I perked up. “Really?”
“The pit?” Cas drawled indifferently.
Gideon bobbed his head. “You have issues to resolve. So you’re going to spar until they’re out of the way.”
Christmas had come early.
15
SILVER
The pit had been busy every day during my training, but the new trainees wouldn’t start until January, so there were only a couple of seasoned partners on the mats in the state-of-the-art gym where I’d sweated for the last year.
Kleos’s favorite place in the Guard and Hall of Truce was the archive; mine was the pit. She could lose herself reading dozens of dusty volumes in old languages no one else could understand. My brain shut off when I was moving, jumping, running, and most of all, fighting.
The square mats were lined with runes that made it impossible for anyone within to use magic, which was why I’d never been beaten in the pit. A few people managed to make the fights challenging nonetheless—Gideon himself, as a half dragon, was strong and fast enough to sometimes get the best of me. Alden Stillwater, a fae protector, rarely defeated me, but I also couldn’t win against him. Fighting people who gave me a run for my money was fun.
Something told me, from the very moment I first met him, that fighting Cas would beveryfun. And every time he opened his mouth, he made me want to find out just how much.
I stretched next to the mat, removing my jacket.
“You’re looking forward to this,” Cas noted, somewhat amused.
I didn’t deny it.
“I’m not going to take it easy on you, you know,” he added.
I chuckled. “Nor will I.”
And for the actual first time, I meant it.
Weeks ago, believing Lucian to be behind Kleos’s curse, I was pissed enough to attack him, but even then, I hadn’t used all my strength. Not at first. Not until figuring out that I couldn’t break his bones by tugging too harshly. By the time I realized I genuinely could let go and give it my all, he’d already incapacitated me. Cassius Regis let me beat him at arm wrestling, but he wasn’t the brawler type. Too refined to want to sweat.
I didn’t have to restrain myself at all with Cas from the get-go, and something told me he enjoyed a good fight too. The only people I could fight with like that were my foster parents, and they were rarely around.
Cas stretched his neck to one side then the next, before stepping onto the mat.
If I wanted to play it smart, I’d wait, watch his first move, take his measure. But Cas spent the last few days getting on my nerves. I was tired, frustrated, and annoyed. I pounced.
Though I didn’t check my speed at all, and would have moved too fast for any of my usual sparring partners to even see me, let alone block my attack, Cas just sidestepped, hands in his pockets, with casual indifference that made me scream as I drew my fist back to punch his smug face.
The dick snorted, grabbing my wrist before twisting it behind my back. “Ten points for enthusiasm, zero for skill,” he noted.
Enraged, I brought my foot up to his groin.
He blocked it and let go of me. “Aren’t you supposed to be good at this?”
I flushed in humiliation. I was supposed to be a great fighter, dammit. No one ever beat me. And yet, the way this man moved made me feel as clumsy as bloody Irwin Clover.
I sped up. I tried to be less direct, feigning a low kick to his knees before swerving and punching instead.
He blocked. He evaded. He grinned, snorted, and rolled his eyes.
Damn him, I was starting to get winded. I’d never worked at this speed for so long. Usually, my adversary was on their ass by now.
“Should I close my eyes and bind a hand behind my back to even things up?”
“Fuck you!” I yelled, punching with renewed vigor.
