16. Kiera
Chapter 16
Kiera
“ T his is going to be fun.”
“I think our definitions of fun are two very different things.”
Those comments from first Kalix and then Theos have me biting my lip as I—along with the Darkhavens—line up in the sand of the battle arena for practice. Fun does seem to have an obnoxiously large number of varying definitions when it comes to these men. Unfortunately for Theos, I have to agree with Kalix. Now that I’m no longer hiding my powers, being able to unleash some of this pent-up energy in a violent way will certainly be … fun.
“Are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Tilting my head down and to the side, I meet Ruen’s eyes and smirk. “Why? Are you scared I’ll beat the shit out of your brothers?”
Midnight eyes widen and one corner of his mouth lifts ever so slightly. He doesn’t answer my question but turns his attention back to the front where Axlan strides with two Terra struggling to keep up with his pace.
I scowl at the big brawny God as he stalks toward the front of the current class of Mortal Gods we’re surrounded by. Despite the struggling mortal Terra stumbling behind him, their arms filled with spears and swords and all other manner of materials, Axlan’s hands are completely free and hang loosely at his sides.
Turning my head, I scan the exterior wall, going down the line of other Terra until I come across a familiar brown haired male. Niall spots me looking his way but when I offer him a smile, he ducks his head and stares at the ground beneath his feet. My smile falls away abruptly and I stare at him a moment more, wondering if I’ve done something to upset him.
It isn’t until Ruen nudges my side that I realize the class has started. I jerk and whip back around as Axlan begins to speak.
“Today, we will continue with sparring practice,” the God of Victory announces. “Find a partner and get into your circles. We will mimic the same rules of a tournament. Winners of each round will go on to fight another and another until…” He pauses and grins. “The final winner left will have to battle me.”
I stare at the God of Victory with no small amount of disgust. No doubt this little exercise of his doubles as a way for him to find a high of his own abilities. Vain, greedy, fucking Gods. I shake my head and blow out a breath.
Axlan claps his hands together before gesturing to the Terra who finally stop at his side, panting and sweating though they are. “You may choose any weapon we have available or you may choose to fight without,” he states. “It matters not to me, but I shall be coming around to watch the rounds. Don’t disappoint me.”
The moment Axlan releases us to our own devices, Kalix’s hand reaches out and snags my wrist. Before he can open his mouth, Ruen growls out a denial. “Don’t even fucking think about it, Kalix,” he snaps.
Kalix groans. “I won’t kill her,” he promises.
Both of my brows shoot up and I glance from him to Ruen. “Let him fight me if he wants to,” I suggest. “I’m not going to lose.”
The grip on my wrist tightens and Kalix’s grin turns feral. His eyes flash something red and wicked before morphing back to the forest green I’ve come to know so well. “See that,” he says, directing the words to Ruen. “She’s up for it.”
“ No .” Ruen reaches forward and deftly removes Kalix’s hand from my wrist. “I’ll not have you killing her with your tendencies—no matter what you say.”
Kalix sags in defeat, and for a moment, I’m struck with a bolt of confusion. Eyeing the two of them, I don’t say anything as Kalix turns and curses under his breath as he approaches an amused looking Theos. Theos, for all the world, appears as if this kind of exchange isn’t abnormal to the two and perhaps it’s not. I’d seen over the past few months just who made the decisions in their little group.
Ruen is their leader and Theos and Kalix fall in line … until they don’t. Even when they don’t listen to him, though, Ruen never abandons them. He simply deals with the fallout just as he dealt with me. Cold precision is his ability and I find that I want to see that mask of his break. I want to see what hides beneath the ice of his exterior and then I want to set it on fire and watch it burn.
“Does that mean you’re my partner, Ruen?” I ask, arching a brow as Theos grips Kalix’s shoulder and leads him away.
Ruen watches them go, being careful not to look my way as he answers. “Yes.”
