Chapter 7
Seven
Elodie
I’m halfway through changing into my sparring clothes when Stella walks into the locker room. I pause with my stirrup leggings balled in my hands. “Did you forget something?”
Normally Mia is the only one of my friends in the same combat class as me. Like most of our other subjects, we’re divided into multiple sections to make sure every student can get enough attention.
As Stella waves her phone in the air, Cadance and Madison appear behind her. “The administration sent around a text asking all the 15th years to show up for this session—we got excused from our regular class.”
Grimacing, Cadance drops her purse on a nearby bench. “Getting punched around—just how I want to end my day.”
Well, this is definitely strange.
I tug on my leggings and athletic shoes, my nerves buzzing with apprehension. The five of us walk together into the gymnasium.
It’s crowded, dozens of students bunched into clusters amid flurry of confused murmurs. I’m not sure exactly how many 15th years there are in the academy, but it’s definitely over fifty. Professor Kwong usually keeps his classes to twenty or fewer.
Wouldn’t want to overload the school nurses with dislocated joints and broken bones.
My friends and I settle into a spot by the wall where we can watch all the other students. Salvatore is already sauntering around with his usual swagger, not remotely intimidated by the larger crowd. Byron stands off to the side with his arms folded over his chest and a bored expression.
My gaze lands on Asher’s face, and my pulse stutters. I yank my eyes away before he notices me looking.
If this class is still a sparring session… any injuries I take, my glim is going to radiate out to someone around me. If I hurt him by accident, even a little…
I won’t let that happen. I’ll stay as far away as I can.
Professor Kwong emerges from his office at the far end of the gymnasium. His mouth is set in a tight, slanted line.
What’s he so unhappy about that he called this mass meeting?
A moment later, it becomes clear he didn’t at all. Professor Jovak ambles out of the office after our usual instructor, followed by a man I’ve never seen before.
If Jovak could pass for a gnome, then this other guy could be an action movie star.
His chiseled face has that striking but hard-edged look of a man you’d expect to see on a screen hurtling through a burning building or leaping from a plane.
He’s got a body to match, bulky with muscle.
A gray-sheened blond crew-cut rounds out the All-American Hero vibe.
The crinkles at the edges of his eyes and mouth suggest he’s around his forties, and he peers around at us with an air of decades-given authority. The twinkle in his pale eyes feels more icy than amused.
I wonder what his glim is. Jovak’s is nothing all that flashy—the ability to project and amplify sound—but this guy might be packing something really powerful.
Or he could be all style, no substance. Hard to say.
Professor Kwong claps his hands together and clears his throat. Our classmates fall silent.
He tilts his head toward Jovak and the newcomer.
“15th years, you know your Defensive Magic professor. He’s here today with a new instructor Luminary has brought on for some supplementary intensive combat seminars that will be offered to a select group of senior students.
Captain Ross has worked in the military department for many years.
He and Professor Jovak will be overseeing the new course. ”
I can guess now why he isn’t pleased. It’s like the school was saying he isn’t good enough to train us “intensively” himself.
Captain Ross gives a sharp nod and steps forward without prompting.
His firm, resonant voice carries through the room.
“I’ve been called in because of increasing security concerns here at Luminary.
We’ll start by determining who has the most need of additional training and who could best assist with that training.
For that, we’d like to see you spar. Five pairs at a time; we’ll rotate through all of you. ”
Increasing security concerns. Like my poisoning and Kenneth’s still unsolved disappearance?
Oh. This is the “something in the works” Professor Jovak mentioned yesterday.
He really must have been disturbed by my near-death if he arranged a whole program just to beef up our defensive skills even more.
Several of my classmates glance over at me, probably having similar thoughts. Then Salvatore’s voice breaks through the renewed murmurs. “I want a rematch with Devine!”
Fuck a falak. Does he really think this is a good idea?
He prowls toward me through the crowd with a cruel smirk that’s offset by the softer gleam in his eyes. He probably thinks he’s protecting me by making sure none of our other classmates gets the chance to give me a real beat-down.
Actually, that might work in my favor for my own reasons. Salvatore’s a skilled enough fighter to show off his prowess while avoiding doing any real damage. I can’t say the same for anyone else here.
