“That’s what we’re there for,” he counters, as though that makes any sense. “They’d have to go through us to get to you, and no one gets through us,” he declares, and I stop moving, completely taken aback by that ridiculous statement.
“You seem to be forgetting the fact that I won’t always be with you,” I argue.
“You’re with us now; that’s all that matters,” he arrogantly replies, and once again I feel as though there are so many unspoken things taking up the space between what he is saying and what he means. It’s oddly cryptic and annoying.
“So you’re just wasting my time?” I demand, lifting my bow with an indignant shrug. “If they’ll never get past you to attack me, why bother training me at all?”
My question is met with another of his obnoxious grins. Then, faster than lightning, he swipes his staff up, hitting mine so hard that it pops out of my lax grip and flies up in the air between us. He ducks under the downward trajectory of my weapon, spins around me until I feel his chest against my back, and then presses the unforgiving grain of his wood bow staff against my throat.
“Because,” he whispers in my ear. “It’s good for the lungs…and for the body.”
His breath tickles the shell of my ear, and he runs the tip of his nose up the side of my neck. I barely hold back the shiver his closeness coaxes out of me. I wish I could say that it was pure revulsion pumping through my veins, but I’d be lying.
I grab his staff and use it as leverage. I kick my feet up and then immediately swing them down, dropping my weight at the same time, and flip Riall over my head. The staff leaves my throat, and I dive for my weapon, which is on the ground. Impossibly, Riall lands on his feet and whirls around to try to stop me. It’s as though the wood staff is a complete extension of his body, more limb than weapon. I’d marvel at his skill more if he weren’t using it to beat my ass in every possible way.
I somersault away from him and then kip up onto my feet. Annoyingly, my bow is rolling away from me, and now Riall is standing firmly between me and it.
“Are you ready to submit yet?” he asks.
“To you?” I question, and his eyes light up, the thought clearly doing things for him. I scoff. “Let me make this as clear as crystal for you, Riall,” I tell him, dropping into a defensive stance. “I willnevergive in to you in any way. Not in a training room. Not in a fight. And sure as fuck not in a bed.”
Riall’s eyes practically glow with eager anticipation as I once again face off against him. My declaration doesn’t seem to be serving as the deterrent it was supposed to be. Instead, Riall looks as though I’ve thrown down a gauntlet and he has no choice but to pick it up. My words have drummed a call to advance, when the rhythm I was searching for was retreat.
His fangs slip out in a blink, and his smile goes from playful to challenging. My body responds, but not in the way I fear it might. All at once, I feel the threat tightening my muscles, and a white haze shutters over my mind. I stop reacting and defending, and instead, like a stone in water, I sink down into instinct and untamable drive.
All light and easygoing pretense is immediately sucked out of the room, and in its place, tension and urgency settles. I kick out at Riall, my heel shattering the staff in his hands and connecting with his chest. I kick him hard enough to knock him back, and he struggles to stay on his feet. The shock written on his face quickly morphs into rapacious excitement, and he tosses the two pieces of his bow to the ground and charges.
We become nothing more than a blurred cyclone of fists, elbows, knees, and kicks. We crash and flow against and around each other like tempestuous river rapids, blocking and connecting in a fluid but savage poetry of motion. The thwacks of skin and bone meeting skin and bone fill the air all around us. The cocky smile is permanently wiped from Riall’s lips and replaced by determined focus and wonder.
I inhale and exhale destruction. Riall meets me hit for hit, no longer holding back but embracing the force between us. The deleterious dance we take up is a ruthless thing of beauty. If I weren’t so intent on making Riall bleed, I might marvel at the way we ebb and surge, hit and spin like we’ve been doing it together all of our lives. Just as I reach the pinnacle of what I think I can give, Riall demands more. Impossibly, I meet the call, tapping into reserves I never knew I had and coming for him even harder.
My knuckles crash against Riall’s nose at the same time his knee sinks into my stomach. The force and momentum of our blows have us both skidding back, and before either of us can launch a new attack, a booming staccato of applause wrecks our violent enthrallment. My dangerous daze fractures, and Tarek claps as he moves closer. Curio is casually leaning back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, one leg bent while the other supports his weight. He looks relaxed, but the intensity in his stare betrays him.
Riall and I are both breathing heavily, but strangely, I feel like I could go on forever. Riall finally broke a sweat, and whatever just happened broke the smooth, calm veneer he’s been fighting with since we walked into the training room.
“I fucking knew she could tap into more,” Riall pants.
I stare at him, bewildered. How would he know anything? I didn’t even know I was capable of that. I’ve hit a focused and determined stride before in training, but what just happened was a whole other tier of unusual.
The way we moved.
The skill and speed.
I study my hands, astonished that they still look the same when everything inside feels different. An energized hum sings in my blood, but I don’t mention anything. I don’t even know what I would say if I wanted to.
Do you suddenly feel invincible, because I sure do. Let’s see who can punch through the wall first.
Yeah, I don’t see that going anywhere good. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if this is because I’m Sanguinna? I hesitate though, worried I might be wrong. What if this is something else?
“Impressive. With time, she might even be able to best Eacon,” Tarek agrees, stepping close and leaning toward me as though he’s trying to listen closely to something my body is whispering to him.
I go still, wanting to hear whatever it is too. He studies my eyes for a second longer than normal, and I immediately want to find a mirror to see whatever it is that’s making the curious glint in his gaze gleam with a hint of concern. Is it the blood and bruises bothering him, or something else?
Warmth drips from a split in my lip, and I wipe at it with the back of my hand. Tarek tosses me a towel, and I use it to clear my brow and the back of my neck of sweat. Riall reaches up and resets his nose. The cracking of bone and cartilage as it’s realigned fills the silence that starts to uncomfortably sift through the room. Tarek hands him a towel too, and he presses it to his nose to staunch the bleeding. A large lump is forming beneath one of his eyebrows, and his left cheek is red and slowly growing puffier. I turn away from the crimson patch slowly soaking into the towel. It’s getting harder to disregard the pang of hunger that’s growing deep in my belly, but I’m not giving into thisbloodingnonsense.
Not with him.
I’ve never needed it before, and I won’t start needing it now. I test my jaw, wincing at the pain that streaks up into my cheek and ear. My right eye isn’t opening as wide as the left, and I suspect the lid will probably bulge and blacken. My ribs and one of my hips throb with pain, and there’s absolutely no doubt that I’ll be sleeping under the light of the healing moon tonight to deal with all the damage.
