Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
MYLO
Three hours later
My ribs ache from the tight squeeze of the corset harness, made tighter each time it lifts my weight off my feet.
Not only do I need to give a convincing leap into the air, but I also need to keep my balance perfect.
Any wobble gives away the wires attached to either side, and it’s taken us a million takes (seventeen, to be precise) to nail every detail.
Even fresh, holding the full-body pose is challenging.
Tired and sore? Nearly impossible.
I do it with a smile—just like I know Gabriel and Bella did it with a smile when it was their turn in the harness. The motivation of making them proud is all I need to spring back to my mark, again and again.
I might be a bit of a masochist. Most stunt people are.
The funny thing about omegas having a reputation for being fragile is that the opposite is true. Our natural flexibility makes us springier than most, better able to take a beating without permanent injury.
Before the eighteenth take, Bella calls for a slightly longer break and brings me a bottle of water. I take a few light sips; the last thing I want is anything else for the corset to squeeze.
“How many more takes do you have in you?” she asks quietly.
“As many as you need.”
“What I need is for you to not have bruised ribs when you go up on the big rig. I’ve seen the shots Lana has; there are plenty of angles to splice together something that’ll look great. She’s just being picky.”
I take a shallow breath through my chest—the best I can manage with the harness—and actually check in with my body instead of letting the adrenaline smooth over everything.
The number of takes I have left in me is negative five. It’s already going to hurt to breathe all tomorrow. Bella’s right, a distraction like that would be dangerous on the big rig.
“I’ve got one more,” I say.
Bella gives a firm nod. “You’ve got it.”
As she goes over to chat with Lana—and lay down the law, I presume—I head back to my mark.
I need to find Melinoe again. From take fourteen on, I’ve just been going through the motions. That works for good-enough shots. But Lana isn’t the only perfectionist here. If I’ve got one take left, I’ll give it everything.
I close my eyes and let Haley’s sauntering gait play through my mind. I’m shadow. Madness. Hate.
Bella’s voice calls, asks if I’m ready.
I keep my eyes closed and give her a thumbs-up.
Fuck, I want to nail this. I want to get the whole audience rooting for Melinoe.
I want to show Christine how it’s really done.
“Action!”
My eyes flash open. The movements are deep in my muscle memory, so I let all conscious thought fade away. I look up and find my mark, centering my will on the top of the low cliff, believing with every fiber that the wires are an extension of myself, part of my own inner power.
And I leap.
The pain, the stress, the anger—it all goes quiet. There’s only the ecstasy of movement.
Time slows. As if there’s nothing but my own body to get me over the edge, I throw my arms high, gaining momentum to ease my weight off the wires for a split second, just enough to really sell the landing.
“Cut! That’s a wrap. Well done, everyone!”
The stunt team member at the top of the cliff, a gangly youth in coveralls that read Electra 2 Stunt Team, hurries up to me.
“Ready to head back down?” he asks.
My breath sends a sharp pain through my ribs. “I’d rather walk, if it’s all the same.”
He nods empathetically. “Yeah, no problem.”
As he radios down to the rest of the stunt team, he waves over another assistant to help unclip me from the wire. As soon as I’m off, I reach through the purpose-made gap in my bodysuit to loosen the corset and finally take a deep breath.
God, I need some water and a few minutes horizontal.
I head a short ways up the cliff and find an area where the rock has crumbled enough that I can easily clamber down. It’d be a brutally steep climb for someone with less experience, but there’s a reason I frequent a climbing gym.
As soon as I reach the bottom, I spot one of Andy’s assistants jogging for me.
Fuck. I was supposed to have more of a break between these stunts and sparring, but the extra takes ate up that time.
His face brightens as he sees me. “You ready to go spar with Christine?”
I offer a steady grin and a thumbs-up. “Let’s go.”
Christine and Andy are waiting in the same patch of gravel where Gabriel and I sparred earlier.
The ground is lined with blue foam mats, assembling a makeshift gym floor under spare lights to fend off the impending sunset.
A few thicker pads are arranged near the edges, meaning Andy will want to practice some falls.
On the way over, I chugged water and stretched out some of the stiffness in my ribs, and I take a long hit from my vape as I approach.
The nicotine settles my nerves. And at the end of a sweaty day next to an alpha, I need the cover for the hint of citrus that escapes the suppressants and makes its way into my sweat.
Christine eyes the puff of vapor. “Hope you’re not tired already.”
“I have all the energy I need.” I turn to Andy; my plan is to ignore Christine as much as I can get away with. While being inches away from her.
Given that Andy is as much a legend as Bella is, he’s a pretty great distraction. And even Christine shuts up and listens to him.
“Okay. We’re going to run through the basics.
” Andy has a soothing, deliberate tone and a moderate Chinese accent.
“We’ll be able to practice on the rig tomorrow, low to the ground.
It’s not much time, so I want you to focus on making…
ingredients. We’ll mix them together tomorrow, work out the camera angles.
It’s going to take improvisation, immersion. ”
“That’s not a problem for me,” I say, with just the lightest emphasis on for me.
Christine’s too-blue eyes flick toward me, brow raising.
I ignore her, keeping my focus on Andy.
“Mylo, I want you to bring some capoiera into Melinoe’s fighting style. She is fluid, shadow, control. Until she isn’t. She must look fast, but because of smoothness, not quick, jerky movements.”
I nod. Capoiera is an Afro-Brazilian martial art with a dance-like style, mesmerizing and flowing.
Pure capoiera is more spiritual practice than fighting style, but elements of capoeira—especially agile handstands and velvet-smooth kicks—blended with other styles make for some of the most compelling stunt fights to watch.
