15. Astraea #2
“Is it? Because from where I am, it doesn’t seem that good.
” I growl as I struggle to fill my chest with air, and he laughs.
Truly laughs. My eyes open at the sound and find his hypnotic eyes staring down at me, absent of their usual torment and with a lingering, alluring sort of grin beginning to tug at his lips.
“I’m glad this is so funny to you.” I add, much to my chagrin.
He offers me his hand, and I snuff it, rolling over and jumping to my feet.
He shakes his head as his tongue rolls over his bottom lip and bares his top teeth. Another distraction.
“You were up quicker that time. See? Good.” He says, and we both are crouched and ready again.
It’s the same thing. Over and over again.
No matter what I try, I can’t win against him.
There is too much experience from him and lack thereof from me, not to mention the incredible size difference.
He shakes his head, and I realize I am again looking at my feet.
I notice too late, though, and this time, it’s his foot that jerks forward.
It hooks behind my leg, and the motion sends me to my back again.
I cough and groan as I roll to my side. I can’t get up this time.
My body is giving up on me. I’m not even sure my muscles will move at all from this fetal position I have pulled myself into.
I bet Mavros would have all kinds of jokes to say at my expense right now.
Mavros. Another reminder of everyone who is missing from our lives right now.
Another reminder of how terribly I miss all of them.
Training with Zinya and Cole was entirely different.
Just their size alone made them more compatible with me.
At least with them I had somewhat of a chance at taking them down.
With Kyros, I feel like I have only been learning how to fall without breaking bones.
I suppose he’s right, and that is making me better in ways training with them couldn't. If I’ve learned anything from the fighting I’ve witnessed in my life, the opponent is usually never ideal or fairly matched.
He stands over me. Again, offering me his hand. I roll my eyes and grit my teeth, swatting his hand away with the back of mine. He chuckles. Actually chuckles.
“Now, with your blades.” He steps in closer to me once I'm on my feet. I blink up at him and swallow.
“I don't think I'm ready for that.” I admit. Just the thought of holding the blade again reminds me of how it felt to tear through the flesh of Shayd’s shoulder.
“Oh, come on, Shula. Are you afraid that you’re going to hurt me?” He’s taunting me now. I purse my lips as I consider pulling the blade and throwing it at his smug face.
“Tell me something.” We have gone all day without talking about the many things we need to, for the sake of training.
Through my panting breaths I ask, “Why risk everything?” He watches me, pondering my question as he stalks around me in a circle.
Each step he takes, I follow with one of my own. Spinning to never show him my back.
“Don’t look at your feet, Shula.” He reprimands, and I huff out a breath, snapping my wandering eyes back up to meet his. The look he pins me with is something else entirely. “Bring your blades up, like I showed you. Protect yourself.”
“I’m tired.” I say, and surely my eyes tell the same story.
“Your enemies won’t care if you’re tired, will they?”
“You’re deflecting,” I growl in vexation, and another chuckle whispers past his lips. “Tell me, why?”
“I’m not.” He lunges forward, gripping my wrist with one hand, spinning me around so his chest presses into my back.
His other hand comes around, threading beneath my arm to lay flat on my stomach.
All day, he has kept his distance. Teaching me to fight without managing to press his body against mine.
The feel of him at my back is a distraction.
One he is fully aware he is giving. Deflecting.
I purse my lips as he brings the arm held in his grip out in front of us.
“You are.” I roll my eyes.
“Hold your blade in this hand like this. The hammer grip. This will give you power and precision. You can lunge and thrust forward into your opponent. Or swipe to cut.” He shows me the grip, then mimics the motions, guiding my arm.
I'm breathless with every word he says. “This one,” he continues as he pulls my other blade from the sheath at my ribs and places it in my other hand, “is a reverse grip. Your little finger rests at the crossguard. This is for when your opponent gets too close.” His fingers trail along my knuckles before wrapping around my wrist. “Use this to stab downward. At the neck, or between the ribs.” The hand that is at my stomach trails up to press at the ribs just below my collarbone.
I'm sure he feels just how hard my heart is pounding at his proximity.
“Or perhaps stabbing someone who is behind me?” I toy, and his returning laugh feels like a breath blown through my hair.
“Precisely.”
“Are you going to answer my question, Kyros?”
“Mmmm.” He ponders the question, pressing me more firmly into his body.
“Sometimes the risk isn't all you think it is.” His hand trails higher, along the side of my neck, and his fingers stop just as the tips hit my hairline.
Even as my body heats further at his touch, gooseflesh peppers my skin.
“Sometimes what you gain becomes, well—everything.” The way his chin dips to whisper that last word into my ear sends those insufferable wings flying in my chest. We stand there for another moment, breathing the same air.
Until I see the dark shadows crawling from the markings on his arms, swirling up around my wrist and the fingers clutching the blade.
“Kyros, your magick. Your shadows.” I hiss the words in a sharp whisper, as though the sight might vanish with the next breath.
I need his attention on our hands. I need him to see what I see.
His breath hitches as he slowly, as if not to spook the magick away, peels his hand from my wrist. The moment he does, the shadows blow away like smoke on the wind.
I step away from him and watch as he glares at the magick as if offended by their exit.
The black markings that I’ve known to dance on his skin, again, remain still.
“That’s enough for today.” Kyros declares bleakly.
Worry blooms in my chest as that switch seems to flip in him again.
I chew my lip as he turns away, reaches down, and retrieves his discarded tunic, where he tossed it at the base of one of the knobby trees.
The sun is barely filtering through the leaves above us anymore.
We’ve been out here sparring all day, and I know I’m not the only one who is tired.
Seemingly sensing my thoughts, he shakes his head.
“Kyros,” I say, searching for the words to give him comfort. I feel like we made something similar to progress today, and I don’t want it to go back to just being awkward and fighting with him.
“Shula, I’m fine. Come on, rest is just as important in building strength.
” He interjects, and I purse my lips as my eyes trail along the length of his body, following all the curves of the dark tattoos.
“You keep looking at me like that; I’ll start to think you want to be trained in a different sort of sparring.
” My eyes snap back up to meet his. The words that just fell from his lips are so unlike him that a surprised noise escapes from me before I can stop it.