Page 166 of The Demon's Pet

I wanted to know everything about his revenge, about what his brother had been trying to do when he died, and about what had happened.

But I knew I would have to wait. Information came from Sam in a slow drip, never a torrent.

“I didn’t say everyone could watch,” Sam muttered to Simon, Mor, Griffin, and Nic, who had all gathered.

Simon was dressed snappily as usual, sitting on the remnants of an old stone wall, legs crossed gingerly, pale face lit with excitement. “Cleo’s first training? I wouldn’t miss it.”

Griffin, wearing a red sweatshirt with jeans, folded his huge arms. “I’m here to watch out for Cleo.”

Nic, wearing a black tracksuit with white stripes down the sides, was seated next to Simon. “Me too.”

Sam rolled his eyes, then looked over at Mor. “And why are you here?”

“I’m curious as well,” Mor said. He was wearing a gray sweatshirt over black lounge pants, with tennis shoes. I’d never seen him looking so casual.

Mor was taller than Simon, and his dark hair was shorter and more lustrous, his skin pale but fresh with life, rosy in the right places.

Simon looked like someone had dug him up, washed him, and put him in fancy clothing. His skin was such an eerie shade of white.

Out here in the cloudy sunlight, he looked far more undead than he had inside. But still almost eerily beautiful.

Sam got into a fighting stance. He wore a black sleeveless tank that showed off huge, muscular shoulders, plus black shorts that revealed the best calves I had ever seen and tennis shoes on his larger-than-average feet.

Apparently, incubi looked crazy hot in workout gear.

But who was I kidding? Sam looked crazy hot in everything.

His hair was tousled as always, and his dark eyes were sharp.

He stepped back with one hand and gestured for me to approach.

“What, like you want me to spar with you?” I asked.

He nodded, gold glinting at the centers of his dark eyes.

I was wearing a white tank top with black leggings and Converse, which were easy to move in. All the same, the thought of sparring with a slayer was daunting.

“Hit me,” he said. His lips lifted in a grin. “At least try.”

I took a step forward uncertainly. “But my collar, will it still protect everyone from me?”

Sam nodded. “Right now, you have access to half your physical strength and some of your demon abilities. Not safe to have certain ones yet. But I need to see how skilled you are with basic hand-to-hand fighting. If you know techniques, then your demon power, as you unlock it, should do the rest.”

I cracked my knuckles. “Okay, here I go.”

I ran toward Sam, who stayed in a relaxed fighting stance until I got close. He gave a slow practice swing of a left hook to test me, and I ducked quickly under it and came up with an uppercut aimed right at his jaw.

He dodged it in the speed of a blink and shot out a leg to hook me while I was unstable. I dodged back, lifting my leg to avoid the trap, and snapped my foot upward in a roundhouse kick that paused right at the level of his eye, forcing him to stop as he came forward with a heel strike.

He stepped back from me, and we circled. A smile lifted his lips. “Who trained you?”

“Some alpha wolf back in the haven,” I said. He didn’t deserve even being known by name after kicking me out just for being an omega.

Little did he know I still looked in on classes, practiced moves on my own outside or in my room.

I’d loved sparring and had always been good at it. The alphas who’d lost to me were so glad I was banned after being labeled an omega that no one questioned the decision to throw me out.

Perhaps it had even influenced it.

---