Page 53 of Laid Bare

The mat is firm beneath my sneakers, a slight give under each step. It’ll hurt like hell to hit the mat, but at least it’s better than concrete.

I adopt my fighter’s stance before the professor can even call ready. Giles is unpredictable, and I wouldn’t put it past him to attack before the fight even starts. Though, from the postering he’s doing, I don’t think he’s even taking this all that seriously.

Fine by me. He’s wants to fuck around, so I’ll get my licks in before he’s any the wiser.

Internally, for a quick moment, I check in with my magic, feeling the happy zip through my veins that it always does when I acknowledge it. There’s a reassuring squeeze around my heart, almost like it’s saying, we got this. I won’t let you down.

“Fighters ready?” I nod, while the idiot throws his hands in the air, pumping them a few times like he’s already the victor. “And go.”

My magic immediately takes over, rushing to the speed rune on my foot and the strength one on my inner bicep. It’s a new one Thaddeus has been having me work on during my rune practice class, with the demons as my guinea pigs.

That rune alone puts me almost on the same level strength-wise as the two of them, but my focus always seems to veer off and I lose the momentum with it. I can’t do that this time. If I do, I’m risking a world of hurt.

Before Giles even registers I’ve moved, I’m throwing my curled fist straight to his face, the crunch of his nose music to my ears. A threatening rumble emanates from his chest, but I’m already gone, his wild punch meeting nothing but thin air.

All the cheering from his merry little group of assholes cuts off at the sign of first blood. Only it’s not mine like they thought it would be. Nope. It’s the alpha douchebag’s.

Steam practically billows out of Giles’ ears, and long gone is the confident asshole who stepped onto the mat. Now a fire rages in his shit-brown eyes, the color shifting quickly between his usual and the gold of his wolf.

It’s like that hit has finally knocked some damn sense into him. His movements are precise, and there’s a look in his eyes that screams he’s finally taking this seriously. Who would have known all it would take is one damn hit.

His shifter healing kicks in, stemming the flow of blood from his nose. Pity. I kind of liked watching him bleed.

From here on out, it truly becomes a real fight. Both of us darting in and out, refusing to get too close. One advantage he has with his taller form is the longer limbs that accompany it. So while he can keep a greater distance, I’m finding myself further in his space than I particularly like.

There’s an audible crack as his foot connects with my ribs, my shriek of pain causing the class to bellow in excitement. My magic never once falters, and I let the agony coursing through my veins fuel my fight and determination to put this fucker on his ass. Even if it’s only once.

But the alpha has officially let his ego get to his head. He preens around the mat, too cocky for his own, so he misses me sliding across the mat and taking his legs right out from underneath him.

His oomph as he hits the ground is music to my ears, and I take the opportunity while he’s down to climb on top of him. My knees press into his shoulders, pinning him firmly, while raining strength-infused blows to his face.

His lackeys are calling for him to fight back, to get up and beat the shit out of me, but all his postering in the beginning has drained his energy. The most the alpha can do is attempt to cover his face to stem some of the damage.

It’s too much for me to keep going, but I don’t stop, because I know the second I do, I’m completely done for, because he won’t let this slide.

“Tap out, Giles.”

“Never,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I’ll never bow out to a whore.”

That’s the last straw, his words sending a resurgence of magic straight to my fists. I pull my arm back, ready to deliver the blow that will render him unconscious, when there’s a yell and I’m tackled from the side. My cracked rib smarts at the hit, but it becomes background noise to the torture being inflicted on me from numerous sources.

Professor Simmons’ bellow can barely be heard over the ringing in my ears. But my brain easily registers the battle cry that sounds suspiciously like Zane. The weight holding me down to the mat disappears, and through swollen eyes, I see Bane standing over top of me, raining down his own special brand of hell on the students who broke the rules and attacked me.

Even with the brothers in the middle of the fight, the others who jumped me still fight against them, trying to get to me.

“Marion!” Zane roars. “Get her out of here!”

Marion? Oh gods. I hope she hasn’t gotten caught up in the fight. I want to tell her to back away. Run away and get as far away from this fight as she can. I’m not worth it for her to put herself in the middle. But the words escape me, sliding right back down my throat before I can voice them.

For once, something other than indifference flashes across her face. Panic gives her eyes a glossy sheen as she ducks an errant punch, sweeping me quickly into her arms and dashing out of the center of the storm.

Once again, Marion plays the role of my savior just like she did at the gala when she put herself between me and the mob. She was injured then, but it wasn’t lasting. One thing is for sure. If she continues being my friend—or goes back to being my friend—she’ll always be in danger. So maybe her distance is what’s best for both of us. I couldn’t live with myself if she dies. Because her death would solely rest in my hands.

A choked sob tries to break free at the thought, but I hold it back. She’s right here. She’s still alive, and right now isn’t the time to dwell on what ifs.

Marion makes a break for the door, Aero neighing in distress as he trots after her, but a shrill scream stops her forward momentum, and everyone seems to freeze in place. It’s so damn quiet you can hear a pin drop. Marion turns around, still slowly backing toward the exit, even as curiosity gets the better of her.

“He’s dead! You killed him!”

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