Chapter 9
Istand, holstering my gun against my thigh after placing the safety back on. I don’t look at Shaw as I pass him.
“Mara,” he shouts. “Hey.”
I move through the final door that separates me from the others. Lowell Lyre stands, gently clapping as I approach where he sits.
“Well done, Miss Castten,” Lowell says, looking to the others. “I never doubted her for a second against that competition.”
Talon, Bronwyn, and the others show no emotion at my arrival. Shaw walks behind me, his head lowered, not wanting to hear the taunts he will receive.
“Mr. Durante wasn’t prepared, earning him a nice shot to the shoulder, I see. Thankfully, I allowed you to wear that vest, expecting this result, or she could have ended your life.”
Shaw returns to his seat, removing the vest with a dull thump.
“It seems as if your weaponry skills haven’t diminished over the past year, but let’s see if your hand-to-hand combat has suffered. Though I hear fighting is normal in prison, Mara. I assume you’ll pass this one with flying colors as well.” Lowell laughs to himself.
I move backward into the small chalk circle before the crowd, knowing exactly where this next assessment will take place.
I remove the gun from my thigh, along with my weapons adorning my belt, tossing them to the side with a clang.
I pull my hair into a high bun, getting it out of my face while making it harder for someone to use it against me.
“Let’s get this started,” Lowell smiles. “Again, this will be timed. Whoever has the most blows by the time the buzzer sounds wins. Any questions?”
I shake my head, refusing to play his games and doing everything I can to hurry this along. Lowell is right. I did fight in prison, and I may have learned a few new tricks.
“Very well,” he responds. “Bronwyn, you are up.”
My face pales.
Her gaze jerks to Lowell, as if she had no idea she would be chosen for this, and from her expression, I believe it.
She slowly stands, her dull white wings drifting around her as Lowell sits with a grin brighter than the sunset over the building.
Another sneaky, cheap shot on his part, knowing our relationship.
Her crimson hair mingles with the fading sun as orange and red paint the sky around us on the rooftop. Bronwyn is smaller than I am, which gives me an advantage in strength, but she is fast and nimble. She can dodge blows before they are ever thrown, and nerves twist in my gut.
I’m going to throw the fuck up.
I crack my knuckles as she approaches, and her dark eyes glare into mine.
This isn’t how we should see each other for the first time in so long.
Bronwyn was my friend and someone I trust with my life, even to this day.
The night of my last assignment, she begged me not to go, saying it was too dangerous and she felt uneasy about the situation.
She has a knack for sensing things and is the most in-tune person I’ve ever met.
I knew she’d stop at nothing to make sure I didn’t leave the Order that night, and if I did, she would have followed me.
So, when I had the chance, I slipped sleeping pills into her drink to make sure I could sneak out… alone.
I drugged her. My best friend.
Then everything changed. I was arrested, and I haven’t seen or spoken to her since that night. I regret what I did, but don’t regret keeping her from the same fate that befell me. I ruined the trust we had between one another, and I’m going to try to get it back.
She enters the ring, standing across from me, and although it’s painful, I meet her gaze as shame replaces my nervousness.
She is beautiful with her wings hidden, but in her true form, she is otherworldly.
Though she chooses to display her wings, I prefer to keep mine folded within—fewer spots she could exploit against me.
The large feathers form around her like a white protective shield, and she pops her fingers with a sinister grin.
“Hey, Bron,” I say.
All she offers is a sarcastic smirk as she tosses her gun and belt to the side of the circle, just like I did.
“Do not fucking call me that,” she spits.
Bronwyn ties her hair back and adjusts her gloves. She laughs, glancing at her brother, who refuses to meet my gaze. He would defend her until his last breath, so I know it’s a losing battle between them.
“Fair,” I respond.
“Back so soon?” Bronwyn bites. “I can’t say I’m surprised that they grew tired of your ass, even in prison.”
“I’m here because of Lowell,” I sigh. “You know that.”
She raises her brows. “Right. Teacher’s pet.”
“Not anymore,” I huff a laugh.
“I will very much enjoy beating the shit out of you.”
“Bronwyn,” I say. “I know this won’t stop what has to happen right now, but I never meant to hurt you.”
She laughs wildly. “You drugged me and left because of your own fucked up way of thinking. You are insane if you think I’d trust you again.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know—” I begin, but I’m cut off.
