Total pages in book: 295
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 282090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1410(@200wpm)___ 1128(@250wpm)___ 940(@300wpm)
“Of-fucking-course.” I hand the conduit to Rhiannon.
“Why am I not surprised, Cat?” Imogen glares across the mat before turning toward me.
“It’s fine. Predictable but fine.” One by one, I unsheathe all thirteen of my weapons and hand them to her.
“She’s got at least five inches on you, so watch for her reach,” Rhiannon says quietly.
“From what I remember, she’s quick on the attack and won’t leave you much time to react, so commit to your moves. Don’t hesitate,” Imogen adds.
“All right.” I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, fighting like hell to steady the nerves that have my stomach doing somersaults. If I’d known this was where today was headed, I would have acted earlier, maybe laced her breakfast with the fonilee I saw growing on the ridge just beneath the valley.
“You’ve got this,” Rhiannon says with a nod. “You were trained by the best.”
“Xaden,” I whisper, wishing he was here and not on the border.
“Me.” She nudges me with her elbow and forces a smile.
“Violet?” Sloane moves to Imogen’s side. “Do me a favor and kick her ass.”
My mouth tugs into a real half smile, and I nod at her before stepping onto the mat. Guess nothing unites foes like a common enemy, and for some reason, Cat has decided I’m hers. The mat has the same density as the ones at Basgiath, the same feel under my boots as I walk to the center, where Cat waits with a malevolent smirk.
“Scratch her eyes out,” Andarna suggests. “Really. The eyes are the softest tissue. Just jab your thumbs in there—”
“Andarna! Use some common sense,” Tairn snaps. “The kneecaps are a much easier target.”
“Quiet time, now.” I slam my shields up, muting Tairn and Andarna as much as possible.
“No weapons. No signets,” Devera says. “Match ends when one of you is—”
“Unconscious or taps out,” Cat finishes without taking her eyes off me. “We know.”
“Begin.” Devera steps off the mat, and I block out the noise around me, giving all my focus to Cat as she takes a familiar fighting stance.
I do the same, keeping my body loose and ready for movement. If she’s quick on the attack like Imogen said, then I’ll need to play defense.
“This is for Luella.” She comes at me with a combination of punches that I block with my forearms, shifting my body so the blows glance off without their full impact. It’s…easy, like I know the choreography. Like it’s muscle memory. Her stance adjusts, and I jump back a second before she kicks out. Connecting only with air, her balance falters as I land, and she stumbles sideways.
Holy shit. She fights like Xaden.
He trained both of us.
Defeating a dark wielder begins with knowing where they rank in age and experience. Initiates have reddish rings to their eyes that come and go depending on how often they drain. Asims’ eyes fluctuate in degrees of red, and their veins distend when riled. Sages’—those responsible for initiates—eyes are permanently red, their veins perpetually distended toward their temples, expanding with age. Mavens—their generals—have never been captured for examination.
—VENIN, A COMPENDIUM BY CAPTAIN DRAKE CORDELLA, THE NIGHTWING DRIFT
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
So much for thinking I have the advantage.
Her eyes flare, like she’s come to the same conclusion as we circle each other, and then they narrow in a way that makes my stomach clench. Devera may have set the rules, but something tells me Cat is about to break them.
“Does it bother you?” she asks, lowering her voice as she raises her hands. “Knowing he taught me first? That I had him first?”
“Not at all, since I have him now.” I swallow the sour jealousy that rises with the burn of bile in my throat.
“Really?” She jabs, and I weave. “The thought that I know what he tastes like?” She throws another combination that I block, then retreats as if it was nothing but a test. “How his weight feels above me?”
I will not vomit on this mat. I refuse.
“Nope.” But shit if that picture doesn’t play out in my mind as vividly as a nightmare.
Her hands on his skin, her mouth on the curling lines of his rebellion relic. Envy and anger roar in my ears, dulling my senses, and I blink rapidly to clear the image, but heat prickles my skin as power rises within me.
She comes at me again, and I throw my forearm up in a block, but she shifts unexpectedly, and when I block for the cross, she nails me with a left hook.
Pain explodes in my cheek, right on the bone, and I stagger backward, touching my face reflexively to check for blood, but she hasn’t split the skin.
“I think it does bother you,” she says softly as we circle again. “Seeing me here, where I belong. Sleeping right down the hall. I bet it keeps you awake at night, knowing I’m a better match for him in every way, counting the seconds he tires of your frail excuse for a body and comes back to the woman who knows exactly what he likes and how he likes it.”