24. CHAPTER 24
The week passed swiftly. Our squad held sparring sessions on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we focused on obstacle training, while the remaining days were dedicated to our regular courses.
We stayed active daily, which was better than some other platoons that combined sparring and obstacle training on the same day.
When Friday came, after our all-branch current events class, our squad went to Professor Rivet’s gym.
I hadn’t looked forward to sparring since it often caused conflicts between branches.
Many disagreements occurred. A cadet could only be called out twice in one day, and if they got seriously injured in the first match, the second was postponed.
We started each session with callouts before random pairs.
To make a callout, one had to notify the professor’s assistant a day in advance.
I was called out twice on Wednesday. I wanted to yell— I fucking hate my dad, too .
Instead, I simply stepped onto the mat and did it.
I lost the first match but won the second.
Our platoon was the only Riders. The rest consisted of Drusearons, Shapeshifters, Sorcerers, and Infantry.
Each branch stood in its own group, separate from the others.
Zane was among the Drusearons. Professor Rivet started calling out names as he walked around to each mat to start the matches.
He had ten assistants helping him call the matches.
“Darla Cuzner calls Lilian Beverli,” Rivet said.
First squad moved to the mat to support our Platoon Leader.
The second squad went to another mat to support one of their cadets.
I watched as Lili stepped onto the mat with this Infantry cadet, who also wore black.
Lili glared at her like she might set her on fire.
I wondered what the hell happened between those two.
The two of them were close in height, but Lili had an inch over her.
Darla had blond hair and blue eyes, starkly contrasting with Lili’s.
They both bounced around. Lili reached down with both hands, unsheathing two daggers, one for each hand.
Darla’s blue eyes flared in response, and she grasped one of her daggers, but before she could even get a chance to get the second one out, Lili was on her and started swiping left and right with both daggers.
My eyes danced, watching her dominate. I didn’t think Darla really knew what she was getting herself into.
Darla dropped low and charged, but Lili dodged her with such quickness, leaving Darla stumbling.
Lili went on the attack, flicking her right dagger into Darla’s calf and her left into her back. Darla dropped to the mat, and Lili hopped onto her back, pulling another dagger out and pressing it into her throat. Darla tapped the mat three times.
A wave of happiness washed over me. That was my best friend, and she had improved a lot over the past two years.
She and I used to spar constantly while growing up—of course, we didn’t use daggers or stab each other.
All around us, cadets were sparring on different mats.
You could hear punches, grunts, and growls everywhere.
“Asmoth Elslurs calls Auriella Blackcreek,” Professor Gile announced.
Of course, this fucking prick again. I felt Zane’s rage surge through the bond.
He heard it from where he was. Our squad moved together toward the mat that Gile pointed at.
I stepped onto the mat, pulling daggers into both hands.
I wasn’t holding back like I had in the past. I was done with this guy’s bullshit.
Zane moved next to the mat, standing by Lili.
I couldn’t focus on him or let his feelings distract me.
I stacked those blocks in my mind, blocking him out.
Asmoth stared at me with the same anger as before.
He pulled out a dagger and charged forward.
I didn’t think he wanted to spar. I was pretty sure he planned to kill me.
He knocked me onto my back quickly. I wasn’t surprised since he towered over me.
I felt pain shooting up my spine, and my head hit the mat with a force that made it feel like my brain rattled inside my skull.
My eyes fluttered in response to the pain.
I couldn't die today. It wasn't in my cards.
Fuck him. Fuck this. He reached back to start landing punches. I covered my head.
“Get up, Auriella!” Zane’s shout cut through me. Like I was lying there for fun.
I bucked my hips under him, straining for leverage, but his weight pinned me.
He snatched my right hand, wrenched the dagger free, and shoved it aside.
I swung my left at his ribs. He knocked it down like swatting a fly.
My chest heaved, fury boiling hot. I refused to stop moving, refused to let him trap both arms.
He leaned in close, shadow filling my vision, eyes burning with the thrill of having me under him.
My heart raced, pounding so loud it filled my skull.
Rage lit in me—I hated that look, hated that I was losing ground.
I snapped my forehead into his nose, bone cracking against bone.
Blood gushed down, spilling across my face. For a second, I thought I had him.
But he roared, half in pain, half in triumph, and bore down harder.
His grip clamped iron on my arm, his weight crushing the fight out of me.
My calf burned where I twisted wrong, every breath ragged and shallow.
The dagger point pressed at my throat—not deep, but deep enough to remind me how close I was to the end.
I thrashed once, twice, pure fury pushing me to keep fighting, but his strength swallowed mine. My muscles gave out. My vision blurred. My pride screamed louder than my lungs.
“Tap, bitch,” he growled, low and certain.
“Fuck you,” I hissed back. My nails dug into the mat, body shaking.
But in the end, my palm slapped down. Tap.
The sound cracked through the silence. He released me and rose, blood dripping from his nose. My chest heaved, rage clawing through me. I sat there shaking, humiliated, furious with him, furious with myself. The fight wasn’t lost—it was stolen.
And I swore I’d take it back.
Zane stood over me, hand outstretched. I gritted my teeth and took it, hauling myself to my feet. My body ached, my pride worse, but I refused to let him see me broken .
I wasn’t sorry for the fight. He’d pressed me hard, and I hated that I’d tapped.
What burned wasn’t the loss itself—it was how close I’d come, how easily he’d forced me down.
Rage coiled tight in my chest, hot enough to choke.
Let them all see it. Let them all know I wouldn’t be underestimated again.
I met Zane’s eyes. Worry lined his face as he searched mine. I dropped my shields, forcing the bond open, and let him feel the storm I held back—shame, fury, and the promise that next time, I wouldn’t lose.
“I am fine.”
“You’re covered in blood.”
“None of it is mine.”
I lifted my shirt and wiped the blood off my face, then bent over to gather my daggers. I smeared the blades clean against the fabric before sliding them back into their sheaths. My legs carried me toward my squad.
Lili stared at me, brows furrowed, concern plain in her eyes.
Savage—that was what she called me. Maybe she wasn’t wrong.
Maybe something inside me had always been off.
I’d never grieved the way others did. Death didn’t rattle me, not most of the time.
Some losses cut sharp, like my mother’s, a wound that never closed.
But strangers? Enemies? I’d weep over a wounded animal long before a Fae. Animals had never shown me cruelty.
Still, a question gnawed at me. Why hadn’t he finished me? He’d tried before, and no one would’ve stopped him. He could have driven the blade down, ending me with impunity. Instead, he let me walk away. That unsettled me more than the fight itself.
We had plenty of matches left. I forced myself to shake it off. No point in dwelling.