The style also plays well into my gymnastics background, and I’ve practiced it enough to blend it smoothly with my foundations in Judo and Tae Kwon Do.
Christine, on the other hand…
“We’re going to pick up where you left off with Alanna,” Andy says to her.
“Try to keep up,” I say.
The corner of her mouth twitches upwards. “That’s not a problem for me.”
Andy gives us our first prompt: I get to take a punch. It’s really just a fall, a classic stunt punch, no contact.
Christine swings, and as she pulls the blow, I throw my chest backwards, pushing off with my feet to send myself twisting in the air. I spot my landing on the cushion, tucking around at the last second to land on my back.
Pain lances through my bruised core, but I spring to my feet all the same.
“Good,” Andy says. “Again.”
I find a new angle to push, working an extra rotation in. Andy gives me a crisp, satisfied nod, then gives Christine a minute of notes.
“Understood?”
We nod.
“Again.”
And so it goes—ten more times. Andy gives Christine notes after each pass, working on her posture, her follow-through, her commitment.
After the twentieth reset, I’m getting impatient. As much as I value Andy’s approval, I want his attention more.
“The form is good,” Andy says. “Now do it faster.”
This time, I don’t immediately get into position. I know Christine has the power and the speed. And I’m sick of this.
“You afraid of hurting me?” I taunt.
Her eyes narrow slightly. “No.”
“Here, let’s try something. Swing a punch at me, as hard as you can. Really try to hit me.” I glance over at Andy.
He considers a moment, then gives a nod, understanding what I’m proposing.
Christine looks skeptical. “Really?”
I nod. “Really.”
She raises a brow, glancing between us. “I’m a head taller. I’ve gotta have at least fifty pounds on you.”
“Talk is cheap. Either you have the guts, or you don’t. C’mon. Hard as you can.”
Christine looks to Andy, whose calm expression betrays nothing. He nods again.
She shrugs. “Alright. It’s your funeral.”
Then she winds back and swings a hook at my chest.
Like springing onto the rock, the movements are feeling, not thinking.
I sense her energy, catching its flow and getting ahead of it, using the feel of my feet against the mat to swerve.
As her punch soars past my chest, I grab her forearm and yank it forward, gaining leverage on her shoulder with my other hand and shoving her down.
There’s a low thud and Christine is flat on the mat, me standing over her.
She huffs with surprise and rolls over.
I take my mark and ready stance again. “If you hit me, it’s because I let you hit me.”
Christine chuckles as she pushes back to her feet. “Alright, then.”
This time, she commits to the swing—and I commit to the fall, thumping back into the mat.
“Much better,” Andy says. “Let’s get two more of those, then move on.”
I actually manage to find a rhythm as we go through a series of falls. It’s when Andy instructs us into a grapple—positioned with my head under Christine’s arm—that I’m in trouble.
Under the salt and seaweed, there’s a hint of sweet coconut in her scent I hadn’t noticed before, like a candle you’d see in a tacky beach rental. It goes right to my temples, tightening into a pounding headache. I breathe as little as possible.
For this maneuver, I let Christine grapple me, then grip her waist to flip my legs up and around her neck before throwing into a twist that sends her to the ground.
While moves like this give the appearance of a knock-down, drag-out fight, they’re actually very cooperative maneuvers, with both actors working hard to sell the action and make sure nobody gets hurt.
For the first pass, we go slow and talk through the movements, just like blocking. Then a little faster. And again, faster.
No matter how it makes my gut churn, no matter how many times Andy tells me to resume the starting position with my head tucked under Christine’s arm, I do so without complaint.
Her muscles are real, I’ll give her that. I’d have thought she trained for vanity, but what bulk she has is earned by strength. Her coordination isn’t half-bad, either.
Then a curious thing happens. As she tires, her pretenses thin. She listens intently to Andy, trying earnestly on each pass. When she can tell she’s fallen short, she’s back to her mark as fast as I am, ready to go again.
We find a steady rhythm, whether it’s her or me who takes the fall.
Marks. Execute the movement. Thump to the mat. Back to the feet. Marks. Again.
It’s well dark when she pins me for the tenth time, arm across my chest, learning to follow my fall without adding unsafe force.
Her eyes catch mine. Somehow, that hasn’t happened yet; we’ve been so focused on the movements.
Even in the dim light, her eyes are electric, unsettling blue: a sky blazing with sun, the halo of a lightning flash, the iridescence of a butterfly’s wing.
Amidst our heavy panting, the pressure of her arm against my chest sends a deep calm rippling through me.
For the briefest moment, her breath over me is like a hot sea breeze, not just salt and ocean but something quiet and wild.
Andy’s voice jolts us back to our senses. “Well done. That’s a good place to stop for today. Your next assignment is a good night’s sleep.”
Christine stands, then holds down a hand to me.
I take it and let her pull me to my feet, if only in appreciation for her taking the task seriously.
A couple production assistants are still nearby to shut off the lights and close down the set, and Andy stays behind to help them, shooing me and Christine toward the end of the trailers where a car waits for us. I duck into the stunt team trailer to grab my bag, then rejoin Christine.
As we crunch over the gravel, she asks, “Excited to get into the rig tomorrow?”
“I won’t know until I get in there whether we’re going to have a love or hate relationship.”
“Hm.”
She’s quiet for a few paces.
I guess I can accept this peace offering—temporarily.
“You nervous?” I ask.
Her laugh is quick and condescending. “Of course not. Eh. How hard could it be?”
I immediately return to my scorched-earth mood. “You’ll find out,” I bite. I put it my headphones, catch up on the notifications on my phone, and ignore Christine for the rest of the ride.
Well, almost the rest.
As I get out, I turn over my shoulder and say, “Have fun in your palace, princess.”