The gym smelled of sweat and determination. I stood at the edge of the mat, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and nervousness. It was my first self-defense class, and I was determined to make a good impression.
"Alright, everyone, pair up!" the instructor, James, called out. His voice carried a hint of authority that made me stand a little straighter.
I glanced around, hoping to catch someone's eye, but everyone seemed to already have a partner. Great. First day and already the odd one out.
"Looks like you're with me, newbie," James said, approaching with a friendly smile. "Isabella, right?"
I nodded, trying not to stare. James was tall, with a lean muscular build that spoke of years of training. His eyes, a striking shade of green, seemed to look right through me.
"Don't worry," he said, noticing my nervousness. "We'll start slow. Show me your stance."
I took a deep breath and tried to remember what I'd seen in movies. Feet apart, hands up. James chuckled softly.
"Not bad, but let's adjust a few things." He moved around me, gently correcting my posture. "There. How does that feel?"
"More... grounded," I admitted, surprised at the difference.
"Good. Now, I'm going to come at you slowly. Try to block me."
James moved forward, his hand reaching for my shoulder. I reacted instinctively, my arm coming up to knock his away. To my surprise, I not only blocked his hand but pushed it back with enough force to make him step back.
James blinked, a flash of something—surprise? interest?—crossing his face. "Well done. Let's try that again."
We continued the exercise, James gradually increasing his speed and strength. With each attempt, I found myself reacting faster, moving with a sureness I'd never felt before.
"Okay, everyone, let's move on to some basic throws," James announced to the class. He turned back to me. "Think you're up for it?"
I nodded, a new confidence flowing through me. James showed me the technique, explaining how to use an opponent's momentum against them.
"Ready to give it a try?" he asked.
"Ready," I replied, settling into the stance he'd taught me.
James came at me, moving to grab my shoulder. Time seemed to slow. I could see the shift of his weight, the angle of his approach. My body moved almost of its own accord. I gripped his arm, pivoted, and suddenly James was flying over my hip.
He hit the mat with a loud thud that echoed through the now-silent gym. Everyone was staring. James lay there for a moment, looking up at me with an expression of utter disbelief.
"I'm so sorry!" I gasped, mortification replacing my momentary triumph. "Are you okay?"
James got to his feet, rubbing his back. "I'm fine," he said, his voice low. "That was... unexpected."
The rest of the class was whispering now. I could feel their eyes on me, hear the murmurs of disbelief. How had the new girl just thrown the instructor?
"Alright, everyone back to work," James called out, his tone brooking no argument. The class reluctantly returned to their exercises, though I could still feel sideways glances being thrown my way.
James turned back to me, his green eyes intense. "Where did you train before?"
"I... I didn't," I admitted. "This is my first class."
He stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to solve a puzzle. "That's not possible," he muttered, more to himself than to me.
"I don't know what happened," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "It just... felt natural."
James nodded slowly. "Natural. Right." He glanced around, then lowered his voice. "Listen, Isabella. What you just did... it's not normal. And I don't mean that in a bad way. But you need to be careful."
A chill ran down my spine. "Careful? What do you mean?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a crash from the front of the gym. We both turned to see a man stumbling through the door, his clothes torn and bloody.
"Help," he gasped, before collapsing to the floor.
The gym erupted into chaos. People rushed forward, someone called for an ambulance. But I stood frozen, my eyes locked on the fallen man. Because in that moment, I felt something—a presence, a energy—emanating from him. It was wild, primal, and terrifyingly familiar.
James gripped my arm, his fingers digging in almost painfully. I turned to look at him, and the expression on his face made my blood run cold. Fear, recognition, and grim determination warred in his eyes.
"Isabella," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We need to leave. Now."
"But that man—" I began.
"Is dangerous," James cut me off. "More dangerous than you can imagine."
As if in response to James's words, the injured man's eyes snapped open. They were no longer human eyes. They glowed a feral yellow, fixed directly on me. A low growl rumbled through the gym, rising above the panicked voices.
And in that moment, I knew with terrifying certainty that my life would never be the same again.