My grin turns into a full-blown smile. I guess there are some things to be said for coming out in the open as a Mortal God. Now I have the opportunity to kick some Darkhaven ass.
“Sword or spear then?” I ask. “Which will you choose?”
Finally, he looks at me and meets my gaze. Flickers of something I can’t name spark in the depths of his eyes. I don’t dare look away from it.
“Neither.” Ruen’s voice is low, gruff. “I want to see what you can do without a weapon in your hand.”
I purse my lips and shrug as I step away from him before turning and striding across the arena until we’re far away from the others into one of the empty rings that has been drawn out in the sand. Only then do I stop and turn back, placing my hands on my hips as I wait for him to approach. Ruen narrows his eyes on me briefly before he moves forward, his stalking footsteps jerky and uneven as if he’s being led to the gallows rather than a sparring ring.
I snort and shake my head before reaching up and over my shoulder. I grip the white tunic I’d changed into for this class and quickly tug it off over my head. Despite the winter chill in the air, the arena down here never seems to get cold. Perhaps it’s because the sun is directly overhead, heating the stone walls surrounding us, or perhaps because the sand bakes for hours before we arrive and the warmth from it seeps up through the soles of our shoes.
Whatever the case, I know that after a few minutes in the ring, I’ll be coated in sweat and a loose tunic will do nothing but get in my way.
Lowering my arm to my side now that I’m free of the billowing fabric, I catch sight of Ruen’s face. Jaw slack and eyes wide, he’s focused on the front of my body and the leather I’ve revealed. It’s neither a corset, nor is it a true vest, but almost a combination of both. Specially designed for fighting in the Underworld, I notice several of the female Mortal Gods in the class eyeing me speculatively, their own gazes taking in the garment.
Their attention, however, is vastly different from the Darkhaven who stalks forward into the ring and doesn’t stop moving until he’s standing in front of me, nearly blocking out the sun. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, eyes burning with that untapped fury, and he might deny it, but attraction.
I don’t know why figuring that out makes me feel powerful, but it does. This dark cold man is attracted to me, and even if he doesn’t want to be, he can’t deny it. Seeing me like this, covered in leather and ready to do battle, does something to him.
When I toss the tunic to the edge of the ring and spot a Terra jolt away from the far wall, running to pick it up, I frown. “You don’t have to—” The Terra freezes halfway to my shirt and looks up at me, eyes wide in horror.
“Let him,” Ruen orders, gesturing a hand towards the Terra to continue his task.
“I can take care of my own clothes,” I snap back, glaring at Ruen as the Terra quickly lifts the tunic, dusts it off, and then returns to the wall.
“Worry about your fighting skills, Kiera, not your clothes.”
At that, I jerk forward and swipe my foot out, kicking both of his ankles together. His eyes widen in shock and a grunt leaves his lips as he stumbles, and I watch with sickening satisfaction as Ruen Darkhaven goes down in a heap on the sand.
“Why don’t you worry about your fighting skills, Ruen, instead of concerning yourself with mine,” I suggest sweetly as I take several steps back and don’t offer to help him to his feet.
A burst of laughter erupts to my left and I turn my head to see Maeryn in her own fighting clothes—brown breeches and a tunic. She covers her laugh with one hand but offers me a thumbs up that sends a warmth sliding through my chest. Sand sprays the tops of my boots and my attention swaps back to the man who gets up from the ground and towers before me once more.
I arch my brow, waiting for his response.
“Point to you, Kiera Nezerac,” Ruen states, eyeing me with more than irritation. There’s amusement in his stoic gaze. Whether he realizes it or not, I think he likes it when I surprise him. “But don’t think just because you caught me off guard that it means you’re the better fighter.”
“No, of course not,” I agree. “I’m the better fighter for other reasons.” Bait meet fish. I wait to see his response, but instead of outrage, Ruen merely arches one dark brow at me and takes several steps back, falling into a fighting stance as Axlan prowls closer—nearby, but just far enough to not involve himself.
