CHAPTER 18
Aimee
Myleather-cladasslandswith a resounding thud on the charcoal training mat, for the umpteenth time in the last hour. I’m pretty sure by now my butt cheeks are as bruised as my ego.
Godsdamned Blaise! He’s a gracious panther on the mat, all poised and lethal, disarming me with the precise movements of a killer and a dancer combined, repeatedly.
With skills like that, any girl to grace his sheets is one lucky bitch, if only ever for one night. Scandalous as he is, I doubt he ever shares the same bed twice. I’m pretty sure there’s a long line of broken-hearted, inconsolable females pining for his wandering attentions.
He offers me a hand to hoist me up onto my feet, a mocking smirk hanging from his lips. I take it without an ounce of remorse, ready to claim defeat.
My body is overheated, the skintight fighting leathers Nella provided me with this morning, clinging damply to my every curve.
“There, there, kitty, smooth that frown before it remains forever etched on your pretty face,” he says, gesturing to the long wooden benches that line the sides of the training hall. “I’ll grant you a five-minute break, although no such respite can be found on the battlefield.”
They’ve decided that if I train, I might as well train for the real thing, even if I probably won’t come anywhere close to a battlefield anytime soon, or ever.
I grumble a curse under my breath before unceremoniously plopping down on the bench, gurgling water from a metallic flasket.
“I’m so bloody unprepared for this!” I huff in annoyance, dragging a sweaty palm over my forehead. Unruly locks of hair have fallen out of my high ponytail, sticking flat to the sides of my face.
“Of course you are, Aimee!” He breathes a half laugh as he takes a casual seat next to me. “You’re used to Fae fighting techniques. Faes are clumsy like a newborn baby deer compared to us. No offense!” He sticks out his tongue at me playfully. “But you have a base of fighting knowledge from which we can work upwards. A bit rusty, as if you’ve been reading about how to fight, instead of actually fighting.”
“Never been in an actual fight,” I confess, with a blooming blush spreading on my cheeks. “I’ve taken a few lessons, and I indeed read all the books on self-defense I could get my hands on.”
“And why is that?” Blaise’s brows quirk up in question.
“You can never be too safe as a female, Blaise. We’re not all born ruthless killing machines like you, you know? And in my line of work, it’s better to have at least some knowledge of how todefend yourself if rowdy patrons ever get handsy.” The smooth lie leaves my lips with ease.
“Did they ever…?” he trails off, a grimace marring his boyish features.
“Gods, no, never. That’s why I’ve never had to put these skills to the test,” I chuckle, and it’s not a hundred percent untrue. None of my patrons ever tried to put their hands on me, not without my consent, that is.
“But for our current purposes, it seems I am doomed.”
“You’re notentirelydoomed,” Blaise replies, squeezing my shoulder in reassurance.
“Sure, I won’t die first in an onpyr attack,” I sulk, “Just in the first five minutes.”
“No, princess, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be able to hold your own long enough for one of us to come swooping in to save you,” he says, grinning unabashedly.
“Would they kill me, though? The onpyrs?” I wonder out loud.
My questioning seems to sober him up. “Not really, no. They would turn you into a vampire, then drag you back to Morweena to control your mind, so you’d become one of her onpyr puppets,” he responds truthfully.
“Yeah, no thank you. Death sounds like the better option,” I grumble as I start shedding the bodice of my fighting gear. I just need to breathe a bit, unencumbered by the suffocating leather.
Blaise’s eyes widen in shock. “What the hell are you doing, Aimee? Putthose thingsaway!” he whisper-shouts, glancing around us suspiciously, as if searching for hidden spectators.
There’s nobody else in the large training chamber, a rectangular room covered in soft mats, its walls adorned with every weapon you could imagine.
Ancient, gemstone carved swords that hum with unrestrained power hang next to elegant crossbows, titanium-forged shields,worn-out battle axes, and even angry-looking spiked mauls. This room must be a warrior’s wet dream.
“They’re just breasts, Blaise!” I chuckle loudly, looking down at my black bralette, keeping the girls in check. “It’s not like you haven’t seen them before.”
“What? When?” he whispers agitatedly as if the walls have ears. “That’s blasphemy. I would never!” he continues, raising his voice to make sure nobody gets the wrong idea. I’m baffled by his strange behavior. Since when did Blaise become so skittish? He hasn’t thrown any innuendos my way at all lately. Is it because of Killian?
“Uhm, the night you kidnapped me, asshole. I was wearing skimpier clothing than this!” I guffaw, my tone laced with incredulity.
