Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Lena
“While violence is not encouraged, the administration, faculty, and staff of the institute understand and respect the social norms, cultural practices, and insignis customs of each kingdom within the Realm of Sidera. As such, protection from bodily, mental, and metaphysical harm and/or death cannot be guaranteed.”
Last night, having finally committed to reading the student handbook in its entirety, I had to reread the statement on violence three times.
I revisited it once again this morning, expecting to have misread it.
“Protection from bodily, mental, and metaphysical harm and/or death cannot be guaranteed”? What an apropos way to start my day.
I rush out of my room and lock up with the antique key I found in my desk. My heart skips a beat at the words scrawled in red paint on my door.
“Go Home Human Scum!”
My vision tunnels out, blurring briefly, as I suck in a breath.
That same lightheaded combustible feeling from last night returns.
Fuck. I barely have enough time to make it to the gym for my three-hour combat course.
I can’t stand here debating what to do, so dealing with a graffiti slur is a problem for future Lena.
I focus on my neon sneakers as I descend the spiral staircase—counting each step and heavy breath, composing a self-soothing tune, like I’ve turned the stairwell into a rainstick made of stone, flesh, and covert panic.
By the time I reach the first floor, my heart rate has slowed, my head has returned to normal, and I’m no longer on the brink of an anxiety attack.
But when I step into the gym—followed by my Boden-shaped shadow—in my dayglow athletic wear, looking like I just walked out of an audition as a background dancer for an ’80s glam rock band, my panic rears up in full force.
I do not want to take a combat class. Glancing around the expanse of the brightly lit gym, seeing four hundred students warming up on mats laid over a polished wood floor, I realize how fully unprepared I am.
“Hello, new and returning students, I’m Coach Warrwick Leon.
You can call me Coach Leon or just Coach.
None of that professor crap in my class,” a large man with cropped tawny hair and muscles bulging from every expanse of skin yells to the crowd.
“I’m your instructor for both combat training and games.
You’re expected to show up to class prepared, warmed up, and ready to go.
Typically, after your three-hour training session, we’ll break for lunch and return to put your learnings to the test in our combat games course.
This course will prepare you to compete as teams in the end of the semester final, a combat games tournament. Understood?”
“Yes, Coach!” the students, minus me, yell in unison.
“Today I, along with your wing captains, will assess your combat strengths and weaknesses. You’ll be ranked from one to four hundred based on your skill.
I mean four hundred and one.” Coach smiles my way, the skin over his lion-like cheekbones tightening.
“Rankings will determine your teams for combat games and pairings for assessments. I’ll pair you randomly first. Watch your position and rank through the bracket on the class website.
This is also where you’ll see your partner and mat number.
Each match today is three minutes long, or shorter if someone taps out.
As always, no talents, wings, or shifting—outside of strength and speed—can be used in hand-to-hand training. ”
Glancing at the class website, I notice a tournament bracket takes up the majority of the front page.
I’ve been matched with Jade Skala on mat twenty-six.
I recognize her from her picture. She’s already in the center of the mat, stretching.
She’s about my size, except slighter, a little less curvy, maybe a bit more muscular.
“Uh, hi.” I catch her eyes. “I haven’t ever done something like this. I don’t really know the rules.”
“Of course not,” Jade scoffs. “A Solis playing by the rules is practically unheard of.”
Cool, great. This will be a barrel of fun. I just blink at her, and she shakes her head.
“You have three minutes to win each match by either pinning, knocking out, or causing your partner to tap out. To tap out, you hit the floor three times. Holding the other person to the ground for ten seconds counts as a pin. And, well, a knockout is self-explanatory.”
“Countdown is beginning!” Coach yells across the room as a large clock on the wall counts down from 5…4…3…2…1. A loud horn blares, indicating the start of the match.
I turn to face Jade, who’s stalking toward me, fists raised.
A sickening crunch.
A fraction of a second later, pain. And then black. Nothing.
I wake up and stare at the vaulted ceiling. Fuck, my head hurts.
“You alright there, Solis?” a gruff voice says from above me. I blink up into the unconcerned face of Coach Leon. “I’d say that was a knockout. Nice work, Jade, might be a record.”
Coach gives me a hand, pulling me up to my feet. A swarm of dizzying lights dances around my vision. I’ve never been hit in the face before. I actually don’t think I’ve ever been punched at all. Not fun. Zero out of ten—do not recommend.
Jade already has her back to me.
“Walk it off. Check your next match,” Coach instructs before moving on to observe other groups. There’s still a minute and thirty seconds left in the three-minute match. Shit.
For my next match, I’m paired with a big guy swimming in muscles who has to be at least 6’3”. This class may literally kill me. He looks bored, I probably look terrified. The clock counts down again. 5…4…3…2…1.
