Page 50 of Of Night and Blood: Special Edition

“Your technique, such as stance and balance, will make or break you.”

On and on he explained to me what it took to become a warrior.

“This is not something you will learn in one day, but it is something that you can hone as you practice. Dedication is imperative to the process, to keeping yourself alive in the face of danger.” I nodded again, this time in understanding. I could do it.

Then we began.

Hours later I had decided I could not, in fact, do it.

Every part of my body ached from the exercises, slicing through me and shredding my already flimsy muscles. I had dry-heaved multiple times, each occurrence ending with Henry disappearing in a ray of light, just to return with water or food. I swallowed the liquid in a single gulp no matter how many times he brought me another, devouring the food just as quickly. After the third time I ate, I actually vomited.

By the time we got to fighting stances, I was already unsteady on my feet, my legs wobbling at the strain of keeping my body upright. How did they all do this daily? How did they survive it?

“This is lunacy,” I said between the sharp pains in my side. Henry laughed, a full sound that made me think of a time when I was far more carefree. Something I would never be again.

Shaking my head to rid myself of that tragic thought, I flipped my hair over my shoulder. Henry tracked my movement, then left in a flash of white.

I waited impatiently for his return, going through the two stances he had taught me, trying to remember how to breathe properly.

“It seems my body is far superior to yours, it breathes on its own without my assistance,” I had said when he told me I needed to think about my breathing. His laughs were the only response until he scolded me for not doing it correctly later.

I had angrily replied to his corrections by saying, “Perhaps you are doing it wrong, and my lungs are simply better.”

With a heavy sigh, I switched to the first position, breathing deeply, channeling myself—whatever that meant.

The puff of white beside me was the only sign of Henry’s return as he came up behind me on silent feet, and then the smell of cinnamon and smoke hit my nose.

Bellamy’s ringed fingers grazed my neck, sending a shiver down my spine. I swatted his hand away, glaring over my shoulder at him. He flashed a smirk that did not quite bring out his dimples and held up a black band.

“Henry thought you could use some help with that unruly hair of yours,” he said, his shoulders lifting and falling quickly, the epitome of casualness. A lie if I had ever heard one.

“Interesting ruse, but I am fine without your aid, thank you,” I responded, once again pushing away his hand. He merely rotated his finger, signaling me to face forward. I huffed, but did as I was told. Honestly, my hair was becoming a hinderance.

Bellamy tugged his fingers through the locks, attempting to detangle the mess of caked blood and thick knots. After a painful few minutes of the demon prince combing through my hair, he finally finished.

Instead of putting my hair into the leather band and being done with it, Bellamy began softly massaging my head. Ecstasy rushed through me, that throbbing pain I had been ignoring finally easing up at his touch. When he felt satisfied with his work, the prince began braiding my hair back, his fingers skilled in more ways than I had previously fantasized.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, his words as much of a caress as his fingers on my skin.

I loathed the way he affected me. How he made me want to share my thoughts and feelings, to trust in him. I forced myself not to speak, because even a crack in the dam was enough to bring the entire structure crashing down. I could not handle the flood of emotion right now.

Bellamy finished, my hair in a plait ending at my lower back. He brushed his fingers down the side of my neck before straightening the braid out. Quickly, I moved out of his reach, needing space between us to break myself from his spell.

“I am fine, just forget about it,” I finally said.

“I cannot forget about it, Asher. In my mind I see their faces, two of my close companions, and I wish they were alive. Not because I regret what I did, but so I can slowly torture them. So I can make them feel my wrath,” he seethed. I turned to face him, immediately locking onto his icy blue gaze. “Does that scare you, Princess?”

Subconsciously, I knew that his anger was likely due to the two demons risking his investment, his weapon. He had worked for who knew how long to obtain me, and in mere seconds, it all could have been for nothing. Yet, I could not help myself from wishing he had ulterior motives. Personal ones.

I was foolish.

“So, what next, pumpkin head?” I asked Henry, promptly ignoring the prince’s question. We needed to get back to the purpose of being out in the freezing cold.

“We can continue to go over stances if you would like,” the demon said with a laugh.

Dare I say he was getting fond of me? I smiled back, noticing Bellamy tense beside him, eyeing the two of us. Admittedly, it was rather juvenile of me to revel in his jealousy, but I did nonetheless.

I resumed with the two stances Henry had previously demonstrated for me, adding in a third once those were up to the demon’s satisfaction. After Henry aided me with my legs when I struggled to get the new one just right, I saw Bellamy’s jaw tick and his fists bunch.

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