Chapter VIII #2
Anger and confusion warred in Vic as she raged through the halls, alongside a sickening feeling of helplessness.
How had everything gone wrong so quickly?
Her brother meant the world to her, and she could feel him pulling away.
She couldn’t stomach feeling out of place, or out of the loop, or the anxiety that came with Henry insisting everything was fine.
What was she doing in the castle? Vic wondered. Was she really here to keep Henry safe? Or was she looking for something else? Maybe she wanted a role of her own, to have her own desires matter for once.
Vic could hardly think through the haze of fractious energy driving her forward. She didn’t know where she was going until she arrived.
She crept into the octagonal supply room and eyed the weapons inside.
Vic had left behind the stolen dagger when she fled the apartment, and she regretted it. Her fingers itched to close around something lethal. She wanted to fight, she needed to fight—more than she had in years.
She reached for a short sword and cleaved the air in front of her. Vic held it aloft, watched as the blade balanced perfectly before she swung it again, pretending there was someone in front of her fighting back. She turned on her heel and stabbed forward.
At the fringes of Vic’s vision, something moved, and she twisted the blade toward it on instinct. Her mind flashed to the shadow she’d seen the night before, the sentient dark writhing toward the castle, and she readied for a real fight.
But Vic lowered the weapon when she recognized the figure half concealed by the darkness.
The Chief Sentinel leaned against the opposite wall, watching her.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Vic said. She put the sword back where she’d found it, ignoring the slight tremor in her fingers.
“You know how to use that.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yeah.” Vic crossed her arms in front of her. She could only make out the shape of him, though his eyes seemed to shine in the darkness like a cat’s. Human eyes didn’t glow without light, she reminded herself, though his seemed to. Little pinpricks of silver-cerulean amid the shadow.
“Why?” Xan asked, his voice almost a whisper. It rumbled in Vic’s chest, and her heart drummed in response.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Vic said. Her conversation with Henry had left her feeling wild, untamed, and unafraid of this man who should have terrified her. “I learned how to use a lot of weapons after my mom died.”
Vic didn’t mention her near-constant fear, the footsteps behind her and the wet slap of something closing in.
“Why suffer so much training if you didn’t think you were going to use it?”
She shrugged. “I found it satisfying.”
Vic couldn’t discern his expression through the darkness, but he watched her for a long moment before replying.
“You look upset,” Xan said. Vic bristled at the thought of him taking note of her vulnerability. She felt a flush in her cheeks and knew that he saw it.
“I argued with my brother.”
“Is that why you’re here?” he asked. “To blow off steam?”
“Maybe I just feel at home surrounded by weapons,” Vic said, and she was only half kidding.
Xan stepped out of the shadows, still wearing the all-black training outfit. He walked toward her, and she took a step back on instinct.
But she wouldn’t let herself cower.
Xan stopped inches in front of her. He reached above her, and Vic inhaled to soothe the hammering of her heart. She was sure, somehow, that he could hear it. She stared at the thick column of his neck, the delicate Adam’s apple, the lines of muscle she could see through the fabric of his shirt.
She breathed deeply, his scent wrapping around her throat like a fist. Sweat and soap and something Vic couldn’t place. Earthy and primal.
Xan plucked a similar sword from the rack behind her and stepped away.
“Come with me,” he said, turning away from her. Vic shook herself. Had she really just smelled him? What was wrong with her? “Bring that with you.”
Vic shot him a confused look, and Xan dipped his head toward the row of swords behind her.
Get your head in the game, Vic scolded herself. He was a very powerful, very dangerous man. And he wanted her to bring a weapon.
Sword in hand, Vic followed Xan through a doorway and down a small hallway into an empty room.
He didn’t turn on any lights, but high windows overhead cast glum moonlight around the space.
It was a training room of some kind, with an open padded floor in the center.
It reminded Vic of a gym, and some of her anxiety lifted.
“I want something from you,” Xan said when Vic faced him.
Her eyes slid down to his waist, tapered and fit in his black uniform pants.
“Not that,” he growled, and Vic bit back a smile. “I want you to attack me.”
Vic opened her mouth in surprise. “But these are actual swords,” she pointed out.
