Part 19

(POV - Marcus)

He was shaken from his thoughts by a surge of frustration and throbbing pain, something that had become more and more common each year he spent his ruts alone.

Marcus stared at the punching bag that lay on the ground. The seams split open from the force of his punches. Sand spilled to the floor of the gym, a soft, silent hiss that filled the otherwise empty room.

The pack gym was by no means big. In fact, Marcus would hesitate to call it a 'gym' at all. It had been an empty room in the main packhouse that the previous Alpha, the one Marcus had gotten rid of for almost destroying his pack, had used as his personal den. Marcus had thrown every piece of furniture out and set it on fire, watching it burn with a quiet satisfaction in the pit of his stomach.

He'd asked Jaden to organize a cleaning crew to scrub the room, and the rest of the packhouse, clean of his scent, so that there was no trace of his existence at all. It had been a painful process, getting his pack to scent the common rooms again so that they felt more at ease, but the presence of Marcus' scent had made it much easier. And he'd finally felt like he had done something right.

Once the den had been stripped clean of the previous Alpha's existence, Marcus had turned it into a gym. He hauled in punching bags and free weights, going out of his way to find jump ropes and even a few weighted balls. Even though he was the one who most frequented the gym, he had scented a few other males and even some females who came to use the gym to take the edge off of their impending heats and ruts.

He was the only one in the gym, although he heard movement in the house itself. It was still early, probably four or five in the morning, and the next shift of sentries would be waking up to take over from the wolves who were on their way back.

He'd been awake for hours, the pain chasing him from sleep and from his bed. He'd wandered around the packhouse as silently as a wraith, looking for something that would occupy his mind and hands enough to distract him. The tension had led him to the gym, where he'd so far destroyed ten punching bags and didn't even feel marginally better.

With a sigh, he reached up and unhooked the split punching bag from the chain it swung on, trying to avoid the sand that had piled on the floor below it. He tossed it aside, next to the other bags he'd busted, and looked at the last one leaning in the corner of the room.

Did he really want to ruin another one just to feel like shit afterwards, anyway?

"You're stinking up the house, Marc."

Marcus turned to see Jaden standing at the door, his arms crossed. He looked like he'd been for his morning jog already, a light sheen of sweat clinging to his skin from the exertion.

"You sure it's not your own pits you're smelling?" Marcus bit back, feeling restless and agitated. Jaden lifted one of his arms and sniffed at his pit, face scrunching up in disgust.

"Yeah, probably," he chuckled, stepping into the room but making sure he kept a safe distance from Marcus. He knew that Jaden was probably following him around because the wolf knew his Alpha's rut would start soon and he wanted to be close by in case Marcus went feral.

Marcus was a little ashamed to admit that he was grateful his Beta was around, even if he would only admit it to himself. His ruts had never been easy, but after Helena died, they'd been almost impossible.

For five years, he'd fought against every instinct in his body, still mourning for his lost mate and unable to face a rut without having her to help him through it. It had been a lot more difficult than he thought was possible, and every spring, and every winter, he fought through his hormones no matter how much pain it caused his body.

He welcomed the pain, fighting against his wolf, who had eventually yearned to seek out a female to mate with, seeing as Marcus refused to find one himself. The pain only served as a reminder that he didn't deserve to feel anything else, and he used it gladly.

Things were getting worse, though, and he would have to accept that his time to mourn Helena's death had come to an end.

Now twenty-six years old, Marcus knew that his upcoming rut would be even worse, and he knew he couldn't hold fast to his refusal to take some random female during his rut. Ever since Helena's death, he couldn't bring himself to spend a rut with anyone else but her, and had gone through each in the years since alone. He knew he'd have to find someone to help him, or risk hurting one of his packmates by accident.

He remembered how he'd almost lashed out and killed Mercucio, his Delta, during the last rut. He'd only reached out to comfort Marcus, his hand gentle and hesitant on the Alpha's shoulder, but Marcus had turned on him in a fit of rage and confusion.

He couldn't allow it to happen again, and his thoughts strayed to females who were unmated but only looking to relieve the tension. No strings attached, just one wolf helping another through their heats and ruts. There weren't many females within his own pack that were unmated and looking for that kind of relationship. And, as the Alpha, Marcus would prefer not to disrupt his pack's dynamics just because his ruts made him aggressively horny.

He thought of Inara, who would have gladly helped him through his rut, but she was off on a scouting mission, leading a few others to ensure that his borders were secure. She wouldn't be back in time to help him.

"Your Alpha's never wrong," Marcus grunted, deciding to hang the last punching bag while making a mental note to buy more of them.

Jaden's silence told him all he needed to know: Jaden disagreed wholeheartedly. Any other time, Marcus would have grinned, maybe even teased him for it. But he could feel the aggression like a stifling, hot breath against the back of his neck, the rage burning low in his stomach.

"Yes, Alpha," he said instead, although Marcus didn't miss the hint of amusement in his Beta's voice as he spoke.

He hooked the punching bag up on the chain and steadied it before stepping back and falling into a stance. Fists up, shoulders drawn and feet light, he was about to swing when Jaden interrupted him.

"Is that actually going to help?"

With a steadying hand on the bag, Marcus did laugh that time.

"No," he admitted, breathing in deep through his nose and blowing it out through pursed lips. Jaden was right; he was stinking up the place. He needed to shower. "But I figured it would help keep me busy until the meeting later this morning. Turns out, I might have been better off going for a run instead."

"Never underestimate the power of running away from your problems," Jaden said smugly. "Even if it is only temporary."

Marcus rolled his eyes and shoved away from the punching bag, his hands still slick with blood. He knew that it was the scent of his blood that had probably led Jaden there. He slowly unwrapped the straps, thick and stiff with his blood, and winced when the dried blood tugged at his open wounds.

"Yeah, that's really going to heal well," Jaden observed with a hint of sarcasm. "Did you even feel any of that?"

"Not a thing." Marcus huffed, glaring at the gashes over his knuckles in mild disgust. He'd always hated being injured in any way, but the pain kept his mind off of the rut-induced fever. The wounds still bled profusely, and he knew he'd have to get to the pack doctor soon to get them wrapped up properly.

"Good. Then let's spar."

Marcus looked up at Jaden, who stepped into the gym and rolled up the sleeves of his light blue jacket. He rolled his shoulders back and stretched his neck, squaring up in front of Marcus.

"You sure about this?"

Jaden rolled his eyes and snorted, glancing away. "So you're underestimating me now. I see."

He peeled his jacket off instead and tossed it aside.

"You think that just because your big bad rut is days away that I won't be able to take you?" he scoffed. "Give me a break, Marc. You didn't make me your Beta for nothing."

That was true. Jaden had earned his position because he was one of the very few wolves that came close to Marcus'  strength and prowess in a fight. Still, his rut was cause for both of them to be cautious.

"Swing first or hit the mat first, Alpha."

With a grin, Marcus dropped the soiled hand straps to the floor and pulled his sweaty vest off too.

"Oh, we're getting serious, okay," he guffawed, his hands curled into loose fists on either side of his face.

"You keep talking, Beta," Marcus taunted, circling Jaden slowly and aiming to back him into a corner. "What did you say? Something about swinging first or hitting the mat first?"

"You'd be correct," Jaden said, ducking low and lunging forward, his fist rearing back to swing.

With a feral grin, Marcus countered, feeling the tension along his shoulders and down his spine coil, ready for the release he so desperately needed.