Night's Honor (Elder Races #7)(31)

Her mouth tightened. “And here I thought I was doing rather well.”

She had meant to sound flippant, but it fell flat. He met her gaze, his face devastatingly dispassionate.

“You are, by far, the weakest link in this household.” His voice was just as dispassionate as his expression, which made his words all the more cutting. “You are much weaker and slower than the rest of us, and far less trained, and at best, your loyalties are undefined and uncommitted. As long as you refuse a direct blood offering, you will retain the worst of a human’s frailties. With Xavier’s bite, you would become faster and stronger. The hour-long run that you struggle to complete every day would become merely routine, and all the aches and bruises you’ve suffered in the last few weeks would heal overnight. While I like you well enough, and I don’t necessarily think you’re a bad person, I see you as a dangerous liability.”

She would not let his words hurt. Balling her hands into fists, she breathed evenly until the heavy ache in her gut passed. After a moment, she said, “Xavier has already told me that if I can’t let him take a direct blood offering, freely and willingly, by the end of the trial year, I’m out. Now I even understand why. It’s for all the reasons you just listed. But it’s also early days yet. Despite everything you’ve thrown at me, I’m still here. I’m still training.”

He studied her. “Fair enough. I think we’re done for the day.”

She stood with poorly disguised relief. “See you in the morning.”

“And you.”

As soon as she reached her room, she brushed her teeth, fell into bed and was out like a light again.

Six A.M. came hard these days, but one good thing about rising early for a run—she was a good fifteen minutes into her hour before she fully woke up.

If she weren’t so sore, she would grow to love those early morning runs. It was the only time since she had arrived that she went outside the walls of the estate, and it was quickly becoming hypnotic.

That early in the day, sunlight had barely begun to filter through the tall redwood trees on the east side of the curving, remote road, and to the west, more often than not fog rolled off of the ocean like a crowd of ghosts. Whenever any of the others joined her, usually they wore headphones and listened to music, but she didn’t have an MP3 so she listened to the sounds of the wind and the ocean, and the rhythm of her own breath.

After a quick shower, she dressed in plain black exercise pants, tennis shoes and tank top, breakfasted on a hefty helping of oatmeal, raw walnuts, fresh fruit and prescription strength Aleve, and arrived at the training area in the gym, ready for another day.

As had happened several other times, this morning Raoul greeted her with a nod and gestured her over to where Marc and Jeremy were sparring with knives. Relieved at the small reprieve, she reached his side.

She noted, and not for the first time, that everybody else maintained their physical regimen while working at their jobs on the estate. Of all the attendants, she was the only one that trained all day long, and she was all too aware it was because she was so new and had so much to learn.

For several minutes, she and Raoul stood watching the two men who fought with such swiftness and ferocity she had difficulty tracking their actions. They were totally engaged, their faces hard with concentration.

Thinking of the conversation from last night, she had to swallow past an unexpected lump in her throat. “I understand exactly what you were saying last night, especially when I watch them.” She kept her voice quiet. “They’re wicked and beautiful and completely fearless, while I’m struggling to avoid getting pinned to the mat.”

Raoul didn’t disagree. His gaze fixed on the other two men, he said, “Your first choice must always be to run away. If you see danger or violence, avoid it at all costs. If at first you can’t run, you fight to get away. Then you run. Kill if you have to, but run. Marc and Jeremy are at a different level entirely.”

She crossed her arms and cupped her elbows. “How do you get there from here?”

She half-expected him to spout a trainer’s rhetoric. Train every day, work your ass off, don’t make excuses or slack off, blah blah blah.

Instead, Raoul turned to give her his full attention. When at first he didn’t speak, she turned to face him as well, growing self-conscious at his intent, thoughtful expression.

He said, “To get to where Marc or Jeremy is, you have to change the conversations in your head.”

She frowned uneasily. “What do you mean?”

“When you face a confrontation, you have to decide if whether you live or die is part of your agenda. Either you fight to survive, and that’s your goal, or you fight to put your opponent down, no matter what the cost. Those are two separate conversations, and the decision for them has to come from here.” He tapped her on her breastbone with the back of his knuckles. “That basic choice affects your capacity to act in the world. You can train as much as you like, but you won’t ever become what they are until you decide to.”

When Raoul deemed they had watched enough of the fight, he turned away and beckoned for her to follow, which she did thoughtfully. They reached a separate training mat, and as Raoul turned toward her, she faced him.

“Making a decision is all very well and good,” she said. “But you also have to factor in your opponent, and whether or not he’s a Vampyre or some other kind of Elder Races creature that is much faster, stronger and more Powerful than you are. That would take strategy and tactics.”