Page 23 of Beyond Reason

I knew that this body was never going to live up to the potential that I’d had before, because I had to look up at Axel instead of looking down.

I took a deep breath as his arms crossed over his chest.

“You aren’t trying. You’re… what? You’re playing at it, Xavier.” His lips pressed together like he was forcing the words to stay contained, but just as quickly as he’d done it, they flew out anyway. His irritation with me was obviously stronger than his ability to stay quiet. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” And then… “Again.”

Well, that was a little on the nose.

“You know, out of everything you could rub in, I don’t know if that’s the play, Sunshine.”

He drew back like I’d slapped him, and I wasn’t sure if it was the nickname, or me pointing out that he wasn’t exactly being kind about the whole Xavier already died once situation.

I was trying not to think about it, because thinking about it would lead me to trying to figure out what happened, and any time I attempted to force those memories, my head hurt.

I still hadn’t told Axel about that little tidbit, but he seemed more than happy to let me figure things out on my own.

After another second, he cleared his throat and nodded. “Are you ready to try again?”

Honestly, I was ready to collapse, ready to let the weaker body I was in have a break. But I knew doing that wasn’t going to do a damn bit of good for me. I had to push myself.

I had to push whoever Marshall had been, and whatever limits he’d set for himself. I was going to break them.

I was going to break this body and make it mine again.

It had to be mine again.

That thought had me springing into action before Axel had even called start, but he seemed ready for me—it was only a little infuriating that his reflexes were so much better than mine, but I could remember that, too. His reflexes had always been amazing.

Maybe time had eroded them a little, but death had all but shattered mine.

Which meant I needed a different tactic.

When I danced to the side and picked up one of the wooden training knives Axel had—and I had questioned him on why he had toys to play with when it was more useful to train with the real thing—his eyes flicked to the weapon for a moment before he followed my lead. This was where I’d been better, right? Weaponry. And this was where I could learn to be better again. You didn’t have to be huge to slide a knife into something vital. You didn’t have to be physically stronger than a person to slit their throat.

You just had to be faster.

You had to be more clever.

And if all that failed, you had to pull out the gun you had at your back and shoot them before they had a chance to get away.

We’d get to gun training later in the afternoon, though I was hoping I hadn’t lost that skill as much as I had everything else. Surely some things were still muscle memory that didn’t involve thumbing over a phone—surely some of my muscle memory was still mine.

I hoped.

I was hoping some of it was mine now as I shook my body loose and let my fingers grip around the wooden hilt of the knife I held. All I had to do was outthink him.

All I had to do was slide beneath his grip and get the knife pressed somewhere that would have meant a kill in the real world.

Then I could look up into his smug face and tell him that I obviously still had it, and dying must have been a big fucking fluke, like someone catching me when I was out and about and shooting me from a distance. You could be as good as you wanted, and a high caliber bullet would still take you out without much of a chance.

“Come on, Axel. Stop treating me like I’m made of glass and fight me.” I grinned when I spoke, but his posture didn’t change. The way his eyes roamed up and down my body like he was still trying to adjust himself to what he was seeing didn’t change.

That just sparked more anger.

Maybe he didn’t want me anymore.

What if he didn’t find this body attractive?

What if—

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