Page 78 of The Devil's Trials
He offers the dagger, and I take it before he says, “Defend yourself.”
I stumble back when Noah advances, shaking my head. “This is ridiculous,” I hiss at him. “Why—”
“Demons won’t give you an opportunity to prepare for their attack,” he bellows for the whole class while keeping his eyes locked on me. “You need to be alert at all times. Focus andfight.”
The training room fades away, and it’s just me and Noah. I can’t let myself consider the onlookers and what they’re thinking or I’ll end up running in the other direction, and I don’t want to even imagine how that’ll affect my reputation around here.
My heart thumps hard, and I focus my breathing, steadying my stance as Noah’s brows furrow in concentration. We circle each other for no more than ten seconds before I press forward, refusing to allow him the upper hand. I throw a jab with my non-dagger-wielding hand, but Noah is fast, shifting out of reach before countering with a kick to my ribs that sends me backwards and knocks the air from my lungs. He isn’t using his full strength, otherwise I’d be guaranteed a few broken ribs, but my cheeks are flaming with embarrassment for getting thrown on my ass so fast.
Ignoring the throbbing in my midsection, I roll onto my stomach and get to my feet before he can advance on me again.
Do not hesitate.
His voice rings clearly in my mind, and I latch onto it, shooting toward my target.
Noah’s eyes widen briefly when I slam my elbow into his gut, and I don’t back down. Don’t give him a chance to recover. I strike harder, faster. A kick to the groin, a punch to the jaw. My moves are less precise, but based on the rapid rise and fall of his chest, they’re good enough to work.
When he lunges for me, instincts I wasn’t sure I had take over and I lift my arm to block his fist from connecting with my face. The impact shoots pain down my forearm to my elbow, and I grit my teeth, hissing out a sharp breath.
He presses forward to strike again, but I jump out of the way, my muscles burning at the sudden movement, and whirl around to kick him hard behind the knees. Excitement fills my chest with pressure as he hits the mats, and I shoot forward, wrapping my arm around his neck from behind and pressing my knee into his back. He grunts at the attack, and I nearly fall to the side when he grabs for me as he rolls onto his back. I steady myself just in time and throw my full weight into him, keeping him against the mats.
Heart pounding, I straddle him, trapping my arm over his throat to immobilize him as I position my dagger over his heart.
Holy shit, I just took down Noah.
His expression is an interesting mix of shock and pride, and the corners of his mouth creep upward slightly, as if he’s fighting a smile. Reaching up, he taps my arm, conceding.
The class erupts into cheers and clapping, and I grin so hard my face hurts as I catch my breath.
“Okay,” he mutters, clearly less impressed with the class’s response.
I shoot Noah a smug look before pushing to my feet, leaving him to get up himself as I tuck my dagger into the waistband of my leggings. My stomach sinks when I catch Cody’s glare, but I steel myself and instead of turning away, I smile at him. Nobody is going to ruin this moment for me, least of all some guy I don’t even know.
“That was epic,” Wyatt says, clapping me on the back when he and Brynne come over with Sierra and a girl I recognize from class but can’t recall her name.
“Seriously,” the girl says. “And this after you kicked demon ass the other night. Word travels fast around here—you’re a total rockstar.”
My brows lift, and I glance around the small circle of trainees. Noah had asked Wyatt and Brynne not to say anything, but—
“Sorry,” Sierra sing-songs. “I couldn’t help it. Your peers should know how amazing you are.”
I shake my head, laughing softly. “I’m very much a work in progress, but thanks.”
More people come over, offering their praise and congratulations. I struggle to keep up and smile back at everyone as tension prickles along my neck.
The room feels warmer, and my pulse kicks up as each breath becomes harder to take.
Noah calls the class back into order, and I use that opportunity to slip out of the room, grabbing my water bottle on the way. In the hallway, I lean against the wall and down a few mouthfuls, wiping the back of my hand across my forehead to dry the sweat forming there. The pressure in my chest worsens, and I try to calm my breathing, struggling through the dull ringing in my ears.
I shouldn’t be shocked that all the attention—despite it being positive—on something I’d rather forget triggered a panic attack, but I need to get it under control.
I close my eyes, going through my tried and true breathing exercise until I pull myself out of the haze of anxiety. I blink them back open and sip on my water, waiting for my heart rate to return to normal. I’d rather sit the rest of the class out to avoid more comments, but I still have a long way to go and I need the training. Today was a victory, a clear marker of progress, but I need to stay focused.
I repeat that to myself a few more times as I walk back to the training room and hope it’s enough to keep the anxiety at bay for the rest of class.
That evening, shortly after six, I walk over to my dad’s condo a few blocks away for dinner. His place smells like an Italian restaurant when he opens the door to greet me with a warm smile and tight hug. The savory aroma of garlic and butter permeates the air, making my mouth water as we go into the kitchen.
I sit on a barstool at the island counter as my stomach grumbles. “Whatever you’re making smells incredible.”