And my first priority is getting through this class without my glim lashing out.
“What is his problem?” Madison mutters, but I move to meet my challenger, putting on a pained expression as if I’d rather not.
Captain Ross doesn’t object to us taking our positions on the mats. He gestures at the other students. “Four more pairs, now, and the rest of you stay out of the way by the walls. We’ll do ten minutes per match.”
Salvatore cracks his knuckles through his gloves, still with the smirk. “Think you’re ready for me this time, málóid?”
It’s one of the presumably insulting nicknames he tossed at me the first time we sparred after I ended up in this reality, when he was more irritated with me than enamored. I hope no one else can pick up on the teasing, almost flirtatious lilt he’s added to it.
I glower at him in warning not to drop his antagonistic act too much. “More than ready. Bring it on, Cosgrave.”
The other pairs have assembled around us. Captain Ross blows a whistle to start the matches, and Salvatore springs into motion.
He lunges forward and then swings to the side, throwing me off balance. I manage to scramble away and land a blow that’s little more than a tap to his shoulder, and then he’s catching me around the waist.
Even if I’m a little annoyed that he forced this public partnering, I can’t help admiring the deftness of the move. It knocks the breath out of me without actually hurting.
Salvatore dips his head close to my ear and speaks under his breath. “It’s always fun playing with you, mia amata.”
“Better not make it look like playing,” I hiss in response, and elbow him in the ribs. A jab toward his face forces him to loosen his grip enough that I can jerk loose.
He bobs on his feet, grinning like he’s having the time of his life. I will my pulse to slow with a deep breath.
The first Salvatore I knew taught me all my best fighting tactics. He never realized that I asked for his guidance in the hopes of ensuring no one ever injured me badly during a match like this.
It worked. The worst I took in my last few years of sparring sessions were scratches and bruises minor enough that the classmates they transferred to never suspected my glim.
Let those skills ensure no one in this room, including the alternate version of my match, suspects it either.
We push back and forth, exchanging blows and blocks, circling around each other. I overextend one kick and curse myself an instant before Salvatore takes advantage to flip me onto the ground.
He pins me, cushioning my head with his hand so it doesn’t smack the mat too hard, and smirks from way too close to kissing range. “It’s been killing me not being able to get this close to you the past few days. I’m going to find a way to get us some private time, a chroí, I promise you.”
I squirm against his hold, tamping down on the desire that flares low in my belly at his closeness and his words. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Mmm, making bad ideas work is my specialty.”
That might be enough if we only wanted to avoid being caught. He doesn’t know about the pang of guilt that laces every surge of longing I feel.
I never meant to spark this match. I never meant to embrace any mates other than the men I left behind in my own reality.
Even if there’s no way for me to get back to them… how can I want him too?
I manage to dislodge Salvatore with a knee to the gut and a hasty scrambling. For the next few minutes, I focus more on dodging than anything else.
The closer he gets, the harder it is to think straight.
The conflicting pangs of desire and remorse throw off my reflexes. Salvatore lands a blow to my ribs that I should have been able to block. His knuckles glance off me hard enough to bruise.
I suppress my flinch with all my willpower, already catching a twitch of concern in his gaze. I cast my focus hastily toward one of the other sparring pairs who are currently grappling.
Heath Ridley is too busy tussling with his opponent to even wince when my bruise transfers to him alongside a waft of tingling healing energy around the spot on my torso. A different sort of guilt clogs my throat all the same.
Salvatore starts to circle me again, but a welcome squeal of Captain Ross’s whistle frees me from our standoff.
As the mafia heir backs away, he offers me a cheeky salute. “Until later.”
There’s too much promise in those words.
I swipe at my forehead and notice Simone Palenti glaring at me from the crowd by the wall. It’s a good thing Ross is asking for all new pairs, because she looks ready to slap my head right off.
I haven’t told Salvatore about the threatening remarks she made, telling me to stay away from him. Would getting him on her case make her back off or only rile her up more?
I rejoin Cadance and Mia, who’ve hung back for the second round while Stella faces off against Madison. I’ve got to give Stella credit for courage, considering Madison’s skilled enough to have been invited into the Cutting Flame, Luminary’s combat club.