CHAPTER 18
Aimee
My leather-clad ass lands with a resounding thud on the charcoal training mat, for the umpteenth time in the last hour. I’m pretty sure by now my butt cheeks are as bruised as my ego.
Godsdamned Blaise! He’s a gracious panther on the mat, all poised and lethal, disarming me with the precise movements of a killer and a dancer combined, repeatedly.
With skills like that, any girl to grace his sheets is one lucky bitch, if only ever for one night. Scandalous as he is, I doubt he ever shares the same bed twice. I’m pretty sure there’s a long line of broken-hearted, inconsolable females pining for his wandering attentions.
He offers me a hand to hoist me up onto my feet, a mocking smirk hanging from his lips. I take it without an ounce of remorse, ready to claim defeat.
My body is overheated, the skintight fighting leathers Nella provided me with this morning, clinging damply to my every curve.
“There, there, kitty, smooth that frown before it remains forever etched on your pretty face,” he says, gesturing to the long wooden benches that line the sides of the training hall. “I’ll grant you a five-minute break, although no such respite can be found on the battlefield.”
They’ve decided that if I train, I might as well train for the real thing, even if I probably won’t come anywhere close to a battlefield anytime soon, or ever.
I grumble a curse under my breath before unceremoniously plopping down on the bench, gurgling water from a metallic flasket.
“I’m so bloody unprepared for this!” I huff in annoyance, dragging a sweaty palm over my forehead. Unruly locks of hair have fallen out of my high ponytail, sticking flat to the sides of my face.
“Of course you are, Aimee!” He breathes a half laugh as he takes a casual seat next to me.
“You’re used to Fae fighting techniques.
Faes are clumsy like a newborn baby deer compared to us.
No offense!” He sticks out his tongue at me playfully.
“But you have a base of fighting knowledge from which we can work upwards. A bit rusty, as if you’ve been reading about how to fight, instead of actually fighting. ”
“Never been in an actual fight,” I confess, with a blooming blush spreading on my cheeks. “I’ve taken a few lessons, and I indeed read all the books on self-defense I could get my hands on.”
“And why is that?” Blaise’s brows quirk up in question.
“You can never be too safe as a female, Blaise. We’re not all born ruthless killing machines like you, you know? And in my line of work, it’s better to have at least some knowledge of how to defend yourself if rowdy patrons ever get handsy.” The smooth lie leaves my lips with ease.
“Did they ever…?” he trails off, a grimace marring his boyish features.
“Gods, no, never. That’s why I’ve never had to put these skills to the test,” I chuckle, and it’s not a hundred percent untrue. None of my patrons ever tried to put their hands on me, not without my consent, that is.
“But for our current purposes, it seems I am doomed.”
“You’re not entirely doomed,” Blaise replies, squeezing my shoulder in reassurance.
“Sure, I won’t die first in an onpyr attack,” I sulk, “Just in the first five minutes.”
“No, princess, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll be able to hold your own long enough for one of us to come swooping in to save you,” he says, grinning unabashedly.
“Would they kill me, though? The onpyrs?” I wonder out loud.
My questioning seems to sober him up. “Not really, no. They would turn you into a vampire, then drag you back to Morweena to control your mind, so you’d become one of her onpyr puppets,” he responds truthfully.
“Yeah, no thank you. Death sounds like the better option,” I grumble as I start shedding the bodice of my fighting gear. I just need to breathe a bit, unencumbered by the suffocating leather.
Blaise’s eyes widen in shock. “What the hell are you doing, Aimee? Put those things away!” he whisper-shouts, glancing around us suspiciously, as if searching for hidden spectators.
There’s nobody else in the large training chamber, a rectangular room covered in soft mats, its walls adorned with every weapon you could imagine.
Ancient, gemstone carved swords that hum with unrestrained power hang next to elegant crossbows, titanium-forged shields, worn-out battle axes, and even angry-looking spiked mauls. This room must be a warrior’s wet dream.
“They’re just breasts, Blaise!” I chuckle loudly, looking down at my black bralette, keeping the girls in check. “It’s not like you haven’t seen them before.”
“What? When?” he whispers agitatedly as if the walls have ears.
“That’s blasphemy. I would never!” he continues, raising his voice to make sure nobody gets the wrong idea.
I’m baffled by his strange behavior. Since when did Blaise become so skittish?
He hasn’t thrown any innuendos my way at all lately. Is it because of Killian?
“Uhm, the night you kidnapped me, asshole. I was wearing skimpier clothing than this!” I guffaw, my tone laced with incredulity.
“Ah yes, I remember those beauties,” he sighs dreamily. “You were not claimed then, though.”
“I am not claimed now, either!” I hiss, annoyance perking up its ugly head from deep within me. So, his sudden modest demeanor has everything to do with a certain brooding Vampire King.
“Sure, sure, keep telling yourself that, princess,” Blaise answers in his insufferable singsong voice. “Besides, you’re like a little sister to me now. I don’t want to see your boobies!”
I spit out the mouthful of water I was just drinking.
“Do you have a habit of being brazenly lewd with all your sisters, then?” His eyes turn downcast, and I can taste the heavily booted foot I masterfully just inserted into my mouth.
