soft side evens out dad’s harsh edges, but still – deep down, they’re both fierce, dedicated, and loving. They even have the same weird sense of humor.

This guy? He’s…he’s supposed to match me?

I just stare at him, shaking my head in disbelief when he snaps his eyes up to mine.

“Would you get in here!?” he snarls, the blue of his eyes flashing in demand, his words harsh enough to make me almost literally jump. My palms are sweaty as I take a single step forward, gripping the staff.

His eyes sweep over me, his lip rising a little in distaste. “Are you even going to raise that?” he asks, nodding towards my staff. “Or should I just come…push you over?”

And something in the way he says that, the complete derision in his eyes…

Well. It kindles something in me.

My wolf growls in my chest, as pissed as I am. This guy might be twice my size and undoubtedly going to win the easiest bout of his life, but he doesn’t have to be a jerk about it.

Don’t let him talk to us like that, my wolf snaps. Even if he’s our mate, we’re in charge.

I nudge her away, because while her sentiments are right, she says ridiculous things sometimes.

“Fine,” I say, raising my chin and tightening my hands on the staff, falling into the stance they just spent hours teaching us. “Let’s do this.”

“Your funeral,” Jackson murmurs, his words barely audible over the sounds of sticks banging against each other and bodies hitting mats all over the room. Then he falls into his own stance, and our bout begins.

Get out fast, I say to myself, remembering Rafe’s words. Don’t let him get me to the mat.

Jackson and I start slowly for a moment, circling each other, looking for openings, but he strikes quick as a cobra, taking advantage of his larger size and charging for me with a wide swing of his staff. Panicked, I leap to the side with a little yelp, ducking to avoid the sweep of wood that probably would have cracked my skull if it had landed.

Some instinct in me kicks in, either from the quick lesson we just received or my years of casual sparring with Rafe and Jesse, and I move in closer, knowing that he has less chance of hurting me if he can’t use his whole range. Quickly, I use the butt of my staff to jab at the outside of his knee, connecting solidly.

Jackson gives a little gasp of pain and his leg buckles slightly, but my victory is short-won, because before I can comprehend what’s happening he gives a bellow, spins his staff in his hands and sweeps it behind me, hitting me hard behind my knees and taking me down.

The air rushes from my lungs as my back smacks against the mat. As I gasp for air all I can think is shit – shit – Rafe told me not to fall –