Sparring with a Monster #2
He rolled his eyes into the back of his head and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Nothing, Hazel. For fuck’s sake. It was never about the dancing.
No one gives a bog rat’s ass if you have two left feet or not.
But if you don’t survive the trials, it won’t matter anyway.
Do you need me to spell it out for you? You almost died.
You needed to build back some strength and coordination in your movement before we could move on.
But the dancing itself? It doesn’t matter. ”
She blew out a breath. “This is exhausting. Not the daily dance lessons that cause my bones to ache and my feet to blister and bleed. But you? You are exhausting. How am I supposed to trust you if you won’t explain what the Hel we are doing?”
“I don’t need your trust. I need your compliance.”
“Well, what if I don’t want to comply? I don’t want to be part of any of these games or compete in trials.
I want to go home, to see my father again and tell him that, despite everything, I’m alright.
To see my patrons at the inn, smell the food and feel the floor, sticky with spilled drink.
To sit in the quiet after they’ve all gone.
You don’t understand what you’ve pulled me from. I had a good, simple life.”
“What I pulled you from? You’re right. You wouldn’t be here if not for me; you’d be dead.
And believe me, I wish more than anyone that I hadn’t intervened.
But here we are. It seems to me you don’t understand what lies ahead.
This,” he gestured around him, “is much bigger than you and I. Your prior obligations no longer matter.”
Oblig— “My father is not an obligation! He is the only family I have left!” A single tear ran down her cheek, tracing a line through the dirt and sweat gathered there.
“Your father is a liar and a traitor to the crown, and damned lucky Magnus hasn’t put it together yet.
He’s lied to everyone around him, including you.
He knew you were wrong but said nothing.
Told no one. He kept you drugged with herbal teas to stave off your powers manifesting.
And then that hag showed up and helped him raise you, keeping her distance, but staying involved all the same.
Your mother’s coven sent her to ensure your father didn’t fuck up, but he did.
By lying to you and her, keeping you cloistered in his hovel in that backwater village, and hiding your true identity and purpose.
Ah, there’s the look. You didn’t know any of this, did you, sweets?
That’s right. I did some digging. How does it make you feel, to know your father isn’t your father at all, hmm? ”
Rage was all Hazel knew then. White-hot, explosive rage. She could almost feel the power simmering deep within. But she understood what he was trying to do. He wanted to see her at her worst, and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. He wanted to see her magic.
Not today, asshole.
She steeled her resolve, choking down a sob and steadying her shaky breath.
“Connall will always be my father, regardless of blood. He loved me and raised me with kindness and adoration for me as his own. I will always love him as such because he made me who I am today. So, not to steal your thunder, but I already knew he wasn’t my real father.
It doesn’t change anything. I’d ask you if you understand, but no, you wouldn’t know anything about that.
You’re a monster. No, worse than that; you’re a bully and a coward. ”
In a flash, Slaide spun on her, his fury blinding and his speed incomprehensible.
The oomph forced from her was all the sound she could manage as the breath left her body.
He pinned Hazel to the ground, straddling her and pressing a hidden dagger to her throat without a second thought.
His face was twisted into a snarl, teeth bared and face uncomfortably close to hers.
It was reminiscent of a predator pouncing on prey.
Anticipation and fear warred within her.
He panted, something feral glowing in his amber eyes.
She dared to swallow, the knot in her throat bobbing dryly.
“Is this a joke to you?” he growled. “Because if it is, I will throw you right in a gods-damned cell and leave you there to rot.”
Wide-eyed and frozen, she didn’t dare to move, much less speak. Too far. She’d pushed him too far. Hazel Grace, when will you learn to keep your stupid mouth shut?
He closed his eyes and sighed, seemingly composing himself. He sheathed the dagger and hopped off of her, walking away without helping her up.
Hazel pushed up onto her hands, dumbstruck by his absolute audacity to just… not give a shit. To act as though he hadn’t just held a blade to her throat and growled at her like a wild beast. “Care to explain what that was about? Or are you just a moody, impulsive bastard all the time?”
Slaide turned around, his eyes darkening.
He approached her again, this time slowly, menacingly, something about it much more terrifying than when he’d slammed her to the ground moments before.
He stopped just before her, so close she could feel his breath.
His form was tall and imposing, and he smelled of sweat, earth, and…
rain? She should have been scared, should have cowered before him and begged for mercy. But she didn’t.
Thunder rolled overhead.
“Pick up the sword,” he ordered, kicking it with his foot.
Hazel did. Not because she wanted to follow his order, but because she wanted to smack him upside the head with it. She was surprised such a simple thing could be so heavy.
“Show me a fighting stance.” If there’d been any mirth in his voice, it was gone now. He circled her, a wolf on the prowl, as she made a sorry attempt at a fighting stance.
Slaide sighed and with featherlight hands, he touched her shoulders. Her hands. Her hips.
She rolled her eyes and opened her mouth to protest but was cut off with a jab to her unguarded side that sent her stumbling.
“Hey, what the Hel!” she barked, mostly in surprise. “That wasn’t fair.”
“Life isn’t fair, Hazel. Especially for you and I.” His voice was cool. Impassive. “Never let your guard down and always be wary of your weak side, or it will get you killed.”
Determined to prove him wrong, Hazel returned to her stance.
Slaide smirked. Then he struck.
Block. Parry. Strike. Repeat.
Minutes stretched into hours. The sky darkened with the threat of an impending storm.
Hazel’s arms were shaking, her resolve about to give out. Sweat beaded her brow and matted her wild hair. Before her, Slaide looked utterly unbothered. His sword was still steady in his hands, eyes fixed on her in an expression she couldn’t figure out.
“Again,” he commanded.
She winced. “You’re going to break me.”
“Then become unbreakable,” he snapped. “Again.”
She raised the sword high and put every last ounce of strength she had into her strike—only to have the blow deflected with ease.
Hazel dropped to her knees in defeat. This is fucking insane.
And if her battered body and ego weren’t enough, the sky chose that moment to split open, a deluge of water dumping onto them. Thank the gods. We can be done.
Slaide walked over to her, his mouth tight, eyes sharp. Rain traced his jawline before dripping from his chin. “Get up.”
Hazel’s heart pummeled her ribcage, feeling as loud as the thunder around them. Her senses heightened, the most primal parts of her screaming run. The sharp sensation of true fear zapped through her body. Still, she got back to her feet.
“Stop. Holding. Back,” he growled.
“I’m not—” Hazel’s words were cut off by the slash of Slaide’s blade.
She barely deflected it, the wood of her practice sword splintering slightly against the force of the blow. Any thoughts she had of complaining were washed away when she met his eyes.
Solid black eyes. Pools of the blackest ink. The locket heated.
“Maybe it’s time you learn how it feels, Hazel. To be hunted by a foe that will destroy you. To be so outmatched your only chance of surviving is mercy.”
A flurry of strikes followed, faster and more relentless, causing Hazel to stagger backward. Her breath came in ragged gasps.
“Slaide—”
“Block!” he barked, raining another blow down on her. “Move your damn feet!” Another blow. “Survive, Hazel.”
His expression was as emotionless as a boulder. There was no prideful smirk as their swords clashed again, no teasing glint in his eyes. Just darkness and the promise of ruthlessness in his onyx eyes.
Hazel lost her footing in the fray and fell, mud splashing up her legs as she collided with the wet ground. The practice sword, barely holding itself together better than she was, flew from her hands.
She was disarmed, and her opponent was out for blood.