Page 3 of High Stakes

We shadow-boxed while he yelled at me to keep my feet lighter. Then came the running... five miles as fast as I could push it, with a sprint at the end for good measure. “You’re running for your life!” he’d yell as we lapped Titus and Abram, who were jogging at a leisurely pace.

Abram and Titus’s trainers were older than Maru and they took a more... laid-back approach, which usually entailed leaning against the wall mats, scrolling on their communicator feeds while the guys did what they wanted, which mostly consisted of lifting weights and hitting things.

Maru? He pushed. From sun up to sun down. Most of the time, I was thankful for it.

Never let your guard down. Always be ready for anything. Be ready to fight. Be ready to run. Stay flexible. Keep your reflexes sharp. Listen to what’s going on around you. Listen to your gut.

After the run came throwing practice, where Enoch’s printed face stared smugly back at me from the ballistics dummy’s head. The stake was light in my palm. Maru paced behind me while I threw each stake at the figure. Every time, the wood penetrated its gelatin heart and fake blood leaked out over the yellow-orange abdomen.

“Good. Again.”

We’d been at this for half an hour and I hadn’t missed once. I knew how to throw and was sick of wasting time on something I had a handle on. I threw another stake into the bullseye.

“Good. Again.”

“Those are your favorite words,” I grumbled.

I could hear his grin. “They are.”

Pulling my hand back, I flung the stake forward. This one landed just left of the other one. They had to be touching. That was a precise throw. Bored, I asked, “I thought you said we were going hand-to-hand?”

“We are. Take a break. Get some water,” Maru finally said as he went to retrieve my stakes. I made my way to my bench and squirted water into my mouth, some of it dribbling out of the corners and splashing onto the floor and my bare feet.

Across the room, Titus was throwing punches at a heavy bag, shuffling all around it. His meaty fists were ferocious. Flicking golden hair out of his eyes, he stopped beating the bag long enough to steady it and get it under control again. Titus was clad only in low-slung shorts, showcasing his rock-hard abs, a sight most girls our age would pay to see. But to me, he was like an annoying older brother. Always picking on me. Cocky as hell. And strong as an ox.

Abram worked on the pull-up bar, hefting his weight up and down as if he was light as a feather. He wasn’t as muscled as Titus, but even with his leaner frame he was strong. If I let my pain receptors flare, I’d still feel the soreness in my jaw from the punch he landed yesterday.

He was dark and brooding, but unless he was attacking me verbally or physically, he kept to himself. ‘Religiously devout’ was an understatement. Victor, our leader, once told Abram he was the hand of God, and Abram took those words to heart. The golden cross he wore on a matching chain around his neck glinted in the fluorescent light as he pulled his body up again, teeth bared. Abram’s trainer, who lingered nearby, told him he’d done enough pull-ups, but he pushed himself to do another set.

I glanced back at Titus. The heavy bag swung back and forth like a pendulum in front of him while he removed his gloves and fixed his eyes on the door.

“Victor’s early,” Maru announced as our leader stepped into the training room. It was only ten a.m.

Chapter Two

Abram’s trainer rushed to intercept Victor at the door in the most embarrassing display of ass-kissing I’d ever seen.

Some would say Victor Dantone was handsome. His hair was graying, but he was in peak physical condition. His impeccably tailored suit couldn’t hide his musculature. His keen eyes were sharp, but not critical. He was always strategizing; everything from determining the most efficient ways for us to learn a new skill, to where to position the military against the vampires, and what method of attack would cause the most damage to their race.

Victor strode purposely across the room, unbuttoned his jacket, and sat in a metal folding chair situated at the front of the ring. His close-cropped hair was always neatly trimmed, though a shadow of a beard stretched over his jaw. He smiled a bright-white smile while shaking Titus’s hand.

A moment later, the training room door slid open and Kael Frost entered the room. He took the chair next to Victor.

Since first meeting Kael, Victor had encouraged his forward thinking. The pair quickly teamed up to fight the vamps in a functional, but strange, symbiotic partnership. The two men couldn’t be more different. Where Victor was built for strength, Kael was so thin a stiff wind might knock him over. He wore thick, black framed glasses and constantly seemed in need of a haircut. His clothes were always wrinkled or hung from his body askew, as if his brain worried about more important things than the alignment of his shirt buttons.

If Victor was the strategist and leader, Kael was the designer. He was an inventor, a scientist, physician, and all-around genius. Kael was only twenty-five, but he knew more about DNA structures than anyone left alive and wasn’t afraid to manipulate it, even if it meant sacrificing his subject to try something new.

I was glad to be considered an Asset instead of a subject.

I’d passed by his laboratory once.

I never wanted to again.

Kael’s progressive experiments ultimately led to breakthroughs, and each time he perfected a specific DNA revision, he would “upgrade” us by enhancing or altering our biochemistry. Or, more often than not, he would upgrade only me. For some reason, males weren’t as receptive to some of the upgrades, so I had more alterations than the male Assets, a fact that irked Abram to no end.

Maru joined the other trainers with Victor and Kael, returning to me when the discussion was over. “Titus and Abram will spar first. You’ll fight the winner,” Maru instructed, crouching next to the bench beside me. His long, dark hair almost blended into the dark material. “The guys are changing into their suits.”

“Can we use our enhancements?”

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