Damien’s nostrils flared, his amber and ashen eyes flashing as he swallowed. “Mind your surroundings, Cas. It won’t always just be one opponent you face.”
I cursed internally, wondering if he’d caught on to where my mind had jumped. His movements were tense as he watched us spar, and the way he pressed his knuckles to his lips told me he didn’t approve of my training. He had no choice, though; none of us did. It was Selene’s order we continue it. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t relieved when she commanded him to continue. It had been a battle to convince him to let me resume my training after...
After Marcus.
The bruises and cuts he’d left had long since healed, but scars remained, both physical and otherwise. I shook the thoughts from my head. There was no time to spare a glance in his direction, but I absorbed his words.
The late January air was icy and bitter in my lungs. Winter was setting in with full force. It was an unusually cold one—Johnstown had been covered in several inches of snow a few weeks earlier. The snow that once covered the training grounds of The Outpost, though, had long since melted from the last few hours of training—leaving the ground saturated and muddy beneath our feet. The hilts of my daggers dug into my leather gloves as I gripped them. Zephyr and Vincent closed in as Barrett stood back, watching for my defenses to weaken. I stepped with them, evading their strikes and meeting them with my own, keeping my thoughts open to pick up on anything I could.
“Watch where you step. Don’t throw your weight past your feet.” Damien’s eyes swept over me in precise assessment as he paced around us. “Use your opponent’s weight, not your own.” I did my best to listen, focusing on my feet a bit more, maintaining my center of gravity. “Remember to focus on reading your opponent’s movements, just like we practiced.”
“Come on, Cas. I know you’ve got more in you than that,” Vincent taunted as he jumped in, and my eyes narrowed on him. Unlike Barrett and Zephyr, he didn’t wield a weapon, only his hands. It was how he’d always trained, yet I’d never landed a hit. His movements were fluid as the water magic he wielded as he danced around my blades, his hands grappling and hitting my arms and hands as he batted my attacks away with ease. I didn’t know what form of fighting it was, what style, but it was almost poetic.
Zephyr leaned in to mutter something to Barrett before barking a warning. “You keep pushing her buttons, you’re gonna regret it.” I caught a hint of humor in his tone, as if he hoped I’d make Vincent eat his words.
“I’d pay money to see that,” Thalia chimed from nearby, where she was supervising the training of the recruits. Her corn silk hair glinted in the winter sunlight, the scar that crossed down her right eye pink against her fair skin from the icy temperatures.
“Pay attention to your own trainees, Thalia,” Damien warned without glancing her way.
She didn’t respond, but I could imagine the coy grin on her face as she returned to her work.
“I’d like to see her try,” Vincent said in challenge, a haughty grin tugging at his lips. There it was, that hint of Barrett’s troublemaker personality, hidden beneath Vincent’s sweet one. God, he was so much like his cousin.
Make him eat those words.
The dark voice, the one that had lingered since I’d killed Marcus, danced in my thoughts, but I couldn’t focus on it as he reached for my arm to block my blow. Irritation flooded me, and I dropped my dagger, slipping through his grip. He fumbled for a split second, shifting away from me as I broke his hold, replicating his own moves as I swatted his hand away. Mud slipped beneath my feet as I shifted forward to close the distance between us, and before I realized what I was doing, I slammed my forehead into his.
We both recoiled immediately, hands rising to our foreheads involuntarily as we cringed from the shattering pain. Vincent groaned, cursing as he paced back a few steps. The others broke into fits of laughter. Damien didn’t speak up, but I could’ve sworn I’d heard a low huff from him as he stifled a laugh.
Vincent hissed as he rubbed his head, shaking it off. “Shit, Cas! You’ve got a hard head.”
“You thinkIhave a hard head?” I grimaced, pointing at my throbbing forehead. I knew a nasty headache would rear its ugly head later, but the satisfaction was worth it.
Damien remained silent still, but I caught sight of the pride in those stunning eyes. They burned into me, like embers bursting free from ashes—I loved them more than anything. I bit back the smile creeping across my face before returning my attention to the others.
“I think I won that bet,” Zephyr muttered to Barrett, barely loud enough for me to hear.
Barrett groaned, reaching into his pocket. He slammed something into Zephyr’s outstretched hand: a folded twenty-dollar bill.
Those bastards actually bet on me? Heat flooded my face, and I threw them a dirty look. I guess I should be happy Zephyr had confidence in me, but that was beside the point. For being defenders of the immortal and the human races, they were so childish sometimes.
Damien gave them a warning glare. “I didn’t know we were gambling on Cas’ training.”
Barrett threw his hands up. “What? We couldn’t help ourselves!”
I threw up my middle finger at Barrett, who cocked a grin and winked at me. My eyes rolled as I shook my head. He hadn’t changed one bit—still loved to pick on me, but oddly enough, I’d grown used to it. In the couple of months since I’d moved in with Damien, I’d become immersed in their group, and they felt like brothers now. While they picked on me and belittled my achievements every chance they got, I knew they would have my back no matter what.
I bent down, swiping my dagger from the ground. I wiped the mud from it on my pants before flipping it in my hand. The weight was perfectly balanced in my palm, as if I’d used it my entire life. I guess if I thought about how many lives I’d lived between Moira, Elena, and Lucia, how many centuries had spanned over those past lives, Ihadused a dagger my entire life.
Even outside of training, I’d spent countless hours getting used to handling a dagger, and I’d ultimately switched wielding a dual set. Every day for nearly two months now, I’d practiced twirling and flipping them while I enjoyed my morning tea, while I read, while I sketched—every chance I got.
Damien regularly urged me to take a break, but I couldn’t help it. I hoped one day they would be an extension of my arms, wielded with the same level of ease as my own two hands. Sure, it would be a while before I reached that level, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t try.
When I stepped back into the center of the ring, the others moved back into place around me, and I widened my stance, centering myself. My eyes danced between the three warriors as they paced, watching for the faintest hint of who might make the first strike. I felt so small compared to the three males before me, Barrett being the tallest at over six feet. Before everything happened, I would have never imagined I’d ever, in my life, be able to stand up to them.
Yet here I was.
I could feel their eyes on me as they watched for their moment to strike, and I waited, opening my mind to listen for the first thought, the first sound. They were good, fighting on instinct, for when I opened my thoughts to theirs to listen, all I could hear was a quiet hum.
