Chapter 22 #2
Quickly moving past, I pass by a handful of Noctryns attacking each other with swords in lethal combinations, their shadows withering around them, seeking out any weaknesses in their opponent.
Farther down, another Veil is shifting, and an unimpressed fourth-year Noctryn is leaning against a large boulder, his nose scrunched, and eyes filled with disgust as he watches.
My steps become faster and my shoulders tense as each scan comes up empty. I’m about to give up and accept the fact that I blew it when I finally see them. Corrine stands behind Makon, a large dagger pressed to his throat, whispering something in his ear with a smug look on her face.
His answering grin is pure menace.
He grips her forearms and presses his throat into the blade, causing droplets of blood to drip down his neck.
Her brows sink, and she goes to pull back, but the next moment, he has her flipped over his shoulder.
She lands soundly on her back with his knee pinning her chest down and his Damascus dagger at her throat.
I can see her lips from here, pulling into a snarl and cursing him.
His face breaks out in a deep, rich laugh. Standing, he offers her his hand, which she smacks away. Her fighting leathers look damp and uncomfortable, leading me to wonder just how many times Makon has landed her in the snow.
I take a deep breath and reluctantly step toward them.
I fear my leathers are about to be even more uncomfortable. I awkwardly clear my throat. “Sorry, I’m late.”
Makon’s head swivels toward me. “Well, hello, little Caderyn, how nice of you to join us.” A cruel smile creeps over his face.
“You’re late,” Corrine huffs, tucking her dagger back in its sheath.
“I know,” I admit, “I got caught up in the library. I’m sorry.”
“Come on now, Quinn, cut her some slack. She was in the library,” Makon says, adding air quotations around the word library.
“I was—” I start.
“I don’t care if you were protecting the general himself—”
“In the library, you can check for yourself.”
“When I tell you to be here at ten sharp, you’re here ten minutes before,” Corinne snaps, her high black ponytail swishing as she walks toward me.
I bite my tongue and give a stiff nod.
At this point, any argument I have is weak, and regardless of how bad I want to bark back, it’s not worth it. I’ll grin and take it on the chin. She grabs one of my wrists, her pinched features clearly painting her unhappiness with me, turns it over, and slaps a small dagger in my palm.
I look at it, then at her, hesitation clearly written all over my face. We’re supposed to be working on strength training, not battle tactics. According to Kingston, I’m not ready for that yet. She looks at me like I’m stupid.
“Congrats, first-year. Today is your lucky day,” she insists, malice coating her words.
“I seriously doubt that,” I retort blandly. “Luck and I aren’t exactly on a first-name basis.”
“You’re going hand-to-hand with one of the best,” she says, her lips pulling into a sardonic sneer. I’m starting to wonder if this is the only expression she knows how to make.
I look around us. “Are you seeing someone that I’m not?”
Makon laughs, drawing my attention back to him.
“I see someone woke up and chose to be a brat.” He walks over and stops directly in front of me.
His long black hair is partially bound in a warrior’s knot at his crown, and the rest hangs loosely over his shoulders.
His eyes are a deeper brown than his brother’s and lack the onyx ring.
The scar running down his temple to his mouth makes the smirk he’s throwing in my direction seem downright hazardous.
I take a slight step back, then curse myself for doing so.
“A lot of women would love to be in your shoes right now and have the opportunity to have their hands all over me,” he says, his voice low and thick.
“Rest assured, I am not one of those women.”
He steps closer. “Yet,” he purrs, circling me.
He’s the predator, and I’m the prey.
Story of my life.
Corrine crawls up on one of the boulders and kicks her legs out in front of her. “The goal is to draw first blood. The smallest drop and you’re victorious. Loser runs four laps around the training field,” she says, waving her hands dismissively.
Four laps? I’ll die before I reach one.
I can’t run thirty seconds without being winded. I hate cardio more than I hate trying to wield shadows.
I exhale heavily and grip my dagger, stepping toward Makon.
This day fucking sucks.
He tilts his head, his tongue running over his teeth. Fucker looks like he’s measuring my worth or something.
I swing out blindly, and he knocks the blade out of my hand into the snow.
He bears his teeth in an antagonizing smile. “Pathetic,” he says, each syllable dipped in poisonous mockery.
I keep my eyes on him while I bend down to retrieve the blade.
Tossing my long ponytail over my shoulder, I stand and point the dagger at his annoying face. All I need is one small nick. Just one. The snow makes any sudden movement difficult, causing my boots to sink into the powder, throwing off any speed or precision I might have.
I lunge forward again, and Makon swats me to the side like an annoying gnat. Both of my hands and knees sink into the fallen snow.
I was right, wet leather is extremely uncomfortable.
“Is this seriously the best you’ve got? The academy fucked up in your assessment, Caderyn,” he spits in my direction. “You’re definitely 100 percent Veil.”
“Finally, something we agree on,” I growl from the ground.
I’m tired of being shoved into the snow, and even more tired of being fucking awful at sparring. This extra training isn’t helpful either. It’s just making a joke of me. “I think it’s quite obvious to everyone that I don’t have any Noctryn in me!”
His lips tug in amusement. “Would you like to?” he asks, his voice dripping with innuendo.
Ugh. Just no.
I stand and jab my wrist out, aiming for his throat, but I end up being thrown onto my back instead. He lands firmly on top of me, his thigh shoved between my legs, effectively ceasing any movement on my part. “Tap out, little Caderyn,” he orders, his face inches from mine.
I raise my face as close as possible to his and growl, “Never.”
One minute he’s on top of me, and the next, he’s four feet away on his back.
Kingston stands above me, shadows swirling around him in violent tendrils.
His lips are pulled into a vicious snarl, and his canines are on full display.
He looks like he’d like nothing more than to tear his brother apart, slowly and violently.
“That’s enough training for today,” he says in a low voice.
He’s talking to me, but his glare is on Makon.
“Thank fuck,” Corrine replies, inspecting her nails from her perch.
Makon props himself up on his elbows, a slow, mocking smirk already in place. “Little touchy today, aren’t we, big bro?” he asks. “Looks like that’ll be four laps, little Caderyn,” he throws in my direction, as he rises to his feet.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back into the snow.
“The victor doesn’t run,” Kingston declares.
“Which is why I, the victor, won’t be running,” Makon replies slowly.
I can hear Kingston’s dark chuckle above me, and it sends shivers over my skin. “She drew blood,” he says.
My eyes pop open, and I lift my head to look. Sure as shit, Makon holds up his hand inspecting it, and there’s a small line of crimson. The dagger must have grazed him when Kingston threw him off me.
“You gotta be shitting me,” Makon mutters.
Kingston crosses his arms. “That’ll be four laps, little bro,” he orders.