Xan lifted an eyebrow as if to say and?
“You don’t practice with sharp swords,” Vic replied, a taste of annoyance in her tone. “It’s dangerous.”
“I’m not worried that you’ll hurt me,” Xan replied, and Vic scowled at him.
“You’re not the one I’m worried about,” Vic said. “Maybe you’ll use this as an excuse to slice me into tiny little pieces.” But she flipped the sword in her hand and got ready to fight.
One side of Xan’s mouth turned up in a smirk. “I don’t need a weapon for that.”
Vic grumbled witches under her breath and lunged forward.
Xan knocked her sword out of the way as she dove and swung his weapon toward her back. But Vic expected as much and twisted out of the way. She struck for his midriff again, and he parried.
Vic knew to watch his eyes as they fought, not his weapon. The sharp, gleaming blade tempted her gaze downward, but Vic knew better. The sword would move only when Xan had already decided where to strike. His eyes would show Vic his plans as he made them.
Clearly, Xan knew this lesson as well as Vic did. Their eyes locked as they danced.
His were pale and sharp, under a hard brow frowning in concentration. The longer Vic kept her eyes trained on his, the more she imagined they glimmered in the light, opalescent like storm clouds shifting behind a windowpane.
As soon as Vic started moving, she felt better, her frustration bleeding out in every thrust, clash, and spin. She moved with instinct, thinking as little as possible, and her mind sang with relief.
Xan was so much bigger than Vic, bigger than anyone she’d ever fought. She had to work to stay focused, to not think about the size of him, the sensuality of their bodies moving in tandem with each other. Fighting was like sex, she thought. All instinct and muscle. And Xan was very good at it.
But so was she.
“Where did you learn to do this?” Xan asked as he narrowly deflected a strike to his shoulder.
“Lots of places,” Vic replied distantly, aiming for his lower back. Xan twisted away, and she pursued him. “Why won’t you attack me?”
Vic went for his left shoulder again, because she’d noticed he was slower on that side. Still, he deflected the hit and kept moving.
“You did the same thing with Matthews earlier,” she pointed out. “I know you’re better at this than I am. You don’t need to worry about frightening me.”
Vic could feel herself relaxing as she moved. She got faster and sharper and found herself not even needing to glance at Xan’s body in order to attack it. She kept her eyes on his, watching the blue-gray grow more focused, more agitated.
When he didn’t respond, she continued, “Is it a control problem, I wonder?” She smirked. “You keep yourself so tight, so rigid. It’s all defense because you don’t want to lose control.” Vic heard the edge in her voice, the invitation. She knew Xan was unaccustomed to being teased.
She pursued him again, getting faster. Xan knocked her sword away.
“I think I’d like to watch you snap,” Vic said, jabbing for his sword hand as Xan slid out of the way.
His lips pulled back in a smile that was half snarl, and he stabbed forward. Vic jumped out of the way and spun.
“Finally!” Pure energy coursed through her veins. “I knew this would be fun.”
They met in the middle, again and again.
Their weapons hit with the clang of striking metal.
Xan gritted his teeth. Now he was breathing hard, his skin slick with sweat.
His broad chest rose and fell, its rhythm speeding up to match hers.
Vic counted her breaths as she began to feel the exertion, keeping them measured and even.
Vic parried with a strike and grinned at him, and he returned it, his teeth flashing white in the dark.
Vic feinted to the left and arced her blade, but where Xan had been standing there was only empty air.
She threw her head back, laughing.
And then the blade was on her throat.
She jerked to a stop as she felt the cold press of metal on her neck. Her sword fell to her side.
Xan was an arm’s length from her, his chest still heaving, but the point of his sword was at Vic’s jugular. If she moved a fraction of an inch, it would break the tender skin. If he pressed…
Vic swallowed, heart pounding. An icy bead of sweat slid down her spine.
She didn’t take her eyes from his as Xan considered her. He stood stock-still with the blade at her neck, watching her face with a hard expression, as if weighing the consequences of killing her, splitting her throat and removing the annoying liability that had infiltrated his castle.
He pulled the blade away and threw it to the ground. Vic took a gasping breath.
