Page 72 of A Shadow of Betrayal

Stupid, cocky Hunter! It must run in the family DNA.

I watch Razar carefully, looking at his hands, then his feet, trying to figure out the best angle to attack, and decide to stick to his left side since that hand is slightly lower than the right. But before my fist can make contact, Razar is gone, and I’m tripping forward, barely catching myself before I fall on my face. Whipping around, I find him directly behind me, his hand presses to the back of my head as he shakes his head once again.

“Dead.”

“How about you teach me how NOT to die?” I suggest between gritted teeth. Raz tilts his head to the side, then nods, the hood around his face moving enough to show me those full lips. I think of the face I had seen last night and wonder why Razar chooses to cover it up. As much of a cocky ass that he is, there is no denying that he is extremely attractive. Not the rugged manly look of Lennox nor the soft boyish look Creed gives, but something more striking and exotic. His skin is a golden brown that looks flawless, and his features are so sharp it looks like an artist sculpted him from clay and gave him the jawline and cheekbones every male model would kill for.

Razar moves over to me, his hands darting out and moving my hands that I hold out in front of me, taking up the fighting stance Jordan had taught me. But when Razar shakes his head, his hands shifting my fist slightly lower and a little closer to my chest, I frown.

“This close to myself?” I question, and he nods. “Okay, what next?” Razar stands parallel to me, taking up the same stance, then slowly goes through the motions. Stepping forward, before punching with his right then left hand before spinning, kicking his opposite leg out in the air. It looks weird, and I shake my head.

“Uh, I guess, but why?” I ask when he nods at me to do what he did. He doesn't respond, surprise, surprise. I huff in irritation, stepping, then punching before kicking awkwardly in the air. Razar shakes his head and gestures for me to go again, correcting my movements as I slowly complete the task assigned. After doing it three more times and feeling completely stupid, I glare at him and cross my arms.

“No.” I snap when he motions for me to go again. I can see his lips purse when he leans toward me and gestures again. When I shake my head, I hear him sigh and he grabs my arm, forcing me to move over to one of the large punching bags hanging nearby. He shoves me forward, obviously pissed off at my failure to listen to him before he takes up a fighting stance and moves so fast I almost don't catch every move. He steps forward and punches the bag hard, once then twice, before spinning and kicking, making the heavy bag lurch back repeatedly from the force.

My eyes widen in surprise as Razar moves through the combo again; step, punch, jab, spin, kick. The speed and accuracy of his hits make the punching bag sway for several moments until he reaches out and stills it. Turning, he looks at me and motions me forward, crossing his arms over his chest, his shoulder tense. He’s still angry at me for not listening, but maybe if he would talk more, I wouldn't question his training.

Sighing in frustration, I move forward, punching the bag as hard as I can, but before my second hit can land, Razar’s hand wraps around my wrist and stops me. “What now?” I grind out.

“Slower,” he rasps, keeping one hand wrapped around my wrist as the other moves to my elbow, turning it a little before guiding my hit to the bag. “You hit with your arm, not your body. Put your weight into the hit,” he mutters, drawing my arm back, then bringing it forward again, his hand at my elbow forcing my fist forward. I step into the hit, and Razar nods. “Yes. Like that. Again.” His words are clipped as he releases me, and I slowly go through the motions. Step, punch, jab, spin, and kick.

At Razar’s nod, I begin to pick up pace, and grin when I actually make the enormous punching bag move just the smallest amount. I keep punching until my arms are screaming in pain from the exertion. My whole body is covered in a sheen of sweat, and I bring my arm up and wipe my forehead with the fabric of my sleeve.

“Again,” Razar says, his voice so close that I jump a little before I shoot him a glare.

“Hang on,” I say between heavy breaths. “Just need a moment.” I shake my tired arms out and wince at my sore knuckles, walking over to the small box where some gloves and athletic tape are kept, I snag a pair of lightweight training gloves, sliding them around my red, slightly swollen knuckles before I walk back to Razar who shakes his head.

“No.”

“No? No, what?” I ask in confusion. Razar grabs my hands and rips the gloves off, tossing them to the ground, ignoring my protests. “Stop!” I finally shout when he shoves me back toward the punching bag, more than a little frustrated at his manhandling of me. I grab his hand that he tries to wrap around the back of my neck and twist it out of his hold, stepping away from the man. “I don't know what's wrong with you and your brothers, but you guys really need to stop shoving people around. Use your words like a normal person! I can listen to instructions as long as I know what the hell you want!”

“No gloves,” he snarls, stepping toward me and gesturing to go back to the punching bag.

“I need them. Look at my hands,” I hold them up in front of me, showing him how red they are. “I won't be able to train tomorrow without protection. I can't heal myself the way you can!”

“No gloves!” Razar shouts, making the handful of Rangers nearby look at us in surprise. I glare at him and stubbornly put my hands on my hips, ready to challenge this mother fucker just as he steps close, bowing his head, granting me a peak of those dark eyes hidden under his hood. “They create an unrealistic sense of protection. You won’t be wearing gloves when you fight for your life.” His hands dart forward, shoving me back and taking up a fighting stance. Surprised and confused, I barely get my hands in front of me to block his next move.

“What the hell?” I snap when he keeps on his forward pursuit, his hands darting out, connecting with my side with a painful hit. I curse and twist, lashing out at him, but he blocks both my hits before he spins and kicks me in the stomach, sending me stumbling back with a grunt.

“Razar!” I can hear Creed yell in a panic as Razar stalks toward me. I stand back up, trying to ignore the pain in my middle as I spin, kicking at his shins. Razar’s hand snaps down and catches my ankle, then yanks, sending me crashing to the floor, my head colliding with the hard surface before I can try and stop it.

“Meyer!” Theo shouts this time, and I can hear someone run toward us.

Pain radiates from my head, down into my neck, and I grimace as Razar crouches down at my side. “No. Gloves,” he grinds out, and I glare up at him.

“No gloves,” I agree, kicking at the Hunter's knees, my heel connecting with a loud thump, making Razar’s eyes fly wide in surprise as he stumbles forward. I wind my arms around his neck and yank him to the floor at my side, turning to straddle his hips and blindly lash out, my palm hitting Razar’s throat, rewarding me with a satisfying gasp from the man under me just as big hands grab me under the arms and yank me off him.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Lennox roars, hurting my already pounding head with his loud voice as he sets me on my feet next to him. Of-freaking course, the damn viking is mad at me for protecting myself. Isn't that what I’m supposed to do?

I turn around, ready to give him a piece of my mind, opening my mouth only to pull up short when I find Lennox grabbing Razar by the cloak and yanking him to his feet.

“I told you she can't heal herself, and your response is to kick her to the ground and give her a possible concussion?” Lennox roars, his face twisted in rage. A few Regalis Rangers make their way over to watch their Senior lose his shit on his brother, and I scowl at them while rubbing my sore head.

A big arm wraps around my waist, and I feel Creed press my back to his front as Lennox keeps yelling at Razar, who isn't paying a lick of attention to his brother.

“You alright?” Creed whispers behind me, his other hand stroking back some of my hair as he glares down at Razar. I nod and smirk at Razar when he narrows his eyes on me, looking like he’s seconds away from completely losing it. His chest is rising in heavy pants, and his fingers are clawing at his cloak, ripping the fabric under his strong grip. His eyes are wild, watching my every move as Creed chuckles under his breath.

“Oh, Lemon Drop. Leave it to you to somehow get the best of the monster,” he whispers, holding me tight as Theo and Jordan come running, pulling up at my side, their hands landing on my shoulders as they start rattling off questions, asking if I’m alright.

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