Page 60 of Bound to a Monster

Lev walks out of my room. The masked man stalks down the hall as I follow after him. I roll my shoulders and my neck, loosening up as he takes me into the basement. Everything’s been cleared away already, and a space has been designated for the bout.

My foil and mask are both waiting for me. I lift the sword first and balance it in my hand, taking a few warm-up lunges before putting the mask on but leaving it tilted up.

“You sure about this?” I ask.

Lev falls into a passable fencing stance. “Come on. Don’t make me fucking wait.”

A shiver runs down my spine. Excitement slams into my chest.

“Rules?” He doesn’t answer. “First touch then. Epee style.” I figure that’s easiest since any touch on any part of the body counts in epee. It’ll give him a very slight chance since it’s my worst discipline. I prefer the raw aggression of saber to the measured testing and attack/riposte of epee.

“Ready,” he says, holding up his blade.

I shove down my mask, give him a quick salute, and stand opposite him. “Ready,” I say, dancing on the balls of my feet. “Let’s go.”

Not exactly standard, but it works.

He comes toward me. Lev’s strong and quick, but his footwork is absolutely terrible. I test him with a few quick swipes of my foil, our blades clashing, and this feels good. It feels so fucking good.

My nerves burn away. The moment shrinks. I’m entirely in this bout. Even if it’s the furthest thing from a real fencing match and really just a basement swordfight, it feelsincredible.

I want to fucking crush him.

Instead, I take my time. I move through a few forms and pull back before touching him at least twice. I can almost feel hisfrustration as I tease him into an awkward lunge, parry his blade, and dance backwards instead of finishing him.

“Don’t fucking hold back,” he snarls at me.

“Or else what? I thought you could take me.”

“I can.” He comes at me. It’s a furious attack as he swipes wildly. I easily evade backwards, excitement singing, my breath coming fast, and I quickly knock his blade sideways before executing a decent lunge into a touch right on his chest.

He grunts and backs away as I release a primal scream.

It’s overkill. I know it’s too much. But fuck, it feels sogoodto win again. It’s been so long since I scored a touch on an opponent on the piste and even though Lev’s trash and this isn’t a real bout, it feels incredible.

“Again,” he says when I finally get myself under control.

“Again,” I agree, grinning viciously.

He lets me come at him. This time, I take control. I drive the exchange and make it fast. He tries a messy parry that leaves him wide open and I score another touch on his arm.

I scream my animalistic aggression in his blank face.

“Again,” he says.

And again I come at him. Again I score a touch, and again I scream.

The next time, I draw him out. I let him think I’m getting tired. And I am—I’m nowhere in the shape I used to be—but he’s not good enough to take advantage. When he overextends himself, I finish things, scoring my fifth touch in a row.

“Where’s that cocky banter now?” I say to him, my voice raw from victorious screams. I wrench my mask back and let him see my elated grin.

“Again,” is all he’s willing to say.

I shove my mask back down.

This time, it’s different. I step in, staying in my stance, and he barely reacts. I get closer and closer, waiting for him to spring his trap, and I’m practically on top of him when he finally moves.

It’s a blur of speed. Even though I score a touch, he doesn’t seem to care. He bashes my sword aside, grabs my wrist, and wrenches the blade from my grip. I gasp in shock as he grabs the zipper on my jacket and rips it down.

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