It hits me that there’s another reason for these sessions. Axlan is a God like the rest—no doubt he’s under strict orders from the God Council to watch me and determine how powerful I actually am. Should I keep my abilities hidden? Or should I show them off?
Ruen jerks his chin in my direction and I meet his eyes. My breath catches as he tucks his head to the side and swipes it back and forth. The movement is so small that I know Axlan can’t see it from his position, but it gives me an answer to my internal debate. Don’t show off everything, but don’t appear weak.
I fall into my own fighting stance, rocking back on my heels and lifting my hands into fists. Eyes sharpen. My senses blossom. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before now, but the world is louder, brighter, more colorful. When I reach out with my senses, I can pick up thousands of tiny minds toiling away—some in the sand, some in the crevices of the stone walls. Spiders.
They flutter against my mental walls at the lightest brush of my attention. There’s something else, though, a darker creature that has lain dormant. A shadow of something powerful. I don’t reach for it, instead choosing to push it away as I refocus on the man in front of me. Whatever it is—my gaze flicks to Axlan and then back to Ruen—it’s not for the Gods’ eyes.
When Ruen moves, he’s speed incarnate. Despite the mass of his body and the bulk of his shoulders, he’s fast. Dodging first one way and then the opposite, he circles me and just as he’s about to take me to the ground, I burst into action myself and avoid his barreling form, spinning in a circle. We switch places and he comes to a stop immediately when he doesn’t reach me, slowly turning back to face me once more.
“You need to do more than simply avoid me,” he warns.
I shrug. “I’ll do more when you prove you can touch me.”
“Oh, I can touch you, Kiera. Of that, have no doubt.” I know he doesn’t mean it that way—not Ruen—but the words he speaks do something horribly wicked to my insides, heating them up and lighting them on fire.
Prove it , I want to tell him. Touch me. Before the words can escape my tongue, however, Ruen attacks.
One moment he’s feet away and the next, he’s not. Ruen moves with the fluidity of someone who has trained for years. I dodge, duck, and weave—narrowly missing some of the blows he tries to land. He gives me practically no time at all to form an attack of my own. Instead, putting me completely on the defensive. Sweat beads pop up along my spine and over my shoulder blades. I knew I’d start to get hot despite the cool air sooner or later and I was right, but I don’t appear to be the only one. As we circle each other once more, there’s a thin sheen of sweat on Ruen’s face and neck as well. Several other male Mortal Gods have stripped away their shirts and tunics, but not Ruen. Then again, his tunic is thinner than theirs and it molds to his body, not causing any resistance as he moves.
Panting, I curse the lack of action I’ve had in the last few months. Though I’m holding back so as not to give away too much of my own training, Ruen is no easy prey. The minutes churn into an hour and then another. He shows no signs of wavering and already my muscles are weary. They shouldn’t be. I’ve spent far longer than this training, but perhaps it has something to do with the brimstone that’s been removed from my neck. Since that incident, I’ve found myself tiring quickly, almost as if something is sucking up my energy to replenish a part of me that has been starved for too long.
Faces hover closer to the ring Ruen and I face each other in. I slide one foot to the side, through the sand, my brow puckering in annoyance as the movement is slowed. I hate sand. It always makes things difficult. Ignoring that, as well as the students who have lost their own mock battles, I refocus my attention on the man in front of me. Ruen’s face is as dispassionate as ever. Not even by a twitch of his lips does he reveal his innermost thoughts. That is both the most frustrating and the most intriguing part of him. His ability to hide what he’s feeling so completely that it makes me want to tear him open.
On our next pass around the ring, he dives for me and I’m too slow to react. My back slams into the hot sand and a split second later, I’m rolling. The two of us tumble as I buck my hips up, slamming my hand into his throat and swapping our positions until Ruen is with his back to the sand and I’m straddling his hips.
“If I had a blade in my hand, it would be at your throat,” I chastise him.