“As of a very long time ago, I don’t have any other little sisters. Not anymore. You’d be the first one since my turning,” he murmurs, a look of blood-soaked melancholy passing through his gaze.
“Please forgive me, Blaise. I didn’t mean to be a thoughtless wench.” I lean into his side, our arms brushing.
“Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” He bumps my shoulder gently.
“No, but I do feel guilty by proxy. I’m still wrapping my mind around the centuries of atrocities committed by my kind.” My voice turns sorrowful as fleeting thoughts of what actually happened throughout Imiryion’s history pass through my head.
“What’s done is done,” he says, rising from the bench. “No reason to dwell on it now. Come, put those bad girls away before you get me into trouble, and let’s continue our training.”
I stand up, shimmying back into the leather bodice. “What’s next?”
“Dagger play.” He wiggles his eyebrows conspiratorially. “My favorite.”
Turns out I’m utter shit at throwing daggers at vampires, too.
Blaise handed me a dozen smooth, obsidian-hilted blades, and I was so cocky for about two full minutes.
I’m well versed in targeting a standing enemy, or even a moving Fae, sluggish as they are compared to these creatures.
I made it my devout mission to master a blade as soon as I escaped that hellhole I used to call home.
It gave me a false sense of security, that if Aurora ever tried to sink her wicked clutches into me again, I could fight my way out of anything.
Oh, how wrong I was!
Blaise laughed boisterously at my smug show of skills, throwing three daggers on top of each other, sinking deeply into the far wall, between two heavy shields.
“That’s a neat parlor trick, princess, but can you aim and hit a target moving at blinding speed?”
He proceeded to run around the training hall so fast that I couldn’t discern even one of his limbs. I kept throwing daggers blindly to spots that he previously occupied, while he cackled gleefully, taunting me, goading me, until I screamed in frustration.
This violent cat-and-mouse game continued for more than one hour, leaving me panting like a bitch in heat, while Blaise didn’t break out in sweat at all.
“It’s settled then,” I wheeze painfully, “I’m downright useless. A fucking liability.”
Blaise pats me gently on the shoulder, but the gesture sits heavy on my weary bones.
“Now, now, Aimee. Don’t be so harsh on yourself. It’s just the first day. You’ll get better at it, I promise. You have me as a teacher, after all.” He offers with a self-contented smile.
I roll my shoulders tiredly. My entire body is screaming in protest, every muscle, every tendon taut, like a snapping strand of frail hair under the gigantic weight of a jumping mammoth.
“Come now.” Blaise slowly tugs me forward towards the exit. “I’ll walk you back to your room. You need rest.”
“Still suspicious that I would run away? I’m entirely too exhausted for that,” I clap back at him out of habit.
“More like worried that you’d faint in public, and Killian would have me strung from the ceiling for the next decade. I’ve seen him doing it to prisoners, and it’s not a pretty sight, believe me.”
Gods, it hurts like hell to laugh right now, but I still try, the sound resembling the mewl of a strangled kitten. So, that’s where Blaise’s nickname for me comes from. Go figure!
“Are you really that afraid of your King?” I ask.
“Not afraid at all, kitty cat. Respectful. And maybe a little weary. We’re possessive, jealous heathens. It’s better not to get on our bad side when it comes to the object of our desires.” He winks at me jokingly.
“Like Leilah, then.” I say, gauging his reaction. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I’m dying for some inside scoop.
“Ah, yes, the jaundiced ex trope. She hits the mark on that one. Been pining over our boy here for over a century.” Blaise grins mischievously.
“I’ve got to hand it to you, though. You single-handedly knocked her down a peg last night.
Chapeau, darling!” The vampire smiles triumphantly, pretending to take off his imaginary hat and bowing deeply in front of me.
“And single-handedly proceeded in making a terrifying enemy. Me and my fucking big mouth.” I shudder at the memory of her crazed glower directed at me.
We climb the stairs towards my floor, my knees almost giving out from the simple task of carrying my body upward.
“Ah, that’s bullshit. We’ve all got your back, princess. She’s just a hot commodity thanks to her mad torturing skills. Nobody fucking stands her guts, though. Not even Killian.”
I wince at the mention of torture. I’ve had my fair share of that already, and I’m definitely not interested in becoming someone else’s punching bag.
“Then what’s their deal then?” I ask out of pure nosiness. Not envy or bitterness. Uh-uh. Not at all.
“Just a drunken, meaningless fling with the wrong female. Don’t hold it over his head, though, pretty princess. It happened way before you were even born.” Blaise drawls conspiratorially.
We finally make it to my bedroom door, and I can almost taste the sweet surrender of crashing into the fluffy warmth of my bed, and sleeping this exhaustion away.
“Will you cut that out already? There’s nothing going on between me and Killian. Nor will there ever be!” I say through clenched teeth. “Liar!” my inner voice decides to join the party, obviously taking Blaise’s side instead of mine.
“Then why do you blush so profusely every time I mention him?” Blaise snaps back laughingly, continuing his lazy stroll towards the Vampire King’s wing.
“I don’t. It’s called being flushed from exertion. You kicked my ass for two hours straight,” I defend myself, feeling the pointed tips of my ears turning pink.
“Yeah, yeah, princess, or should I say queen? Keep reigning supreme over delusional land.”
His baleful taunt floats airily through the now empty hallway.