King Hall (Forever Evermore, #1)(23)
These new, unimproved, extra morning sparring sessions were followed directly by meetings — right before school — with the Kings and the other Prodigies, since we were at a “Level 5” threat worldwide, compared with previously being at a “Level 10” after Dominic died. An example of peaceful times would be the day before his death. We had been at a “Level 1” then.
That had shown just how complacent the Mys community had become: we had not been clued-up with the intel that a Prodigy was being targeted, much less, all of the Prodigies by the Coms. Our intelligence agency had taken a major hit, to say the least. Only thirty-five percent of those employees still had their jobs within the MSA (Mystical Shield Agency), owed mainly to King Kincaid’s fury. The new, and fresh, sixty-five percent were all hardcore, dedicated to the dangers we now lived in.
Pushing onto my side, I glared. “No. You said right, then left!” Sucking in a harsh breath, I realized Ezra had badly bruised my left shoulder blade. Letting my head fall, I bit my lip and blinked tears away. He was so strong. Not to mention, he was so fast I could barely track him.
He growled, stalking me in a circle as I pushed onto my hands and knees. “No. I didn’t. Pay attention!” He squatted, glowering into my blinking, glistening eyes. “And there’s no damn crying when you spar with me. Learn. Get better. But don’t you dare cry.”
I closed my eyes. Some days it was so hard to even get out of bed, and when I did make it, the mornings still dark outside it was so early, I had to deal with this. My life. Purgatory had been an apt description by my current tyrant.
At least I was feeling regular emotions again.
“Leave her alone,” Pearl muttered from her perch on a soft, cushioned chair. Lucky her. Both she and Jack came over early daily to watch the morning sparring held in King Kincaid’s exercise room, since we had to meet in a half-hour anyway. “And your directions weren’t very clear.”
He grabbed my bicep. Yanked me to my feet. The force almost made me fall. “Again.” Grinding his teeth, he ordered harshly, “And this time, left, duck, right.”
“Fine,” I grumbled tersely, gingerly rolling my aching shoulder, but stayed on the balls of my feet, knowing he would be coming without notice.
I was right. He came at me, and I punched left. Ducked his roundhouse kick. Punched right. Then, he pulled an Ezra move, swiping my feet out from under me when I thought we were done. I grunted as my back hit the mat, and quickly rolled, escaping the foot he slammed down where I had been a second ago, but missing his elbow that hammered against my stomach as he dropped. In these last three months, if I wasn’t Mys, he would have killed me.
I gasped, punching blindly through the hurt.
He merely grabbed my wrists, smashing them above my head. Nose-to-nose with me, he whispered harshly, “Not good enough! An experienced Com could take you down. Even with your strength.”
Trying to catch my breath, a scowl was all I could manage.
He pushed himself up, stalking across the mats, muttering under his breath.
There were days I could run far, far away, never to see any of these people again.
“Don’t even think about it,” Antonio groused, eyeing my expression as he stood from the couch where he and King Venclaire had been diligently watching — they always observed our sparring — and privately talking. He was dressed simply in a pair of black cargos, grey t-shirt, no shoes.
I wished I was wearing that much. Instead, Antonio demanded we wear what King Hall had determined as the best attire. Not enough clothing, even if it improved maneuverability.
Me: black sports bra and tiny, black cotton shorts.
Ezra: soft, loose-fitting, black cotton capris.
Moreover, to add to my never-ending misery, it was freezing down here in the basement where the exercise room was located.
Antonio started toward me, and I quickly rolled, pushing to my feet. Whenever he became physically involved in my training the hurt always doubled. Strolling easily, he snapped his fingers at Ezra and crooked a finger, but the obstinate Vampire just stared, not coming as bid. Antonio sighed heavily, muttering, “Ezra, get over here. I don’t have time for your attitude today, and her,” an agitated jerk of his hand, “flight risk.”
Ezra only planted his feet further.
“You know, I want a different teacher,” I panted, still breathless, but my conviction was there. “We don’t work well together. All he does is yell. All I do is hit the mat. Find me someone else.” I crossed my arms, wanting a teacher who wasn’t such a drill sergeant. More importantly, someone who believed I could do this, and Ezra certainly didn’t.
Ezra spoke then, crossing his own much larger arms. “You won’t find anyone better than me. Not Shifter. Not Vampire. Not Mage. Not Elemental.” He smiled. It wasn’t nice. “I’m the best here, sweetheart.”
Glaring at Antonio, I ground out, “Find me someone else.”
Startlingly, I actually liked Ezra outside of the mat, especially when he had quit bringing up my Com slang. Rude, crude, and blunt he may be, but remarkably, I got along with him just the way he was when my back wasn’t being slammed against a mat repeatedly. Just like I got along with Jack and Pearl. All three of them had been wonderful and supportive since Dominic’s death; all of us were frequently together because of the elevated threat level. I was beginning to consider them friends, but if Ezra and I kept this up much longer, it was a real possibility I would begin to hate him. Politically, it wasn’t wise to continue risking our future civil relationship.