One Insatiable

Fight

Mercy

He’s strangling me…

The pressure on my neck grows stronger, and I’m pinned against the man’s chest. His arm is an iron band around my waist holding me trapped against his doughy body.

Harder…

The sour stench of his perspiration fills my nostrils, and I start to choke. Adrenaline spikes in my veins, my eyes heat, my nose runs. I’m going to shift.

Fight it…

He would never see it coming. I’d rip his arms out of their sockets, and the pain would saturate his brain before his eyes even registered what happened.

Focus, Mercy.

I can’t blow my cover. As far as the humans in Woodland Creek know, I’m just as normal as they are. My shifter clan is deep undercover, and we have to keep it that way.

Scenting the air, I can tell he’s nervous. He lacks the conviction of what he’s doing. Closing my eyes and calming my thoughts, I use the crude human movements I’ve mastered — grasp his wrist and jerk it down.

Thrusting my elbow sharply back and up, I plant a solid hit to his solar plexus. At the same time I do a quick twirl under, positioning myself in front, facing him, still holding his wrist. It’s a perfectly choreographed escape move, and I execute it with ease.

A muffled grunt, and the man pitches forward at the waist gasping for air. I hold his neck and pretend to jam my knee into his nose to break it. But I stop before making contact.

“And that is how you escape an attack from behind.” I release Jim’s wrist and turn to the small audience now clapping.

A low murmur ripples across the group of mostly college-aged girls, and my assistant circulates a clipboard holding the signup sheet for Saturday’s class.

Smiling, I turn back to my demonstration partner. “You okay?” I grasp Jim’s shoulder, giving it a brief massage.

“It’s okay. I’m used to it, Mercy,” he grunts.

It’s true he’s experienced playing the role of my attacker, and while I might have winded him slightly with that elbow to the ribs, he doesn’t show any signs of discomfort now. Jim’s a big, fleshy guy, perfect for our demonstrations.

I adjust my black sports bra and smooth the waist of my black yoga pants as the clipboard continues through the small group of young women.

“Classes are every Saturday starting at nine a.m. sharp. Your life is important and so is my time.” My voice resonates with authority the way Andy taught me. “All payments are in advance, and there are no refunds for missed classes.”

I’ve just put on a show of being a badass, and the young women watch me, eyes round. When I first started this job, it used to make my insides squirm knowing I’m the same age as them or occasionally a little younger. I’m the baby of my shifter family, and not used to ordering people around, which doesn’t mean I’m a pushover. It just means I’m used to minding my own business and letting others mind theirs.

“You have to command your class,” Andy had said. In time it became easier to play drill sergeant.

Andy taught me the self-defense moves I now teach them. I hadn’t really needed to learn them, since as previously noted, I’m a shifter and stronger than any human man. Still, I suppose they’re good techniques to know.

I started hanging around the gym a few years ago during a particularly harsh winter. I tried teaching myself to kickbox, trying to burn off my excess shifter-energy. I’d spent some time punching and kicking with zero form or technique. After a while, Andy asked if I’d like to take over the self-defense courses at the gym.

I like to think it gives me a purpose, something I can do to help these human girls. The truth is, I’m bored. I want to leave this god-forsaken town so badly it hurts. I want to move to California where it’s always sunny and never snows, where I can get a small studio and a pottery wheel, and launch my career as a cera

mics artist.

“Miss Mercy?” A timid blonde pulls me from my dreams.

I smile. “You can just call me Mercy.”

“Okay… Um…” Her eyes drop nervously to the mat. “I’m Sally. I’m not sure if I should sign up or not. I’m not very strong.”

I scan her body. She’s an inch shorter than I am, skinny, and her arms show zero muscle mass — unlike mine, which are lined and tight like my exposed torso.

“Strength isn’t as much a part of self-defense as technique,” I say, repeating the response Andy taught me. “It’s about surprise and evasion. Running away is as much a part of self defense as avoiding dangerous situations.”

She still looks worried, and I add, “If you want, I can work with you before or after classes on strength training.”

I’m not sure what made me say that. I’ve never offered to train anyone before.

Her pale brow relaxes, and she even smiles. “Would you? That would help me so much.”

I’m about to set up a time when the bell above the front door rings out, and a man in a suit, no tie, top button undone saunters in the gym. He’s clearly not dressed to stay.

“Dude, your boyfriend’s here,” Jim says under his breath.

Irritation flashes hot in my cheeks. “He’s not my boyfriend, and you need to wash your gym clothes. You stink.”

I instantly regret being irritable with Jim, but Hayden Cross has been the bane of my existence for the last two years, since I turned twenty-one, with his entitled attitude and knack for showing up when I don’t want to see him, which is pretty much always.

Going to the door, I ignore the appreciative rise of his pale eyebrows at the sight of my body. “What are you doing here, Hayden?”

“Your sister sent me to fetch you. She’s concerned you’ll be late for dinner tonight.”

Anger tightens my throat. “I’ve never been late for Thursday night dinner before. I don’t need your help now.”

He smiles that annoyingly sexy grin. “Either way, I don’t mind giving you a ride home. Save you from that germy tin can.”

My family (and Hayden) complain often and loudly about my use of the one city bus to get around our small town, but I don’t give a shit. I’m preparing for my life in San Francisco, when I won’t be a member of the town elite. I’ll be just like everybody else.

“Sam will worry if I don’t show up for my ride home.”

His perfect lips curl in a sneer. “And Sam would be?”

“The bus driver, of course.”

“Get your things.” His teasing manner is gone, which makes me grin. “I told Dylan I’d see you home.”

“I guess I can explain it to him tomorrow,” I sigh.

Infuriating Hayden might be the highlight of my day. I walk to the back of the large, front room. A narrow hall leads past the offices, the juice bar, and the entrances to the locker rooms, ending at the large weight room in the back. My boss is there working with a new client.