Chapter 8 #2
Maia comes in swinging so fast her blade is a metallic smear.
Just a quick break from fighting drained the sharpest of my focus, and I have to build up speed and intensity again.
She swings nonstop and knocks one blade out of my hand.
I ignore the vibration ringing painfully up my arm and scurry after my lost sword while barely defending my fleeing backside.
I pick up the blade on the run and spin to face her.
Do better. My mind supplies Bale’s voice in my head, and I strike back hard, making Maia back away this time. I accelerate with whirlwind precision, soon getting in as many hits as Maia does.
Kellan hangs back, barely engaging, but Maia fights like the powerful warrior she is, in skin or scales. He’s moping—or else afraid I’m incapable and frail—so I’m glad she’s hammering at me like this. It’s exactly what forces me to battle back hard.
I fight Maia off enough for a break from her relentless attacks. As she shakes off my kick to the outer thigh that leaves her struggling for balance, I whirl and turn my full violence on Kellan. He’s not playing the game, so he needs to quit the field.
Snarling, I lunge, forcing him to at least defend himself. He increases his speed and the strength of his hits, but it’s not enough. I disarm him and kick him away from me before I mockingly let down my guard and show him how he’s been acting—useless. His nostrils flare.
Keeping an eye on Maia, I say, “That was pathetic. Don’t do that again.”
Kellan’s face reddens. “You were just unconscious for five days.”
“So?” My brows fly up.
“So maybe I don’t like beating on you right after that.”
“That’s your job,” I snap.
“That is not my job,” he snaps back. “We defend each other.”
“This is training to do just that!”
“I concur,” Bale growls, stepping between us. He turns a dark glare on Kellan. “Gather your warbirds and go home.”
“What? Now?” Kellan’s voice rises, incredulous.
“You heard me. And yes, now,” Bale thunders ominously. “Get out of my sight and don’t come back until you’re ready to act like a member of this team instead of a—” He cuts himself off.
Kellan’s jaw bulges on a chewed-up response. Without a word, he gathers his blades, his face tight and blank. He shifts and flies away, heading toward Drayke Mountain. Grambolt and Featherspear follow him.
Maia doesn’t wait for any sign from me or permission from Bale to restart the match.
She’s a terror on the field and keeps me on the scrambling defensive enough to almost win not once, but twice, in mere seconds.
I barely keep upright or my blades in my hands.
My focus isn’t coming back after the stunt Kellan pulled, and I can’t seem to dredge up any of the movement-blurring quickness and purely instinctual reactions I need.
Then it happens all at once. Maia knocks me over, and I lose a sword as I hit the ground on my back, her brutal kick still thundering through my shoulder. She drops to one knee and circles my throat with her hand as she yanks my remaining blade from me.
She grins. I groan.
“And you’re dead,” Bale mutters from the sidelines.
I turn my head and scowl at him. “Thanks for the commentary.”
“Happy to oblige,” he murmurs.
“You just spit fire. I saw it.” Rim’s cheeky comment from a nearby branch isn’t just for my ears, and I hear chuckles all around me, including from the other warbirds. Trying to catch my breath and shake off Maia’s final blow is all that keeps me from smiling along with them.
Maia’s grin widens as she pulls her hand off my throat and sits back on her heels.
Her hair is making an admirable escape attempt from the tight prison of its bun, so I must’ve given her a real challenge despite feeling sluggish compared to my first round.
Her light-brown eyes simmer with inner fire, and the scar on her cheek elevates her face from beautiful to interesting.
“I want a rematch,” I grumble up at her.
She holds out her hand and helps me to my feet. “It’ll happen soon enough. Right now, Arran’s waiting for his turn.”
Arran’s waiting for a lot of things. Like telling Maia he’s in love with her.
It’s clearly reciprocal, but she’s not saying anything, either. I’m pretty sure Kellan and I were a cautionary tale for the whole Elite Wing. No one wants what we have now.
I know I learned my lesson. Lovers and work don’t mix, especially when retirement won’t come around for centuries.
Shaking myself out, I gather my blades. I’m definitely fatigued after the first two matches, and if I can’t wake up my own inner beast again—whatever that might be—there’s a good chance Arran will win.
Arran moves forward to take his turn, and my stomach sinks when Bale joins him.
Bale sees the look on my face and shrugs. “I told you it was going to be two against one.”
“But you’re…” I flap a hand at him.
His dark eyebrows creep up. “I’m?” he prompts when I don’t finish.
My mouth thinning, I lift my blades and try to connect with them like they’re claws or fangs—extensions of my own body—as I cast about for a reply.
Worth fifteen people in a fight. Faster, stronger, craftier.
Star touched and shadow gifted. More powerful than any of us.
Yeah, I’m not going to say any of that. “Big.”