He steps toward me while I bring my fists up to my face like I’ve seen people do in the movies.
I try to throw a punch at him, even though I’ve never really thrown one before.
I mean, I hit Luke a couple of times when he was trying to abduct me, but that was at close range and he was distracted, and honestly, it was not very effective.
My opponent grabs my arm, flipping me over his very high-off-the-ground shoulder.
I squeal in shock as the mat rises to meet me, and I’m slammed down on my back.
I’m pretty sure the floor is shaking. Is this an earthquake?
He climbs on top of me, pinning me to the ground.
Fuck, he’s heavy. He counts out loud to ten and then quickly steps off me.
Giving me a hand, he pulls me to my feet and then nods once before stalking away.
I limp slowly to my next match. How many more of these to go?
I had three more matches, and each went about the same: I’m pinned in less than thirty seconds.
Now, my next match is assigned, and fuck it all, I’m done.
I contemplate just leaving and walking back to my room, but my body can’t seem to find the energy to make it to the door.
I sit my sore ass down on the gym floor and lean against the wall.
“You’re my next match.” Some girl with bouncy chestnut hair approaches me, but just the thought of moving makes me want to cry.
“Yeah, this isn’t for me. I forfeit.” I struggle to get the words out in between sucking in deep breaths of sweat-coated air. She walks away, tapping on her phone. I get a notification showing me losing that match and moving down the bracket.
“Solis!” Coach stalks toward me. “Get to your next match.”
“Nah, the moment I regain control over my limbs, I’m transferring out of this class,” I huff as I attempt to catch my breath. God, my ribs hurt. Can bones hurt?
“There’s no transferring out,” Coach Leon repudiates.
Fuck, I read combat was mandatory in the stupid ass-biting handbook last night, but I was optimistic that I misunderstood.
Exhausted and in pain and thinking about hitchhiking back to Portland, I mumble, “Well, I’m done for the day.
My body has had all it can take.” I’m a grown-ass woman!
I’m not taking orders from some feline-looking glorified gym teacher with a massive tracksuit wedgie.
He just walks off, shaking his head and tip-tapping all over his tablet, likely dropping me all the way down to rank 401.
Aki sprints over to me, concern rippling through his features. “I suggest you consider a combat tutor,” he whispers, sitting down next to me. “Everyone here’s been training since they were in diapers. Even the peaceful water nymphs receive extensive combat training.”
I give a tight-lipped smile in appeasement, unsure if I have any intention of ever trying my hand, feet, or ass at combat again. “You’d think if everyone’s powers were as strong as they allude, combat wouldn’t really be necessary.”
“You can’t expect to be able to wield your talents successfully without first having strong control of your body. You need to understand the basics before introducing your abilities.” He sips from his water bottle.
My eyes zero in on his throat as he swallows. I don’t know why I’m only just now noticing, but Aki’s kinda hot. His cutoff T-shirt and exercise shorts show his muscular arms and warm olive skin glistening with sweat.
He catches my eye with a raised brow. “I know it’s kind of rude to ask, but what are your talents?”
I snort. “I’m starting to think it’s annoying magicae.” I let out a deep sigh, and at his placating smile, I tack on, “Honestly, fuck if I know. I have no powers—I mean talents or abilities—as far as I’m aware.”
With his lips pinched together, he offers me his water bottle.
“I’ll talk to Naomi. See if we can tutor you after classes.
She’s a fucking force.” He dips his chin at Naomi, who’s currently kicking the crap out of a man twice her size.
Aki’s right, she is a force. After flipping the man over her back, she lands a punch to his stomach just as the end buzzer goes off.
“Hang in there.” Aki pats my knee before running back into the fray.
I forfeit another round in lieu of watching the others pummel each other.
From my vantage point on the floor, I have a good view of Callum circling a man who’s about their height but with at least thirty pounds of muscle on them.
I’m not sure how I feel about Callum—they haven’t been an ass to me like Komarov or Boden, but they also stood and watched while I got thrown into a lake.
However, last night they were almost kind.
Regardless, I don’t want to see someone wipe the floor with them.
The timer counts down and the man lunges, but Callum slips out of his hold.
The man swings, and Callum ducks, throwing a leg out and landing a hard kick to his shin.
They dance around the mat with elegance.
Every attack the man launches, Callum evades with flourish.
Every hit Callum throws lands. Callum moves, and weaves, and strikes with all the grace of a cobra.
Like it’s easy. Like they were born beautifully brutal.
They land another delicately deadly hit, and the bigger man falls to the ground, out cold.
Callum’s piercing verdant eyes meet mine as they dust off their hands, and a shiver rakes through me.
Their attention is enticing, carrying with it a futile warning, like the bright colors of a poisonous animal screaming their pernicious radiance in alluring greens, golds, and reds—temptingly touchable and fatal.