I dragged my feet, apprehension making every step unsure and heavy. Gunnar held up the ropes. I slid beneath them and onto the mat.
Freyja waited in the middle, shoulders hunched, smirk gone, gloves grazing her chin in her fighting guard stance. And with the way her silver eyes pinned me… we might as well have been fighting to the death.
Why did she have it out for me? Sure, I’d mishandled my intro and made them drive in circles in the middle of nowhere, but out of anyone, she should understand why.
And it’s not like she didn’t do the same damn thing.
“Hey,” Gunnar called. “Punches only. No Galdur.”
A bell chimed.
Dukes up, she started a slow prowl around me. I mimicked the move, my thoughts stuck on why she hated me so much. She lunged forward, taunting. I scrambled back, almost tripping over my bare feet. Hushed laughter erupted behind me.
I blew it off, gritting my teeth.
Elbows pinned to her rib cage, fists beginning to circle, she scooted closer and closer, pushing me to the edge of the mat.
The world around me faded into a blur of lava rock and snow, as my angel senses took control and homed in on the threat—her.
She launched a fist at my face, fast as a pit viper’s strike.
Somehow, I managed to duck and spin out of the way, keeping myself righted as the very edge of the pleather shielding her hand breezed my shirt.
I took the moment to catch my breath and dodged another punch, my arms aching, lungs out of breath. Sweat tickled my temple. I went to wipe it.
Her fist lunged the second my gloves dropped.
“Oof!” Pain swelled under my chin, radiating up to my jawbone, my teeth. The horizon shifted—oh wait, that was me, going down, down, down.
I slammed onto my back and the wind left my lungs completely.
A silhouette blocked my view of the sky, followed by a heavy weight dropping onto my core. Tears distorted my vision, but I saw through them enough to strike Freyja back, my biceps screaming. She swatted my hand away as if it were a flimsy, irritating paper airplane.
I pulled my elbows in to deflect her, but her fists rained down, her knees digging into my stomach.
“C’mon, River, this can’t be all you have!” She laughed. “Give me a real fight!”
Blows landed on the side of my rib cage, on the sore muscles of my forearms, on the other side of my throbbing face. I tucked myself in tighter and tighter, closing my eyes, clenching my jaw. Somehow, I knew this was only a portion of her strength—this was her going easy on me—and it still hurt like hell.
“That’s enough!” I screamed, but she couldn’t hear me—too focused on the brawl, on the moment, the adrenaline taking over, turning her eyes into silver slits. Source pulsed in my veins, strength building in my bones. “GET OFF ME!”
I thrust my elbows up in defense—forgetting how strong I was now. Freyja was flung to the other side of the mat, slamming into one of the padded corners. My words echoed across the hollow, ringing through the white-capped mountains.
Hundreds of feet overhead, the snow shimmied. A dramatic rumble stirred the air.
“Shit,” I whispered.
But it was too late.
The thick layer of powder rippled, dimpled, caved inwards, burrowing into the crag. In a few breaths, it tore off in a sheet of rock and ice and swiftly slid down the side, propelled towards the plateau. Towards us.
A cry rent the air. “Avalanche!”
Someone whistled.
An alarm blared.
Dropping their weapons, the elves training along the outskirts raced away from the base of the mountain’s peaks at speeds not humanly possible.
