My mouth opens to reply but I pause when I hear Sebastian shout angrily, ‘Nocthare, in the ring.Now. I don’t have all day!’
My head whips toward him. There’s a fire raging in his eyes and I’d bet my life it’s due to the man standing before me. It’s evident Sebastian holds a lot of disdain for his grandfather.
‘He’s your trainer?’ Bartollo asks, with a curious tone.
‘Um – yeah. If you’ll excuse me … I should go.’
‘Of course.’ He takes a step back, gesturing for me to pass him. ‘Though I do hope to hear good news about your element soon. It seems Malachite might be your calling after all.’
With that parting statement, I leave and hurriedly make my way to Sebastian and Isla. The second I reach him I’m swamped by his foul mood and realise we’re back to trainer and trainee beneath this roof. I smile inwardly.
Before I have time to ask about what his grandfather was doing here, he throws me two rolled up balls of fabric and instructs me to wrap my hands then get into an offensive position inside the ring. I do as I’m told.
‘You get two minutes to land as many successful punches as possible. Peters, your job is to dodge, counterattack and defend yourself. Donotlet her hit those targets.’
‘Targets? What targets?’ I ask, looking around the room, expecting to see some hanging somewhere.
‘These ones.’ Isla points to her body, where there are several blue circles that look like they’ve been painted on her skin and clothes. I didn’t even notice them. I take note of their locations and commit them to memory. Left shoulder, right bicep, ribs, both sides, middle of stomach, left thigh.
‘When the two minutes are up, you’ll swap positions and we will keep going until you’re either defending so well your opponent cannot land any successful strikes, or you’re completely useless and I’m too embarrassed to watch any longer. Got it?’
We agree and get into our respective positions.
My first attack is quick, barely a breath before we’ve settled into the ring. But I know my offence isn’t as strong, so I need to be fast and use the element of surprise. It works, Isla’s eyes widen in surprise and she leaps forward. My fist snaps out and jabs her right in the left shoulder.
‘That’s one,’ Sebastian calls out.
I don’t get too happy about it, because now she’s alert and ready. Her eyes scan me from head to toe as I start to move around her. I look for an opening, but she’s locked up tight. The easiest target would be the one on her thigh, though I think she’s aware, which is why she keeps looking at my feet, waiting to see if I’ll take the opportunity and go in for a kick.
I circle around one more time before I lift my knee and feign a kick. Isla twists her target out of the way and leaps back, expecting my leg to arc wide and kick through thin air. But her leg isn’t my actual target, it’s her right bicep, which she just left open as she turned away from me.
My fist connects with the target, smudging blue paint across her skin and staining the fabric my knuckles are wrapped in with blue. This one obviously has not dried quick enough.
Isla curses, rolling her eyes when Sebastian calls out, ‘That’s two. Forty-five seconds left.’
Shit. I took too long stalling and looking for an opportunity to strike. I spend the next forty-five seconds throwing quick jabs, not too hard, because I don’t want to tire myself out and I don’t know how long we will be doing this for.
Isla defends well, blocking my fists with her arms, leaping back when she needs to or twisting away, and I barely skim her twice. In Sebastian’s eyes, a barely-there skim of a target isnota successful hit.
When the two minutes are up, I have a healthy sweat going on and my heart is pumping.
Sebastian calls me over to a bench where there’s a little pot of blue paint. I follow him to it, watching the way his muscles cause his shirt to stretch over his large frame.
‘Come here.’ He crooks two fingers at me then picks up the pot of paint. I close the distance between us and watch silently as he dips his forefinger into it. ‘You need to stop looking for an opening before attacking. Instead, make one.’
‘I thought that’s what I did when I pretended to go for the target on her leg.’
He nods, causing a dark strand of hair to fall over his forehead. The urge to reach up and push it back rears up inside me, but then I remember where we are. ‘That was good, though now she’ll be expecting you to do it again. It won’t be so easy next time.’
I gasp softly when his finger reaches my left shoulder and draws a circle. The paint is cold and wet, but I feel my blood rush with heat.
His jaw clenches. He dips his finger back into the paint and draws another circle on my right bicep. My breath stills when the next circle is on the centre of my stomach. Memories of how his wet soapy fingers felt as he kneaded my flesh have my cheeks heating.
‘You’re blushing.’ His voice is low as his finger lazily draws around and around, tracing the circle he’s made on my stomach.
‘No,’ I breathe. Forcing myself not to look away from his gaze. Stars, his eyes are so green, like the leaves of the trees in the forest, with a darker ring of green on the outside. ‘That’s from sparring,’ I lie.
‘Hmm,’ he nods, lips quirking. ‘That must be it then,’ he says before he dips his finger into the paint again and makes quick work of drawing on either side of my ribs, effectively ruining my shirt.
