Page 120 of Vampires and Violas

“I’m having PE flashbacks,” I mutter.

“What kind of twisted PE department did your school have?”

I laugh, exhausted. Noah’s already made me learn and practice a bunch of self-defense moves on the black foam mats Cassian installed for our training.

I stare at the pig, huffing air to move my bangs out of my eyes. I’m sweaty, tired, and seriously grossed out. “Sorry, pig.”

Then I pull my arm back, tense my muscles, and give it my all. The stake goes in maybe two inches, hanging there like it’s about to fall out.

“There,” I breathe, reveling in my victory as I clutch my sides. “I killed it.”

“You maimed it. Now let's put clothes on it, and you can try again.”

“Are you freaking kidding me?”

“How many vampires are going to come at you naked?”

I hold up my hand, needing that image out of my brain. “Ew.”

Noah chuckles. “It’s harder to get through clothing.”

I turn away from the pig to face him. “So, you know in those action fantasy movies, where the main girl learns to be all kick-butt and stuff?”

“You like these movie references, don’t you?”

“Shut up for a minute. Anyway, the leads have the training montage, and it’s very hot. Then suddenly, she’s a fighting prodigy and they’re taking down monsters and making out in some dark alley?”

He lifts a dark brow. “Are you going somewhere with this?”

“Can’t we skip to the making out part? I’m not really a martial-arts, stab-the-monster kind of girl.” I lower my voice to a whisper. “I’m a flower farmer.”

Noah rolls his eyes. “This was originally your idea.”

“And I am humble enough to admit it was abadidea.” I stretch my neck. “Who are we kidding? I don’t have the stomach to shove a stake in someone’s chest—and even if my stomach was up to it, my muscles certainly aren’t.”

“Then you need to get stronger.”

“No, what I need is a capable bodyguard.” I gesture to him. “And that’s you.”

“Okay,” he says, finally showing me mercy. “Forget the stake for now. We’ll practice more of the self-defense moves.”

And we do. For another thirty minutes, until my muscles feel like gelatin and I’m having serious blood cravings.

I sink into a crouch, dizzy.

“You okay?” Noah lowers himself onto the concrete floor across from me.

“The room is spinning. And there are now two pigs instead of one.”

“That’s not a good sign.”

My eyes are closed, but I can hear the frown in his voice. “Why?”

“You had your blood this afternoon, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, Cassian’s cook made me some tropical concoction that tasted like the Bahamas.”

“Maybe I worked you too hard,” he says casually, but he’s worried. We both know what it means if I need to up my prescription—I was infected again. I’m entering the second stage.

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