“If you had a blade in your hand, I would have taken it by now,” he replies as he grips my hips, and then with nothing more than pure unfettered strength, he lifts me off him and tosses me backward right. Out. Of. The. Ring.
“ Winner: Ruen Darkhaven! ”
I lie like that for several seconds, trying to understand what just happened. I had him on his back. I had my hand on his neck. I … lost?
A hand appears in front of my face and I glance up to see the man who just threw me out of the ring like I weighed little more than a sack of laundry holding it out to me. Sweat coats his brow.
“You fight well without powers,” he pants as I grit my teeth and ignore his hand, getting up off the ground under my own strength.
Exhaustion trembles along the muscles in my calves. I straighten my spine and send him a withering glare. “You didn’t even use yours,” I snap.
He blinks and nods. “Yes, because you never did.”
I pause at that. He’s right. Other than the naturally increased speed and strength we both have, neither of us had attempted to use our abilities during the fight.
“I’ve never had a sparring match last this long,” Ruen comments, nodding up to the sky.
I tilt my head back and realize that the sun has already begun to set. I’d thought we were sparring for a good amount of time but not more than half a day.
“Here.” That soft voice pulls me out of my reverie and I peer over my shoulder as Niall approaches, my tunic in his hand—obviously given to him by the Terra who’d picked it up earlier. He holds it out, offering it to me.
“Thanks, Niall,” I say, taking it from him.
Niall dips his head in deference. “Of course, my lady.”
My hand freezes, the tunic still gripped between my fingers. “My lady?” I frown at him. “It’s just Kiera, Niall. You don’t have to call me that.”
“I would never presume to say your name, my lady.” Niall’s bow deepens and my frown turns into a scowl. “I apologize if I’ve ever said anything disrespectful. I know now that you are?—”
“Niall, stop,” I bite out. “Stop bowing to me, for fuck’s sake. Just?—”
“ Kiera .” Ruen’s sharp tone stops me from saying more and when I lift my gaze to his, he flicks his eyes to the side—to Axlan.
Right. The hierarchy. I’m no longer a Terra and therefore Niall isn’t allowed to speak to me so casually. A bottomless pit opens up in my stomach, a vile, angry thing. I bite down on the words I want to say and jerk my head in a nod of understanding.
“Thank you for the sparring match,” I say instead, directing the comment to him.
Ruen inclines his head slightly. “It was informative,” he replies.
“Informative, huh?” I huff out a breath as I pull on the tunic. The fabric immediately clings to the quickly drying sweat on my flesh.
“Yes,” Ruen agrees. “It’s good to know where you’re at so that I can train you later.”
I blink. “Train me later?”
He nods. “There’s no telling when the Gods will announce another official Battle tournament,” he states. “If you’re called, you need to be prepared. Though your fighting style is good, you’re uncontrolled in a lot of your movements.”
“I’m not uncontrolled,” I snap back. “I evade and counter. If I’m controlled then I’m predictable.”
“Predictable and control aren’t synonymous,” he argues.
Heat burns up the sides of my neck as I feel eyes on me. I know without looking that Kalix and Theos are done with their sparring session. In fact, a subtle glance around tells me that everyone is. Now, they’re all watching Ruen and me with assessing gazes.
I stomp forward and though Ruen frowns in confusion, he doesn’t move. I don’t stop until our chests are nearly brushing and then I lean up on my toes, letting my lips skim the bottom of his ear as I speak in a low voice.
“You might have won this round,” I tell him, “but don’t think you’ll win if I actually give it my all.” Then before I can think better of it, I add another note to the already tense air between us. “I am everything you can’t control, Ruen,” I say, leaning closer so that the heat of my breath slides over his earlobe. “And I know that kills you.”
With that, I turn and walk away, putting a little bit more stomp in my step as the sun slowly slips over the horizon, and the burn of Ruen Darkhaven’s eyes settles on my back and stays there until I’m well and truly out of sight.