RONEN
Punch after punch, I rammed my fists into the bag, changing up my combos but never slowing my speed or intensity.
“Okay, who got your wings wet this time?” Alexei gritted out, holding the punching bag for me.
Wet wings meant harder flight, losing altitude or tearing your muscles apart to keep from crashing to your death. It meant hours to fucking dry and dragging against the ground without the ability to dematerialize them until they dried or the torn muscles healed. Wet wings pissed any sane angel off, which was why if any of my Dreads chose to play another prank on me with water, they’d be demoted and running patrols in the Veil Forest, where Hellhounds and Spinewalkers crept through the thick fog. Lucky for them, I only manifested them seconds before flight, like most angels.
“No one.” My right hook slammed into the bag, knocking Alexei back.
“It was Danny, wasn’t it?” Alexei shook his head. “That prick’s always doing something to piss you off.”
He wasn’t wrong, but no, it wasn’t the squadron leader of the Devils. Not this time.
“No.”
“Female trouble?” Alexei stepped back up to the bag, holding it steady. “Maybe if you didn’t look the way you did, your life would be easier.”
I scoffed, shaking my head at the golden boy who had females fawning over him weekly.
“And who will you have in your bed tonight?” I pointed out in between grunts.
He grinned. “I may have asked a few of my favorites to join me.”
“A few?”
“It’s so hard to choose. They’re all so beautiful.”
“And they agree to that?” I sure as hell wouldn’t. I don’t share.
Alexei shrugged. “I’ll learn tonight. But I have a feeling it’ll work out in my favor.”
I laughed at my second and finished punching out my frustration until sweat soaked my clothes and sand clung to my arms. That was the one thing I hated about this enclosed arena—always feeling the gritty substance sticking to me like a second skin and digging into my boots. It didn’t matter if I trained in my uniform or pants and a T-shirt; the sand always found a way in.
I also hated the floor-length windows lining almost every wall, like we were some spectacle to watch. This wasn’t a gladiator arena,even if we were as brutal and vicious as those warriors. But the windows weren’t for spectators, nor were they some punishment. Lucifer had created his castle with hundreds of them so he could gaze toward the heavens, where he’d believed Saraqael to be while she’d been away.
That was before he learned Saraqael avoided Heaven’s domain like the plague and found a home on Earth.
“Here.” Alexei slapped a towel into my chest, his eyes blatantly fixed on something to my right.
I shook my head. “Haven’t you learned your lesson from staring at MJ’s ass the last hundred times?”
MJ, my third, trained in the weapons range, pulling back her bow with precision before releasing two arrows. Both hit the dummy’s heart from sixty meters away—about the same distance we stood from her in the sparring grounds.
He shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to admire.”
I snorted. He knew damn well it did hurt him—frequently. Yet he always came back for more.
“It will once she notices.”
Which she did. He deflected the arrow she shot at his face with a blast of wind, and it hit the punching bag, spilling grain everywhere. He smirked at MJ.
“Pick it all up, Alexei, and patch up the bag. We’ll debrief tomorrow and check out the recruits for the Infernal Sixty,” I said, walking past a few of my Dreads lifting weights.
“Can’t wait for the new bait. I love the Infernal Sixty!”
I usually agreed with Alexei, but this time,she’dbe a part of it. I’d had enough exposure to watching the Nephilim crawl allover her.
How many males did she have? First the damned traitorous pet, and now the Nephilim? She nearly rivaled Alexei—but no one could be as bad as him. Nor did I care who occupied his bed. Or hers. But my shadows sure as hell did.