“You’re better at this than I expected,” he said, his voice gruff and raw.
Vic stared at him as she felt a change in the air.
She didn’t know if it came from him or her or if it was only in her head, but she watched the hard set of his body as he watched her, breathing hard.
All of a sudden they were no longer a witch and an interloper, fighting in an empty training room.
They were a man and a woman, drawn together in the dark.
For an instant Vic was certain it was not in her head, she was not the only one who felt the pull.
She licked her lips and watched him trace the movement with his eyes.
“I knew your mother,” Xan said, and the spell broke. “Not well,” he admitted. “But she helped train me when I first got here, a little more than ten years ago. She was a Ranger Sentinel by then and only came around occasionally. She was one of the best.”
“What happened to her?” Her voice was almost inaudible.
“The official word is that she was killed on a hunt,” Xan said.
“You’re skeptical,” Vic said. He kept his eyes on hers as he spoke.
“Rumor has it she was working on something before she died. She tried to break into another group, a rival of the Order’s.”
“I didn’t know the Order had rivals,” Vic said.
“This other group,” he said, “they’re a lot worse than the Order.”
Vic raised an eyebrow.
“They don’t care about human casualties the way the Order does. And they’re determined to bring the Order to its knees.”
“It’s gonna be war,” Vic whispered, remembering Henry’s warning. The recruits could sense the rising tension in the air.
Xan nodded without taking his eyes from hers.
“What can I do?” Vic asked, and Xan’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“I’m not telling you this so that you can help,” he said. “I’m telling you to leave.”
Vic scoffed. “If you think I’m going anywhere without my brother, think again.”
The expression on his face softened for an instant before he frowned at her again.
“Max has it in his head that magic can be learned,” he said. “That there’s a third option instead of just Born or Made, like we’ve all been taught.”
“What does this have to do with me?” Vic asked, though she had a suspicion she knew where he was going.
“Max thinks that you, and I mean you, can pick up enough of the language by being here, by taking classes, that you can become one of us.”
As he spoke, Vic felt a horrible sensation behind her breastbone. It felt an awful lot like hope.
“If he proves his theory,” Xan said, “if you learn what he wants you to, Max thinks he can hold you out as the reason the Order needs to ease some of its rules. He thinks it could change everything.”
“You don’t agree?” Vic asked.
“Whether Max is right or wrong doesn’t matter,” Xan said. “He thinks he can control the outcome, and he can’t. He thinks he can keep you safe, and he can’t promise that.”
“Why?”
“Use your head. When has changing everything ever led to a peaceful outcome?”
“And if I refuse to leave?” Vic asked.
Xan broke eye contact, watching the ground for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice was a deep grumble, almost resigned.
“If you won’t leave,” Xan said, hesitating, “then I have a job for you.”
Vic raised her eyebrows. “That was fast.”
“I came with a contingency. You seemed stubborn.” Vic smiled at him, and he frowned. “The Sentinels’ combat skills need work.”
“And you want me to help?” Vic asked, taken aback.
A ghost of a smile touched Xan’s face. “They will not like losing to a human. I imagine many of them will find it…motivating.”
Vic couldn’t help herself. She laughed. “You want me to rile them into fighting better?”
“You know your way around, and I could keep an eye on you,” Xan said with a shrug. “I’ve had worse ideas.”
Vic watched him through narrowed eyes, but when she spoke, she said, “Fine.” She would have agreed no matter what reasoning Xan gave. She would take any opportunity to fight him again, to practice, to have a purpose in this place.
“On one condition,” Xan added. “I’m in charge. When I say jump—”
“I jump as high as I can,” Vic finished for him.
Xan nodded. The look on his face suggested he already regretted asking Vic for help.
“Tomorrow,” he said, backing away from her. “Sarah will bring you.” He pointed at the sword on the ground. “Put those away before you go to bed.”
“Aye, aye, captain,” Vic said with a smile. Xan shook his head as he left Vic alone in the empty classroom.
As Vic plucked Xan’s sword from the ground, her chest was warm, and her muscles were alive.
There might be a war on the horizon, and Max might have some harebrained scheme to give Vic magic, and Henry might be determined to stay. But Vic had a job to do.