Page 46 of A Spark Of Revenge

The moment Creed announced we were done training for the day, I rushed from the room, declining his offer to walk me to the cafeteria for dinner. For some reason, I felt like my skin was on fire; the need for contact had grown so strong it was like a physical itch. I had to give myself three freaking orgasms in Creed’s tub before I finally felt like I wasn't about to combust, and I promptly fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When I awoke this morning, I thought I could feel Valen next to me, but the other side of Creed's bed was cold, and I was left feeling… alone. I hated it. I came down for morning training only to be told by Nox that I was working with Creed again, which put me in a sour as fuck mood.

“Meyer.” Creed grinds out my name like a curse, and I know he’s upset with my lack of hand-eye coordination. But this is the fifth time he’s whacked me with that damn wooden sword, and I’m about ready to take it from him, and shove it up his ass! “You’re supposed to block my hits! I told you my exact moves, what I would be doing and when!” he growls, eyes widening as I glare at him. “And you still can't block the hit!”

“Yeah, well, you're like a damn ninja and move about a million miles per hour! Slow down so that I can learn the steps,” I explain, and Creed sighs like I’m being unreasonable before stepping forward, grabbing my hands, and placing them back where he told me to the first time. He’s so close that I can feel his breath, smell his clean, sweet scent. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sudden urge I have to lean forward and capture his soft lips in a heated kiss. My nipples are rock fucking hard in my bra, and it makes it difficult to concentrate when he growls at me like he’s currently doing.

I think I might be broken. Why does fighting with these men turn me on so much?

“Hold here, with your dominant hand on top and the other below,” he instructs through gritted teeth.

“I am!” I insist, and Creed shakes his head.

“You start that way, but always swap them back after a few exchanges. Stop doing that! You have to move faster, and you're tripping yourself up by thinking of your hand placement too much. Just hold the damn thing and block my strikes. Get out of your head!”

“I’m trying! I just need a little more time. Slow down a little. I’m doing my best!” I grind out.

“We don't have time for me to move slow, Lemon Drop,” he pleads, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Our enemy is practically on our doorstep, and all four of us will be required to fight. I need to know that you can defend yourself if it comes down to it. Nox has already instructed Razar to keep an eye on you during the fight, but if he gets cornered, there's not much else we can do.”

“He what?!” I shout, pointing my wooden sword at Creed's chest and poking him with it. “Does Nox want me dead? Because that's a surefire way for it to happen.” Creed huffs and swats at the sword I’m poking him with.

“Razar will be the best bet for keeping you alive if there are any other Beastia around. He won't attack without orders from Nox.” Creed rolls his eyes like I’m being dramatic, and I growl under my breath, squaring my feet off and holding the sword like he taught me, keeping my shoulders straight and my core muscles tight.

“You're an asshole. And you only believe that because he’s your brother. He would never hurt you,” I snarl, not waiting for him to bring his sword up before swinging mine at his pretty face. Creed laughs, blocking my blow without a single thought.

“Going in on your right,” he warns before spinning his sword so fast in his hand I lose track of it. But the loud WHACK and the following sting on my opposite hand tells me I already missed the opportunity to block his blow, even after he vocalized it for me. I squeak and drop the sword to the thick mat at my feet, rubbing the back of my hand and glaring at him. “You have no idea what you're talking about. And you still didn't block my blow even after spelling it out for you. And I went slower,” he points out, tsking under his breath.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” I accuse as Creed smirks.

“Making you mad at me? No, but having your attention…” he shrugs, and his smile grows, making my belly flip in response. “Grab your sword and let’s go again. Same circuit, but this time try to block at least one blow,” he pleads, spinning the wooden sword in his hand like it's a damn toothpick.

I glare at my own sword, then look across the small private training room Creed brought me to where my new, shiny sword sits propped next to Creed's own two swords.

“If we’re so short on time, why am I training with this and not the real thing?” I ask, genuinely curious. Creed follows my gaze, then snorts, looking back at me with amused eyes.

“You can’t even block my fake sword with warning, and you want to use real ones?” he asks incredulously.

“That one is much heavier… Why not train me on that? What's the point in using this when it's not even close to the weapon I will be using in a matter of days?” I ask, looking from my sword to Creed as he furrows his brows, looking like he’s actually considering my idea.

I’m not going to lie, the idea of training with an actual sword scares the crap out of me, but I also remember how practicing throwing knives with actual blades made a world of difference. I had cut my hands so many times I lost track, but it only pushed me to get better faster in order to stop getting hurt. Granted, I think a sword may do more damage than a small cut to the hand, but I also know Creed won't do anything too bad. I may not trust him, but I no longer think he wants to hurt me.

“Fair point. But I want it to go on the record that I don’t think you're ready for that,” Creed finally admits, nodding at me and making my heart skip with excitement and fear as he walks over and grabs my blade, leaving his behind.

Oh, shit. Maybe I’m being stupid by doing this.

Creed walks back over and holds my pretty sword out to me, and I swallow hard as I take it. Yeah... I’m definitely stupid. There is no maybe about it. But I also think the threat of cutting off an appendage will force me to practice harder. I stroke my finger over the blade and smile just as Creed places a hand over the tip of the sword and starts to mutter hushed words under his breath. Blue magic flows from his fingers as he runs his hand down the sides of the blade, and I frown, moving my hand out of his way.

“What are you doing?” I ask in confusion as he pulls back his hand and smirks, leaning down until our noses touch, making me blink rapidly in surprise.

“Do you really think I’m going to risk your safety, Lemon Drop?” he asks in a low voice, his eyes moving from mine down to my lips. I self-consciously flick my tongue out, making sure I don't have something left from lunch in the corner of my mouth, and Creed groans and stands back upright as he reaches down and adjusts the big bulge in his pants.

Narrowing my eyes at him, I reach my hand back up, moving to run my finger over the sharp blade, then gasp when I feel resistance. That little shit put some kind of magical pillow on my sword! I can't even touch the blade!

“What? No, this completely destroys the whole purpose of using the sword!” I snap, realizing the danger I was relying on is now gone! “I can't feel the blade at all! It's soft! That wooden sword hurt more than this.”

“Yeah. That's the whole point of the spell, Meyer,” Creed drawls, obviously still irritated with me. “Besides, we are going for training with the correct weight. There is no way in hell I would trust you to use a real sword right now.”

“You broke it!” I yell, grabbing him and whacking him on the forehead with its pillowy softness. Creed's eyes flash with anger just as his hand snaps out, grabs my wrist, and spins me away from him.

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