“Whew. I wasn’t happy he made me do that, but you know how Dad can be.” Zeke did this awkward thing, like he was trying to get his hands to explain what he was thinking. “I’m sorry for being a jerk. Arguments take two to have them. I appreciate what you just said. I can totally work with what you set out. We could always call Dad if we reach an impasse.”
The last thing I wanted was to call Ares for at least a decade. “Hopefully it won’t come to that.”
“Fair enough,” he said with a small smile. “What do you want to do first?”
I took him through a series of stretches to make sure he was limber enough. He might not be a wall of muscle like his father or brothers, but he didn’t have an ounce of fat. The muscles rippled through his skintight clothes, and it took an effort to stay on task.
Once we were warmed up, I started with basic footwork and striking drills. Zeke was coordinated, so I took him through more difficult moves, offering corrections and praise as warranted. His technique was decent, if rusty.
“Okay, let’s see what you’ve got,” I told him as I pulled on focus mitts. Shifting into my defensive stance, I watched him get ready. “Remember to keep your hands up and get your whole body into each strike.”
Zeke nodded and started throwing punches, his brow furrowed in concentration. I pushed him, calling out adjustments and encouragement. To his credit, he took the feedback well, making each correction fluidly.
After a few minutes, I started deflecting and redirecting his strikes rather than just absorbing them on the mitts. Zeke’s frown deepened as his punches began to glance off me.
“Don’t get frustrated,” I said calmly. “Use your speed and agility.”
He tried, but I was able to consistently keep him off-balance and unable to land any solid blows. Finally, I swept his legs out from under him, dropping him to the mat.
Zeke looked up at me with a mixture of frustration and grudging respect. I offered him a hand up. “Not bad for a warm-up. Ready to kick it up a notch?”
“What the fuck?” The corners of his mouth twitched upward. “That wasn’t the real thing?”
“Maybe two outta ten.”
I didn’t let him dwell on my words and launched us back into the training. We engaged in a flurry of strikes, grapples, and somersaults as we sparred. Zeke was tenacious, but my centuries of experience showed. I countered or evaded almost everything he tried.
Zeke hit the mat again with a gruff exhale. This time, I didn’t offer my hand, letting him catch his breath for a moment.
“You’re pulling your punches,” I told him, crossing my arms. “I appreciate you not wanting to hurt me, but let me worry about that. Not only do I have a few centuries on you, I’ve devoted my life to being a fighter. And, most importantly, you’re not going to improve if you don’t commit fully.”
He huffed out a laugh and leveraged himself up to his feet. “Why do I feel like this is a set-up?”
Because, in a way, it was, and he was very perceptive.
He came at me with more power behind each blow, but it was still not a full effort. The blows hitting my mitts were stronger than any so far, but he only committed part of his powers. He couldn’t enter a fight halfway.
After I put him on the ground again, I shook my head. “Better, but you’re still holding back. Useallyour abilities or you’ll never get anywhere.”
Zeke scowled at me, but I knew what I was talking about. One of the hardest things for someone to do, especially in training,was give it everything they had. Zeke was a good person. He didn’t want to hurt people needlessly, but in a real fight, his opponent probably wouldn’t feel the same.
I pulled out my full powers to show him I’d been holding back, too. His eyes flickered with understanding, and ethereal energy surrounded him as he tapped into his angelic powers.
Instantly, his speed and strength increased, forcing me to engage at a higher level. We traded blows and grapples at an ever-increasing pace, the air practically crackling with exertion. I tried a few times to make him mad, but he kept his focus and didn’t let emotions cloud his actions.
Finally, using a perfectly timed combination, I swept his feet out from under him and pinned him to the mat, my forearm across his throat.
We were both sweating and breathing hard. Looming inches from his face, I saw the depth of his brown eyes. He really did look like Ruth.
Seeing the same caring expression in his face as the woman who was closer to me than my own mother threw me. Realizing I’d been staring, I cleared my throat and stood, offering my hand to help him up. “You did well,” I told him honestly. “I don’t expect you to be able to beat me or your brothers overnight, but you’re already better than most beings you’re likely to meet. With some more training and focus, you’ll be a real challenge to anyone.”
Zeke accepted my hand and levered himself up, giving me an assessing look. “High praise, but don’t kiss my ass to make up for being a douche canoe earlier. I’m not a fragile leaf. If I don’t earn it, don’t give it to me.”
I snorted and bent to grab our towels and water bottles. “Don’t worry, I promise not to give you more than you deserve. Not even to make up for my canoery.”
Zeke laughed as he took the towel and water. He drained half the bottle in one go. Up close, I could smell the musky scent of his exertion and had to resist the urge to lean in and kiss him.
I had one of those “I need to punch myself in the face” moments. Forget the bad start we got off to, this was Zeke. Ares’s son. The man I looked up to as a father. It didn’t matter Zeke and I barely saw each other when he was a kid. We were almost family and I needed to get a grip on myself.
