Saving Bennett Reid (Book 3)

Iron Fist

(Bennett)

Shuffling over to the stove, I turned off the gas and gave the eggs one last turn before shovelling them onto a plate. On the beat drop, I flipped the wooden spoon up to use as a microphone, belting out the lyrics at the top of my lungs.

"Let's sing a song for the broken-hearted!" I sang, switching the make-believe microphone for an imaginary electric guitar. "A silent prayer for faith departed!"

Picking up the plate of bacon and spinach scrambled eggs, and another plate of ham and cheese croissants, I made my way over to the small dining table and set it down.

"And I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd! You're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud!" I continued singing, rapping my knuckles against the wooden table, and thumping my feet to the beat, dancing my way around the small space, holding an imaginary concert while I gathered plates and other eating utensils, filling glasses of freshly made orange juice, setting the table for breakfast.

It was already six in the morning, and I'd been up since four-thirty carrying out the usual morning routine, beginning with a jog around Marcana's track, and doing some light exercises in preparation for the training session to come. My lazy mate, however, had slept in, and was still asleep when I'd returned. Hell, he'd even snored his way through my morning meditation exercises.

Checking the time on my phone once the table was set for breakfast, the screen showed that it just ten minutes past the hour of six. Carter had to get his lazy butt off that bed because today, we were booked with a busy morning.

The heads of Black Rock had pardoned the survivors of our pack, allowing them the chance to recuperate and grieve. While we knew some would take a longer time to emotionally recuperate, other aspects of pack life couldn't suffer as a result. Maybe they would hate us for it, since over the last few days, Jax and I had talked a lot, and we'd talked, discussed, and planned some more with Andre and Alister, the heads of Marcana, and their successors.

Black Rock Canyon would see a different kind of rule from now on. With a more flexible hierarchy, but strict heads leading them. They might come to despise us for our iron fist rule, but at the end of the day, their chances of survival would increase tenfold.

It was Saturday, and today, marked the beginning of Black Rock's transition extended to the pack. The morning half of our day was booked with training sessions, and we were tackling two different age groups. Adolescents ages fourteen to nineteen and they would consist our first group for the morning, training a strenuous four hours. Our second group would consist of children ages nine to thirteen and they'd train for two hours. They were our future, so it was imperative, we focused on their development a significant bit.

It would be a joint training session, and the large field near the conference hall in Marcana made a perfect training spot since it wouldn't be Black Rock wolves alone. We had decided to include Marcana wolves as well, and we looked at the fact that within a few years, both packs would have different commanders. Asher was dead set on becoming Black Rock's commander, and naturally, Carter wanted me to get away from Black Rock. While I agreed that living in a different pack would be good for me, I wasn't about to leave Asher or Black Rock empty-handed.

I would only change packs once I was certain Asher was more than capable, and that the pack was where it should be. So, I was giving myself six years to hold to the promise I'd made Carter.

In six years', time, I'd marry him. For appearances sake. By then, everything should've fallen into place.

Just as I was about to turn and head in the direction of the stairs, large, muscled arms encircled my waist and a warm, naked chest pressed against my back. One side of the headset was removed, his breath tickling my neck as his lips brushed the tip of my ear.