Lowell shouts above the wind. “Let’s begin. You two can work this out in the circle.”
His command pulls on the blood oath, and as much as I want to run, I can’t. The air thickens as we face each other. My chest rises and falls calmly as I watch Bronwyn. Her breathing is frantic, her eyes are filled with rage, and she fidgets as if staying still will make her combust.
The timer starts, and I begin ambling along the edge of the circle.
She watches me intently, mirroring my steps from the opposite side with a near snarl on her stunning face.
A few angels in the bleachers around us wave their arms as a distraction, and I recognize one of them.
Cris—the new male angel in the Lyre Order—whom I held at gunpoint yesterday.
I pull my gaze back and notice Shaw out of the corner of my eye.
He’s another person I will deal with when all of this is over.
I keep my clenched fists near my jawline and allow my gaze to remain fixed solely on Bronwyn—no more distractions.
“I deserve this, Bronwyn,” I say, sternly. “Don’t feel bad.”
“Why the fuck would I feel bad for this?” She laughs as she raises her fists. “I’ve thought about kicking your ass for months.”
Bronwyn rushes forward, and I widen my stance, preparing for the first blow.
I’ll tolerate her hitting me to release some of her anger, but I won’t allow her to continue it.
She raises her hand, and I remain still, letting her drive her fist directly into my nose.
I hear a crack and pain rattles my face, but I don’t stumble backward.
My eyes begin to water, and I feel a trickle of liquid falling from my nose.
I use the back of my hand to wipe away the blood, but it doesn’t stop.
Blood quickly begins to drip into my mouth, coating my teeth.
Stars dance in my vision momentarily, and I use my thumbs to reset my nose.
The snap settles into my bones, and I fight back the urge to let the tears fall.
“Feel better?” I ask, spitting blood on the ground next to us.
Ouch. Fucking ouch.
She laughs. “Not a chance, but you looking this way helps.”
I look at her, and not an ounce of regret shows on her face—just a wild determination to beat my ass.
I can’t imagine what I look like in this moment, but she powers forward again.
Bronwyn swings, and this time I use my forearm to redirect the blow.
Bronwyn’s rage builds as her swings become more frantic, while I move with lethal grace around the circle.
“Slow down,” I instruct. “Or you are going to burn out.”
But she doesn’t listen. Bronwyn keeps swinging, never landing a punch that counts. If I can keep this up and run down the timer, I’ll only need two solid hits to win. But I might not get that chance with the fury she’s showing now.
“Don’t tell me what to fucking do, Mara.” She gasps.
I dodge, duck, and move around the circle, knowing exactly what move she will make next. I know, because I trained her in many sessions, just as we are now. We would enter the ring and train for hours most nights. She was a quick study and became a better fighter than her brother with ease.
Bronwyn’s hand grabs toward my neck, and I dodge the blow; however, she locks onto my necklace, easily ripping the delicate chain from my neck. I freeze as the familiar small weight lifts from my body, and I watch her toss it to the side of the circle with a smile.
“Oops,” she says. “Hope that wasn’t important.”
She knows exactly what that necklace signifies to me.
Bronwyn drops her hands for a moment, and anger moves through me.
I seize the opportunity to land my first blow.
I twist my body, driving my fist forward into her lower jaw.
Spit flies from her mouth as her head snaps to the side.
I hear the audience around us gasp, and I glance at the timer, watching the seconds tick down—a few minutes left.
Tick.
Tick.
I quickly regroup while she does the same. Her eyes meet mine again, and hers are blackened with anger as she wipes the wetness from her jaw.
“Did that feel good, Mara?” she spits. “Hitting me? Hurting me again?”
Her voice echoes across the roof like a clap of thunder, and the deep tone catches me off guard, unsettling me. She needs to understand that being unprepared for even a moment could lead to her loss.
“No, it doesn’t feel good,” I bite back. “But don’t lower your hands. Ever. You know that.”
The blow doesn’t affect her for long before she’s sprinting back in my direction, a look of pure madness in her eyes.
Her wings swirl around her like a blinding light, propelling her forward at an unnatural speed.
She throws a punch at my face, and I roll to the side, dodging at the last second.
Her body continues forward, stumbling a few steps, and I hear her curse at the miss.