Page 40 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

I fall into my own fighting stance, rocking back on my heels and lifting my hands into fists. Eyes sharpen. My senses blossom. I don’t know how I didn’t notice it before now, but the world is louder, brighter, more colorful. When I reach out with my senses, I can pick up thousands of tiny minds toiling away—some in the sand, some in the crevices of the stone walls. Spiders.

They flutter against my mental walls at the lightest brush of my attention. There’s something else, though, a darker creature that has lain dormant. A shadow of something powerful. I don’t reach for it, instead choosing to push it away as I refocus on the man in front of me. Whatever it is—my gaze flicks to Axlan and then back to Ruen—it’s not for the Gods’ eyes.

When Ruen moves, he’s speed incarnate. Despite the mass of his body and the bulk of his shoulders, he’s fast. Dodging first one way and then the opposite, he circles me and just as he’s about to take me to the ground, I burst into action myself and avoid his barreling form, spinning in a circle. We switch places and he comes to a stop immediately when he doesn’t reach me, slowly turning back to face me once more.

“You need to do more than simply avoid me,” he warns.

I shrug. “I’ll do more when you prove you can touch me.”

“Oh, I can touch you, Kiera. Of that, have no doubt.” I know he doesn’t mean it that way—not Ruen—but the words he speaks do something horribly wicked to my insides, heating them up and lighting them on fire.

Prove it, I want to tell him. Touch me. Before the words can escape my tongue, however, Ruen attacks.

One moment he’s feet away and the next, he’s not. Ruen moves with the fluidity of someone who has trained for years. I dodge, duck, and weave—narrowly missing some of the blows he tries to land. He gives me practically no time at all to form an attack of my own. Instead, putting me completely on the defensive. Sweat beads pop up along my spine and over my shoulder blades. I knew I’d start to get hot despite the cool air sooner or later and I was right, but I don’t appear to be the only one. As we circle each other once more, there’s a thin sheen of sweat on Ruen’s face and neck as well. Several other male Mortal Gods have stripped away their shirts and tunics, but not Ruen. Then again, his tunic is thinner than theirs and it molds to his body, not causing any resistance as he moves.

Panting, I curse the lack of action I’ve had in the last few months. Though I’m holding back so as not to give away too much of my own training, Ruen is no easy prey. The minutes churn into an hour and then another. He shows no signs of wavering and already my muscles are weary. They shouldn’t be. I’ve spent far longer than this training, but perhaps it has something to do with the brimstone that’s been removed from my neck. Since that incident, I’ve found myself tiring quickly, almost as if something is sucking up my energy to replenish a part of me that has been starved for too long.

Faces hover closer to the ring Ruen and I face each other in. I slide one foot to the side, through the sand, my brow puckering in annoyance as the movement is slowed. I hate sand. It always makes things difficult. Ignoring that, as well as the students who have lost their own mock battles, I refocus my attention on the man in front of me. Ruen’s face is as dispassionate as ever. Not even by a twitch of his lips does he reveal his innermost thoughts. That is both the most frustrating and the most intriguing part of him. His ability to hide what he’s feeling so completely that it makes me want to tear him open.

On our next pass around the ring, he dives for me and I’m too slow to react. My back slams into the hot sand and a split second later, I’m rolling. The two of us tumble as I buck my hips up, slamming my hand into his throat and swapping our positions until Ruen is with his back to the sand and I’m straddling his hips.

“If I had a blade in my hand, it would be at your throat,” I chastise him.

“If you had a blade in your hand, I would have taken it by now,” he replies as he grips my hips, and then with nothing more than pure unfettered strength, he lifts me off him and tosses me backward right. Out. Of. The. Ring.

“Winner: Ruen Darkhaven!”

I lie like that for several seconds, trying to understand what just happened. I had him on his back. I had my hand on his neck. I … lost?

A hand appears in front of my face and I glance up to see the man who just threw me out of the ring like I weighed little more than a sack of laundry holding it out to me. Sweat coats his brow.

“You fight well without powers,” he pants as I grit my teeth and ignore his hand, getting up off the ground under my own strength.

Exhaustion trembles along the muscles in my calves. I straighten my spine and send him a withering glare. “You didn’t even use yours,” I snap.

He blinks and nods. “Yes, because you never did.”

I pause at that. He’s right. Other than the naturally increased speed and strength we both have, neither of us had attempted to use our abilities during the fight.

“I’ve never had a sparring match last this long,” Ruen comments, nodding up to the sky.

I tilt my head back and realize that the sun has already begun to set. I’d thought we were sparring for a good amount of time but not more than half a day.

“Here.” That soft voice pulls me out of my reverie and I peer over my shoulder as Niall approaches, my tunic in his hand—obviously given to him by the Terra who’d picked it up earlier. He holds it out, offering it to me.

“Thanks, Niall,” I say, taking it from him.

Niall dips his head in deference. “Of course, my lady.”

My hand freezes, the tunic still gripped between my fingers. “My lady?” I frown at him. “It’s just Kiera, Niall. You don’t have to call me that.”

“I would never presume to say your name, my lady.” Niall’s bow deepens and my frown turns into a scowl. “I apologize if I’ve ever said anything disrespectful. I know now that you are?—”

“Niall, stop,” I bite out. “Stop bowing to me, for fuck’s sake. Just?—”

“Kiera.” Ruen’s sharp tone stops me from saying more and when I lift my gaze to his, he flicks his eyes to the side—to Axlan.

Right. The hierarchy. I’m no longer a Terra and therefore Niall isn’t allowed to speak to me so casually. A bottomless pit opens up in my stomach, a vile, angry thing. I bite down on the words I want to say and jerk my head in a nod of understanding.

---