Page 55 of Seducing Hope (The Hope Legacy)

Aaden hums. “I’ll see what I can find out about Khalkaroth—that may lead us to more info about the Jar and Pan.”

Zee’s phone chimes from the back seat, and he pulls it out of his pocket. “Charlie.”

“We need to tell him something,” Aaden says. I nod as Zee swipes his thumb on the screen.

“Zee, update?” Charlie barks.

“I’ll let Natia update you, boss. She’s the one who brokered the deal with the devil.”

I shoot him a glare. “Deal with the devil?” Charlie snaps.

I sigh. “We’ve had some developments with Archan and his team.”

“You know what he is?”

“No. But they’ve agreed to work with us to find Mary’s killer.”

“Work together?”

I roll my eyes. “They aren’t responsible for the disappearances. Wait… well,technicallythey are, but they’re protecting them from the demon who wants them dead. I know you might not approve, but it’s a way of getting closer.”

Silence… until Duncan whispers at me, “Tell him about your powers.”

I shake my head. “What was that about powers?” Uncle Charlie asks sharply.

Glaring at Duncan, I grind out, “I have an elemental power—air. It’s only occurred once.”

“When?” Uncle Charlie demands. I picture the shades of red he’s about to turn.

“Last night.”

“And why are you only informing me now?”

“You know why.”

A long sigh echoes from the phone. “I won’t tell anyone, Natia, so long as you let Duncan help you control it.”

I frown. I’d expected more resistance, shock, questions. “Okay.” I glance at Duncan, who’s also frowning at the phone.

“Keep me updated.” The screen blinks off. Aaden is already tapping away on his laptop, his tongue peeking out between his lips, no doubt diving into his research.

“I’ll grab my books,” Duncan mutters, deep in thought.

Zee points at me. “We’re going to train.”

I huff. Zee’s training involves him kicking my ass, followed by me needing a muscle soak.

***

Changed into black yoga pants and a pink sports bra—I need to get my girly on somewhere—we enter the small training room in the basement of the apartment building. The room is basic, with some training mats laid out on the floor. We warm up with a set of stretches, squats, sit-ups, and push-ups. Zee teaches a mixture of martial arts, and he’s taught me how to fight hand-to-hand—but my strength lies with my sword work.

Stepping barefoot onto the cool mat, I position my body, keeping on the balls of my feet with my arms raised, ready to defend or attack.

Zee clucks his tongue. “Your posture’s sloppy… I shouldn’t be pointing this out after four years of training.” I tighten my abdomen and straighten my back. Without warning, Zee jabs my left shoulder then launches into a head kick. Instinctively, I duck, but he follows up with a low roundhouse kick, putting me on my ass.

He circles me. “Get up. You’re defending, not attacking.” We go again; this time, he pins me underneath him. “You’re not going to hurt me. Stop holding back.”

I nod, panting. He stands, offering me his hand to pull me up, and I take it. He strips off his light gray T-shirt, leaving him in his black sweats. His body glistens with a light sheen of sweat, highlighting the almost imperceptible, small, silver scars on his body.

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