Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Robin: Drowning
The branch whips past my ear as I dodge Cas’s strike. Five hits. First one to land five wins the round.
I duck low and sweep at his legs, but he jumps clear. His reflexes have come a long way.
Five days. Five days since Marco humiliated me in front of everyone, and we’ve barely looked at each other since. Barely spoken. It’s like that moment in the showers never happened—like I imagined the whole damn thing. Imagined the taste of him in my mouth.
I should be relieved. Should be grateful he’s keeping his distance.
Instead, I’m furious.
Cas comes at me again, faster this time. I block his first swing, counter with my own. He twists away.
“That’s it,” he mutters, breathing hard. “Work it out.”
The forest training is supposed to be good for us—real terrain, unpredictable footing, natural obstacles. But all I can think about is how Marco used to watch me constantly during these sessions. How his eyes would track my every movement.
Now? Nothing. In fact, he’s fifty yards away with Elijah, adjusting his stance, correcting his grip, leaning close like he’s sharing some vital secret.
What the fuck is he telling him?
Cas’s fist clips my shoulder. First hit to him.
“Oi. Stay focused.”
“I am focused.” But I’m not. I’m thinking about how I let my guard down with Marco. How I trusted him in this place where trust gets you killed.
Should have known better. Should have seen it coming.
Cas follows my stare across the clearing. His face hardens. “No point looking over there.”
“Huh?”
“Staring at Elijah like that.”
Right. Elijah. I nod and circle back into position, but my stomach churns.
“What’s going on with you?” Cas asks, raising his fists again.
“What do you mean? Have you forgotten that you’re up tomorrow for the first match, followed by me next week? Sorry if I’m not my usual sunny self.” It’s a joke. I’m never sunny. Not here.
“Yeah, so it’s crunch time. Time to train harder than ever.”
He lunges. I sidestep, land a solid hit to his ribs. One for me.
“I am training.”
“Then stop staring over there.”
I wasn’t staring at Elijah. Not really. But now I can’t stop thinking about him.
All those mornings and evenings. Meals, card games.
We had a really nice conversation once, where I couldn’t believe he’s never seen the ocean.
We often end up next to each other when we run—we’re a pretty good match for pace and distance.
Pretty good match.
If we’re talking brute strength, who’s stronger? Me, probably. Slightly. But he’s got an inch on me, maybe two. And that reach advantage in close combat—
Cas’s knuckles connect with my jaw. Light, but pointed. Second hit to him.
“Good thing it’s not me versus you, eh?” he says. “Else I’d have your ass for breakfast.”
He laughs, but it’s hollow. We’re both relieved beyond measure that the fixtures haven’t pitted us against each other—yet.
“Speaking of ass…” he says, and I immediately tense. “What was Marco doing with you in the showers the other day? Teaching you proper washing techniques? Getting into all your grooves and… cracks?”
I glare at him, praying that my cheeks aren’t coloring. “Shut it. And I hope you didn’t go tattle to the others like a gossiping old woman.”
“Course I didn’t.” He grins, pretends to lock his mouth with his fingers. “But look, as fine as that ass is—and it is a pretty fine ass…” Cas’s eyes glide over to Marco. His eyebrows wiggle suggestively, and I clench my fists. “I’m not convinced it’s a terribly good idea.”
“Nothing is going on,” I say, putting as much conviction as I can behind it. Because if Marco thinks he can treat me like dirt for five days straight and still get his dick sucked, he’s got another thing coming. “He’s a bastard.”
Cas chuckles. “Is he now?”
We both pause for a second to glance over at him. Luckily, he’s facing the other direction.
Even from behind, he’s magnificent.
Especially from behind.
“That ass, though,” Cas whispers, and I push him so hard he lands flat on his own butt.
He beams up at me from the forest floor, twigs in his hair, dirt on his cheek.
Despite everything, I almost smile. There’s something about this moment I want to freeze—all of us here together, breathing hard from training, Cas laughing like an idiot. Everyone still alive. Everyone still whole.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air. Marco, calling us like dogs.
We form a semicircle around him. He’s walked up from the clearing where we’ve been sparring, closer to the stream that runs along the edge of the training ground.
Water trickles over smooth stones. Birds chirp in the canopy above.
Almost pleasant, like we’re on some woodland stroll instead of preparing to murder each other.
“You,” he says, and I somehow know he means me even before his eyes lock onto mine.
I clench my jaw so hard it hurts.
