Page 51 of The Light Falls
Bastard. Why did I have to get a scarred, twisted trainer with a big ass chip on his shoulder?
An animal slams into me, snarling and swiping with its large paws.
“Shield!”
“It’s up,” I say tersely. Well, it is now.
“Tell me what you hear,” he demands.
“Nothing.”
“Do you want to go home or not? Sometimes you have to be your own hero,” he says harshly. “Listen and tell me what you hear.”
Trying to “see” what’s in the dark is amping up my emotions and blocking my other senses. Even though it feels counterintuitive, I close my eyes and slow my breathing. Sounds slowly filter in from the darkness. “A snarl. Cat, maybe. Croaking frog. Wind. Branches swaying and leaves vibrating. Twig snapping.” Something whistles near my ear, but I don’t know what it is. “You. Breathing and grinding your teeth.”
He grunts. “Good. I want you to go on the offensive. Listen to everything around you. Hit when the enemy is close. Use all your senses. Let’s go.”
Releasing my magic, I push it around my body in an attempt to locate my attacker. A ripple in the dark. Not close enough. I continue to scan the area. My gut tingles, and without thinking, I turn my fist to steel and punch into the darkness on my right. A loud yowl tells me I hit the target.
Another ripple. Closer. I move slowly to the right. Alarm bells go off in my head. I duck and punch hard directly in front of me. Bullseye. Another direct hit.
“Good,” he offers in a surly voice. “Let’s see how you do fighting me. No shield. I want you to fight through the pain. Concentrate on technique.”
I barely have time to register what he says when I hear a hit coming straight at me. I slip to the left to avoid it and plow a lead uppercut into his chin. Exhilarated, I grin.
Thank you, Cormal.
He spent hours teaching me how to box and making me practice with his men. Avoiding close contact is best, but it’s not always an option. Boxing can help in tight spaces, and it is something most predators don’t expect from a female. According to Cormal, the element of surprise will always be the best weapon.
Weaving, I stay light on my feet and listen for his next move. On the right. I duck and slam a hook into each of his sides. Shaking out my aching fists, I dance back to the left and follow it with a jab, but he blocks it. I fake a jab and hit him with a cross. It glances off his cheekbone. Too slow.
Adding magic to my fists, I make sure each hit counts. Faster and faster, we weave and punch, both of us taking hard hits. Blood seeps from the corner of my throbbing lip. I ignore it. Before it can heal, he plows into it again.
Feet and knees get involved, and soon my legs and hips are bruised and hurting. In a lucky shot, I nail him between the legs, and he mutters a filthy word.
“Council meeting. Got to go,” I murmur. Breathing heavily, it’s all I can manage to say. “Can… take me back?”
Silence. He must have stopped moving, but I don’t dare lower my fists yet.
“Not bad. You think too much, but your gut instincts and technique are good. Use your power to amplify your senses not just your fists,” he commands me. “Close your eyes.”
Nervous, I close them, wondering what torture he’s about to unleash, but instead his strong arms wrap tightly around my body.
“We’re back,” he informs me, his voice tight with some emotion.
Blinking rapidly against the light, I breathe him in while I let my eyes adjust. Once I can see, I drop my fists and move toward the door.
He hits my back with a ball of air. “Shield!” Thundering over to me, he grips my shoulders. Dark eyes full of anger stare down at me. “Keep your shield up. If you think the enemy won’t walk into the palace and grab you, you’re mistaken. There are no safe places.”
True. I open my mouth to tell him about the spies in the palace, but immediately close it.
“Dismissed,” he says curtly.
I walk out of the room and down the hall. Reaching into my pocket for my phone, I find nothing and return to the training room. It’s lying on the floor. I grab it. A painful grunt fills the air.
Spinning to the left, I see Madoc and a huge guard sparring, shirts off, circling each other on the mat. Madoc’s steel-grey eyes never leave his target.
Fascinated, I can’t help but follow his every move. Muscles ripple as he makes tiny adjustments to his stance and balance. Every foot is placed with precision. Easily blocking the other guy’s hits, he continues to circle and block. Patiently stalking him, he waits for his opening. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was a shifter by the way he moves. Maybe a panther with his dark looks. In a blink, he pounces and takes his opponent out.