A corner of his mouth curls up. “Then I guess you need to fight harder. You’re not getting any bigger, so you’d better get better if you don’t want to end up flat on the ground again.”
“Maybe you’ll end up flat on the ground,” I mutter. My trash talk really does need work, but Bale’s challenge catapults my need to win straight up my spine. Competitive energy builds inside me, sharpening my focus and heightening my senses again.
But then Bale waits on the sidelines, letting Arran try to get the better of me first. The unexpected turnaround drains my motivation, and I have to keep repeating do better in my head just to concentrate on Arran rather than on all the sounds and smells and slanting rays of sunshine.
Or on Bale hovering in the background and doing nothing—just like Kellan.
It’s a test. I know it is, and I’m determined not to fall headfirst into Bale’s trap.
Just when I find a steady rhythm that’s going to keep Arran and me in a stalemate for the next decade, Bale swoops in and attacks.
I come alive with a bang, acceleration as natural as a heartbeat.
Sounds pop out at me, but only the ones I need, helping me duck strikes and avoid kicks.
Moving faster, I tap into unused power and somehow neutralize Arran in seconds.
I barely see his brows rise in surprise, his hands suddenly empty of weapons, before I spin on Bale, staying just as aggressive and whip-crack fast so I don’t lose my momentum.
Bale still gains the upper hand after only a few exchanges.
I skitter back, regrouping. Trying to think instead of just move, I steer him toward the rockier terrain at the edge of the lake.
He doesn’t overwhelm me as quickly as I feared, but it’s also difficult to know how hard he’s trying.
My desire to win remains high, helping me.
Logic tells me I can’t win, but my heart and body aren’t complying with the negative message.
I kick small, sharp lake stones at him, forcing him to throw an arm in front of his face to protect his eyes. Following up instantly, I lunge. The tip of one blade nearly hits his torso before he spins out of the way, leaving a trail of shadow.
I snarl in frustration.
To my amazement, Bale snarls back. His jaw tight, he comes at me with fevered speed, forcing me backward until one boot splashes into the water.
He keeps pushing, and I step back again, sliding on silt-covered stones.
Cold water seeps into my boots. Gritting my teeth, I push in the other direction, but he shoves back with strength that far outmatches mine.
He follows up with a strike I barely block.
My feet slip, and I lose my balance on the uneven surface.
Panic zips through me as I fall, crashing into the frigid shallows on my backside.
The shock of ice-cold water slows me down, and I barely lurch sideways in time to avoid Bale’s blade.
It slices the water as I hook a leg around his knee and bring him down with me.
His splash sends freezing water over me, but I don’t pause this time and pounce, maneuvering on top of him.
The triumph of putting my blade to his throat lasts only a split second before he throws me off him, pushes me down, and straddles me.
I gasp, barely keeping my head above water. His expression dark, his eyes on fire, Bale holds both my shoulders in a steely grip so I can’t use my blades and pushes me under the surface.
I stare up at him through clear lake water. The sunny blue sky beyond him mocks me. The look on his face doesn’t. He holds me under until I start thrashing. I scream his name, the little air I have left bubbling out of me.
He scoots back and hauls on my arms, pulling my upper body free.
Bent at the waist with Bale still pinning my legs, I drag in a huge breath, my lungs aching.
He pulls me closer, lowers his head, and whispers against my neck, “And you’re dead.”
Arousal snaps through me, jerking a tight, hot ribbon of sensation from my chest to between my legs. Cold lake, warm breath. Hard hands, soft lips. Goose bumps sprout all over me. “Then why am I still here?” I ask roughly.
He draws back, his amber eyes brighter than Cealastra’s star in the night sky.
They hold me enthralled, and I wish I could fight their spell on me with feet and fists and blades, just like I fight everything else.
“Because you would’ve killed fifteen of them before they got anywhere near you or your warbirds. ”
“Twenty,” I counter sharply.
A slow smile spreads across his face, warming me like sunshine on my skin. I stare at the way his lips move. He’s always so stern and reserved. His smiles are as powerful as an eclipse—and almost as rare. I swallow, a fire kindling inside me despite the glacial lake.
Bale’s expression abruptly shutters, and he releases me, rising to splash up the shore. Disappointment hits me as I lurch to my feet. And relief. Bale leaving my personal space feels like a star dying inside me, the heat and power snuffing out.
I shake off sensations I wish I didn’t feel and desires I’m too smart to give in to, and grope around with icy hands for my dropped blades. As soon as I have them, I follow him out of the lake.
The others surround me, offering cloaks and extra tunics and cutting off my view of Bale. My teeth chatter as the autumn breeze pins my wet clothing to my skin, and for once, it’s not so bad being the youngest who everyone coddles.