Lore gave Wraith an are-you-kidding-me look. “That’s insane.”
“Completely bonkers.” Mace coughed again, blinking his watering eyes.
“Why?” Wraith lounged in his chair, his new beer settled on his abs. “You and Blade would be on equal footing. Balance restored.”
Yep. Bonkers.
Or was it?
Hmm. Both his dads had presented totally different bits of advice. Lore’s was probably the best. But Wraith’s was…intriguing.
It was also unrealistic. Blade would go ballistic if Mace suggested it, and who knew how Scotty would react? She’d probably laugh in his face. Or punch him in said face. Said face that had already been beaten into a pulp.
He blew out a resigned breath. “I think Dad’s right,” he said. “We should stay in our separate spaces for a little while. I’ll talk to them after training tomorrow.”
Of course, that was assuming they were in any shape to talk.
Chapter 22
Day two of Horseman Hell Boot Camp was worse than the first, and in Mace’s opinion, it wasn’t even close.
Ares, wearing his hard leather armor and astride his blood-bay warhorse, Battle, had been waiting for them when they arrived. In retrospect, it should have been the first clue that their day was fucked. Ares didn’t release his stallion from his arm and go full Horseman unless he was planning to make someone regret all their life choices.
His hawklike gaze had unnerved them as they assembled in front of the warhorse, and by the time he asked them why they were there, they’d been as jumpy as a hellrat in a hellhound den.
Their bumbling, stuttering responses had only pissed Ares off.
“We had a bad day.”
“We, uh, screwed up.”
“Kynan is overreacting.”
“But we’ve learned our lesson.”
“Enough! If you can’t tell me the truth,” he’d growled, in his deep, uncompromising voice, “I’ll beat it out of you.”
And, sure as shit, he’d made good on his threat. Their day had been divided between sparring with the Memitim in five-on-three battles that forced them to work together and obstacle courses designed to force cooperation.
They’d started off well. When they arrived, everyone seemed ready to cooperate. The tension between them had been nearly non-existent,even if they weren’t exactly joking around and back to normal. Still, for a couple of glorious hours, they’d fallen back into the familiar groove, fighting as one highly coordinated and efficient machine.
Then Mace noticed the way Blade hovered near Scotty, taking ridiculous chances with his body to block strikes meant for her. And naturally, instead of taking the noble high road, Mace had gone full, pothole-laden low road, stepping in to take more blows meant for Scotty than Blade. Eventually, she just stood there, glaring at them while they played punching bag.
Shit went downhill from there.
And when the gruelingtraining sessionended, they’d collapsed to the arena floor, not caring that the sand and dirt beneath them had been churned into sticky mud by sweat and blood.
“You guys should be ashamed.” Ares towered over them, looking no worse for wear after four solid hours of going against the three of them by himself. By. Him. Self. “Get your shit together. I mean it. Because every time I even sense a crack in your teamwork, I’m going to add an hour to your sessions, and with the way you’ve been going, we could be here for days straight. Got it?”
“Fuck.” Mace fell back onto the ground and stared blankly at the multicolored twilight sky.
“See?” Ares said. “He gets it.” Then he smiled down at Scotty. “Love you, sweetheart.”
“Love you too, Daddy,” she moaned.
Laughter hung in the air, and heavy footsteps reverberated on the ground as Ares strode away. Sadistic prick. Mace loved the guy, respected the hell out of him, but he didn’t always like him. Right now, for example.
Mace felt the familiar warmth of Blade’s palm come down on his chest, and a heartbeat later, healing energy surged through him. Tavin had healed them all twice today, but Ares hadn’t summoned the guy after their last round. Mace was too exhausted to wonder why.
