“I predict I’m going to end up bruised from head to toe,” she muttered as she rose to her knees.
In an instant, she was on her back again.
“What the fuck?” she growled.
“Pay attention to your surroundings.”
“I hate you.”
He grinned and kicked toward her chest.
She rolled with barely a second to spare, then shot her heel in his direction, connecting with his shin. His grunt of approval was as annoying as it was pleasing.
“You have good instincts. Use them,” he urged. “Did you feel the air shift?”
“No. But silver light flashed when you attacked.”
He frowned. “You saw my light?”
“Is it a bad thing?”
“No,” he said slowly. “But it is only an ability archangels possess. And only skilled ones.”
“So I’ve inherited the gift from you.”
“Yet somehow it’s been amplified if you, untrained as you are, can see it.” His gaze intensified as he studied her face. “It makes me curious. A small part of what you are is daemon, other angels?—”
She waved in dismissal. “I know. Luc told me.”
Nadia still couldn’t bring herself to call him Lucifer. Her mind rejected the fact he was the ruler of Hell. Despite what she knew of religious lore, he wasn’t the monster people believed him to be. Or if he were, she’d yet to see it.
“Is he truly evil?” she asked in a small voice, unable to help herself.
“No one is ever truly evil, Nadia. Nor are they truly good. Similar to humans, those of our species are complex creatures.”
“What does that make me if I’m a third of each of them?”
“Unique.” His expression hardened. “And hunted. Let’s continue.”
This time, he allowed her to rise and prepare her stance. Still, she didn’t stand a chance against him, and more often than not, found herself on her back with the room spinning around her.
“Do you think we could get mats for the floor? I’m going to end up with shattered bones,” she complained.
“I’ve made sure you haven’t landed hard enough to break bones, and mats won’t teach you to be strong. They support weakness. Stop stalling. You’ve hours left of this.”
“I hate you,” she said again, really meaning it this time.
“You are soft. Before I am done, you’ll be a warrior.”
“Not in one day, you jerk!” She’d die of exhaustion or throw herself on the nearest sword, saving Michael the aggravation of murdering her.
“I’m hungry,” she whined as her stomach growled.
“You will be rewarded after training.”
“How about I toss you off the balcony and make myself a grilled cheese sandwich?” she snapped.
He laughed as if the image of her throwing him anywhere were hilarious, and the ghost of recognition hit her. Not only did they possess the same coloring, but they also shared the same way of laughing, with a little hitch in the middle, creating a soundless beat.
