Page 99 of Stripped By the Alien

I have some idea where she might be. And indeed I find her in the Beast's training chamber.

The room is empty except for us. Thick cords of living muscle form the walls, and the floor flexes faintly beneath my weight. The Beast enjoys sensing the vigorous movements of combat inside her, and the steady pulse moving through the chamber tells me she's paying attention already.

Nora stands in the center of the room, wearing her new crimson wrap. Her posture catches my attention immediately. She isn't relaxed. She isn't smiling. I think she’s practiced on her own, punching a section of the wall and probably given the Beast a nice internal massage.

"You wanted to train?" I ask.

She nods once. "I was hoping you’d come here. Then I wondered if you’d think I’m becoming too dangerous."

That would normally begin a playful argument. She'd make some outrageous claim, and I'd refute it. We'd circle each other while debating tactics, strength, or some strange human theory.

Today neither of us seems interested in that.

I raise my hands. "Show me how dangerous you've become."

She attacks immediately. There's no testing strike and no playful feint. She closes the distance fast and drives toward my knee. When I pull the leg away, the attack changes direction halfway through and comes toward my ribs instead. I block it easily enough, but she's already moving again, slipping toward my side before I can counter.

Interesting.

I catch her wrist and redirect her away from me. Most opponents would lose their balance. Nora rolls with the movement and comes back at me from another angle.

Her foot snaps toward the joint behind my leg. I avoid it, but only because I saw it early.

We circle each other for several moments. "You're pushing harder than usual," I observe.

"So are you," she counters, her face flushed.

"I haven't changed anything."

She straightens her wrap. "You just threw me halfway across the room."

“But you stayed up.”

Then she's moving again. This time I pay closer attention. The techniques themselves aren't new. I've seen most of them before. The difference is how she uses them. Earlier training sessions were full of experimentation. Nora would try something because it looked interesting, or because she wanted to see whether it worked.

Now every movement has a purpose. I catch an incoming strike and close my hand around her forearm. She twists immediately, trying to escape the hold before I can establish control. I tighten my grip and pull her closer.

"What's the hurry?" I ask.

"I'm training." Her breath is quick.

"You trained yesterday, too."

She pulls her hand out of my grip. "And I found that I need more training."

The fight resumes. Nora comes at me again, and I counter almost automatically. A strike toward my throat becomes a grab for my arm. When that fails, she immediately transitions into another attack. She isn't looking for a single decisive blow. She's looking for opportunities.

And she's finding more of them than she used to. A fist brushes my jaw and a kick catches my thigh. She keeps back from making them hard. But the fact that they connect at all bothers me.

I decide to end the exchange. When she commits to another attack, I trap both wrists and lift her clear off the floor.

"Got you," I announce.

She narrows her eyes. Then she drives a knee into my chest hard enough to make me loosen my grip.

The moment her feet touch the floor again, she retreats.

I straighten up. "You cheated. I already got you."