He beckons me forward with a jerk of his chin. A strange hush ripples through the others.
Cas has to nudge me to get me to move forward.
“Yes?” The word slips out before I can stop it. “Your Majesty?”
A few people titter.
Marco doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like that at all. “You’ll be aware by now your match with Elijah involves a fuck ton of water. You need to be able to fight in and around water.”
He doesn’t give me any warning.
His foot sweeps my legs out from under me. I hit the ground hard, shoulder first, then roll. But he’s already on top of me, wrestling me toward the stream’s edge.
“Marco—”
His hand clamps over my mouth. We struggle, rolling in the mud and dead leaves. I try to throw him off, but he’s got leverage and fresh strength whereas my muscles are screaming from hours of fighting.
He gets me face down at the water’s edge. Shoves my head under.
Cold shock hits my skull. The stream isn’t deep, but it doesn’t need to be. I thrash, trying to buck him off, but his weight pins me down. Through the distorted water, I can hear him shouting.
“Push me off!”
I push against the rocky bottom, trying to lift myself up. His hand presses harder against the back of my head.
“Fucking do it!”
But I’m not strong enough. Not after this morning’s grueling session where I’ve been worked like a dog while he’s mostly been standing around.
My lungs start to burn. I twist desperately, trying to get my knees under me. His grip slips for a second—I almost surface—before he shoves me back down.
The burning in my chest turns to fire. My body screams for air. I thrash harder, panic clawing up my throat. How long has it been? Thirty seconds? A minute?
He’s going to kill me.
The thought solidifies. This isn’t training. This is Marco deciding I’m not worth keeping alive.
My vision starts to blur. Dark spots dance at the edges. Then my body betrays me—so desperate for oxygen that my lungs try to breathe. Water rushes in, liquid fire searing my throat and chest. I’m drowning. Actually drowning.
I can’t stop choking, can’t stop my body’s frantic attempts to expel the water and breathe at the same time. My muscles start to go slack. The thrashing becomes weaker.
Esme.
Her face flashes through my mind. Blonde hair, gray eyes, so like mine. We’re running on the beach together, sun on our faces, me dragging her along.
I’ll never know what happened to her.
The pressure releases.
I come up with a violent splash, retching and gasping. Water pours from my nose, my mouth. My chest spasms with brutal coughing fits that feel like they might tear me apart from the inside.
I still can’t breathe. Can’t get enough air. Every attempt sends me into fresh waves of choking. My vision swims, black spots still dancing. The world tilts sickeningly.
More water comes up—fuck, I’m vomiting, stream water mixed with whatever was left in my stomach. My whole body shakes, adrenaline and shock coursing through me like poison.
Cas is there, slapping my back, but I barely register it. I’m still gasping like a landed fish, my lungs refusing to work properly.
“Fucking hell,” someone whispers.
My hands won’t stop trembling. Bile coats my tongue.
I stare at Marco through the water still dripping from my eyelashes.
He’s holding himself completely still. Expressionless. Like what just happened was nothing more than a training drill.
This same man who stroked my hair. Who kissed me. Who made me promises he didn’t keep.
The rage hits me with an all-consuming crash.
I throw myself at him.
No technique. No strategy. Just blind, animal fury. I want to claw his eyes out. Want to make him bleed the way he’s made my heart bleed. My fingernails rake across his forearm, leaving angry red lines. He jerks back, but I’m already lunging again.
“Robin!” Cas shouts behind me.
For a moment, Marco only blocks. Defensive. Like he’s surprised by the attack. But then his training kicks in, and I’m so weak from drowning that he easily overpowers me.
He slams me onto my back. His forearm presses against my throat, knee pinning my chest, other arm trapping both of mine.
My lungs are already starved. I haven’t recovered. And now he’s cutting me off again.
Sick fucking psycho bastard.
“Fight,” he grits through clenched teeth, water dripping from his soaking hair.
The edges of my vision flicker. I try to buck him off, but there’s no strength left. My body betrays me again, going limp when I need it most.
“Marco!” René’s voice, sharp with concern.
Marco ignores him. His arm presses harder. “Fight me off, or you’re going to die.”
If I had any breath, I’d laugh. All this work training me up to be a show pony, just for Marco to suffocate me in a fit of rage.
“Marco! He’s going blue!”
This is it then. The end.
Suddenly the weight lifts. I inhale sharply—a loud, ragged thing that echoes through the trees. Echoes through my ears.
It takes a moment to understand what happened.