Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(48)

“What the f**k do you think you’re doing?” Tommas growled. He’d just decided to kick her ass.

What a small minded idiot. As Rachie would say, he was in bad need of a bitch slap.

“Tasha, there is about to be violence. You’d best run off now,” Shanti said calmly, her eyes never leaving Tommas. “If you head east, you will probably run into a fifteen-year-old kid called Leilius. Ask him to take you home. Stay away from this Tommas creep. If he comes near you again, you let me know and I will sort him out. Yes? Hurry along.”

And she was running away east. Good girl. Now for the creep.

“What the f**k, Tasha?” Tommas frothed. His disheveled glare found hers. Something was wrong at the basic level with this youth. He wasn’t safe and probably just starting to show the signs.

Luckily, she had a great deterrent for future violence in others. It was called fear.

Tommas’s body was square to her. “What do you want, you nosey slut? To take her place?”

“Slut? I’m unfamiliar with that one. But since you were so kind to use it in context, I think I get the jest. Gist? Jest is a joke, I think. Although, that also works.”

“Screw this. No one will believe you over me.” Tommas struck out, the back of his hand swinging at her from across his body. He was impossibly slow.

She ducked under.

“Oh, you’re fast, huh? Had a father that beat on you?” Tommas asked, the bravado having slipped a bit.

“Ah, yes, pouring salt in the cut. I must warn you, that is not wise, Tommas. Not with me.”

He reached to grab her, apparently not realizing his body advertised the move a full two seconds before he actually did it. She simply slapped his hand away. She was getting bored.

“You aren’t in the army in this city are you?” she asked even though she already knew the answer. Sanders would throw him over the wall in frustration.

“With those deadbeats and that fairy Captain? Yeah, right.”

“Dead. Beat.” Shanti shook her head, spinning around as he circled her. “Fairy Captain. Your slang is way beyond what I know. You cannot control your anger, and you don’t have much stock in morals. This is not a good combination. I can cure you of that—“

He rushed her with the intent to tackle. With his whole body bent and his arms spread wide—he wasn’t great at judging opponent size—he shuffled toward her and prepared to dive. Since she had plenty of time to think about it, she let him tackle her, making sure she fell slightly to the side. She was curious to see if he was any better on the ground.

He tried to pin her with his body, rage taking over his movements. Since she was to the side, she angled out and gave him a sharp blow to the middle of this back. He cried out, his adrenaline rushing in to fill his body. It would make him faster and slightly stronger. Hopefully.

He angled up with his torso and tried to yank her body back to the ground. She grabbed his wrist and twisted it painfully behind him, then let go when he gave a hoarse yell and his chest hit the dirt. It really seemed like he was trying to lose.

He tried to grab her around the waist, turning on his back to do it. She let him, angling her body to the top of him and straddling his stomach. Then she grabbed his fingers, bending them across the back of his hand, twisting back and down, making the nerves and tendons tweak painfully. It was an extremely easy, and extremely effective, arm lock. He cried out again, his body trying to turn, but since both hands were captured, he just wriggled around.

She bent his arms under her legs, braced herself, then let go. She quickly pulled out her pack of needles from around her belt, and before he could get his arms freed, put one in the nerve at the top of each arm, near the shoulder, to give him a sleeping sensation. It would be painful to move. He was too much of a coward to push through it.

“Well, Tommas. You’ve got yourself in a right pickle this time. See, I do know some slang, huh? Anyway, here’s what I’m going to do. I am going to teach you a lesson.” She licked her hand, then gave him a hard slap across the side of his face. To his whimpers she said, “Yes, it hurts more when the slap is wet.”

She did the other side, leaving an identical welt. He cried out.

“Tommas, you should know that only cowards pick on the weak. And while, by definition, that makes me a coward, you were posing as a big man, so I think I am just, don’t you? I mean, I have talked myself out of killing you, so that is a step in the right direction, don’t you think?”

“Fuck you!”

“Yes, we’ve covered that.” She punched him in the kidney, then the other kidney. She gave him a dead leg and then the kidney again, careful to hit in exactly the same places. The damage would last longer.

When she finished she raised her voice above his sobbing. “Also, only dead men rape women. Or bully them. If I hear you’ve raped anyone, Tommas, I will finish this. Do you understand what I am saying?”

It was then that she heard the footfall to her right, soft and at the tree line. The person either had a weapon, was Leilius, or wasn’t planning to hurt her just yet. She very nearly opened her mind to make sure, but she trusted Cayan to be right behind the person if they were dangerous. It was a huge leap of faith, yes, but judging by their dealings so far, he considered it his duty. And he viewed duty similar to how she did.

Not bothering to get up, or secure Tommas any more than she already had, she looked up in that direction. Sterling stepped slowly out of the shadows, his eyes hard and his face a mask of vehemence.