The best way to deal with all the confusion involving feelings?

Exercise.

Jericho watches in approval as I push myself past my limits, determined to grow stronger. New bruises appear and disappear each day as my supernatural healing kicks in. Lisa, on the other hand, is covered with them, in various stages of healing.

I''m determined to ignore everything about Lucas and Clayton for as long as I can. It''s easier to just... not deal with it all.

Healthy? Probably not.

But hell, I''m just going to settle for making it through each day for now.

An odd, itchy feeling doesn''t stop all day. Lisa smacks at my hands every time I begin scratching at my neck and shoulders. My belly looks as if it''s been clawed by a raccoon, though the marks fade within half an hour each time.

"You have to stop that, Ave. You''re driving yourself insane. The more you scratch, the more you''ll itch. Just take some Benadryl."@@@@

"Fast healing means a fast metabolism. Benadryl won''t even touch it, and I don''t know wolf dosing. I''d have to go to a healer to figure it out." I''ve explained this to Lisa before, but her exasperation over my scratching overcomes minor details like that.

It doesn''t bother me. I repeat myself as often as I need to. I just worry that other wolves in the pack might bother her.

So far, Lisa hasn''t gone anywhere without me. Between the guards always nearby and Kellan''s presence every morning before training and every afternoon after, we haven''t done anything outside of our apartment. Even our food gets delivered.

Lisa''s company is amazing, but we''re both going a little stir-crazy.

That might be what''s wrong with me.

"Full moon''s coming up," Jericho announces out of nowhere, and I almost jump ten feet in the air.

"Well? What''re you doing? Run!"

Lisa and I exchange a startled glance before picking up the pace. My muscles scream in protest as I push myself to sprint faster around the track. The itching across my skin intensifies with each stride, a maddening sensation that refuses to relent.

Jericho turns his steely gaze on her. "Life isn''t fair. Get over it. This is a performance-based treatment."

Indignation flares in my chest at the dismissive way he treats my friend. I set my hands on my hips, ready to argue, but think better of it. Jericho isn''t the type to tolerate backtalk.

With a huff, I begin my lunges, feeling the burn in my thighs almost immediately. Each step is a challenge, my muscles screaming in protest. I grit my teeth, determined to prove myself.

One leg out. Dip my body down. Hold it. Back up with another wide stride. Dip down. Hold it.

Burn, muscles, burn.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

It''s easier to lose myself in this than it was to keep my mind from wandering unpleasantly during my run.

Jericho strides over, his critical eye assessing my form. "Lower. Keep your knee above your ankle."

I adjust my stance, the ache intensifying. Just as I find a rhythm, Jericho thrusts a pair of 5-pound dumbbells into my hands.

"Hold these. Arms out." He demonstrates, his muscular arms parallel to the ground.

I gape at him, disbelief etched on my face. My arms are already trembling from the mere thought of it. I''m exhausted. He can''t possibly be serious.

"Did I stutter? Move!" Jericho barks, his voice echoing across the track.

Okay. He''s serious.

The weights pull at my shoulders as I extend my arms. What had seemed nearly weightless in one hand is now far worse than I expected, my hands floating slowly toward the ground.

Taking a deep breath, I raise my arms, determined to see this through. Jericho might have added to my calisthenics, but I''ll be damned if I''ll let him win."

As I lunge forward, the dumbbells seem to grow heavier with each passing second. Sweat trickles down my face, stinging my eyes. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps.

Lisa shoots me a sympathetic look as she powers through her squats, also ordered by Jericho.