Page 115 of Deck of Scarlets

“Demons have hearts?”

“They all came from something; nothing is born sinister.” He pushed another couple dummies my way.

“Again?”

“Yes. It seems Josh has slacked a bit in his training.”

“In his defense, we only had two training sessions, and then they threw us to the wolves.” I positioned my body back into a fighting stance, ready to strike.

Baron shook his head with laughter. “Excuses, excuses.”

I re-positioned my body and pivoted several times, driving the sword through the dummy’s chest, missing my mark by a fraction of an inch.

Baron wheeled another dummy over to the far right of the ring. “Again.”

“We’ve been at this for at least an hour,” I complained, a soreness beginning to form in my bicep.

“Any sign of weakness is a free trip to your grave.”

“You’re worse than Josh.”

“I don’t have feelings for my Scarlet.”

His remark fueled the fire that started to sizzle in my body, and I steadied myself in the line of sight of the dummy, my feet clockwise. With perfect precision, I pierced the heart exactly where I swung the sword, stabbing through the fabric and removing the arm. “He doesn’t have feelings for me.”

Baron kicked two more my way. “What do you call it then?”

“It’s his job to protect me.” I got into position, sword at the ready.

“It’s not a job, it’s an honor and a privilege.”

Spinning once, I threw everything into my hit, slicing the dummy clean in half. “Doesn’t count as feelings.”

“It seems my words have affected you, because that was another shit move. Again.”

I groaned, getting more irritated by the second. What the fuck did he know? Stab the heart. Just stab the goddamn heart. Focusing on the last dummy, blocking out whatever negative comments or thoughts came my way, I jumped, sword raised above my head, landing the blow dead center.

“Nice. Next time we’ll try the bow.” Baron removed the last dummy and slipped on the punch mitts. “Grab the black boxing gloves and come stand before me.”

I returned the sword to the table of weapons and followed his instructions.

Baron lifted both mitts and said, “I want you to punch. I’m not looking for proper technique. I just want to feel your strength.”

“That’s it?”

Baron barely moved an inch. He nodded once, signaling with the punch mitts to hit. I held up my gloves and gave them everything I had in one punch.

“Not bad. Now, keep going,” he ordered.

I huffed in protest and wailed in more than just a punch, with each strike starting to yell, freeing the tension and frustration, tears falling down my face as I punched with all my strength.

“That’s enough,” Baron demanded.

I kept punching and sobbing with each blow.

“I said, that’s enough, Remi.” Baron stepped back, throwing me off balance.

I threw off the gloves and rested against the wall, breathing heavily. “Sorry.”

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