The air smelled of sweat with a faint, coppery tinge of blood. Behind the grates, a few dull stains gleamed on some of the weapons, although I doubted anyone could see them but me. A glass partition stood along the curve of the third wall, with rows of padded seats behind it, as though this was a hockey rink.
The spectators had already arrived. Claudia, Reginald, Grant, and Mo sat in the seats, while two guards armed with swords acted as sentries next to the doors—I supposed to stop me if I did something crazy, like try to make a run for it.
Mo flashed me a thumbs-up. I resisted the urge to reach down, grab one of the throwing stars attached to my belt, and send it hurtling in his direction.
My opponent was here as well. Felix stood on the far side of the mats, clutching a sword. He gave me another wink, followed by a slow, sexy smirk.
Devon was here, too, leaning against one of the grates, his arms crossed over his chest. I ignored him.
Behind the glass partition, Reginald rose to his feet. “This is to be a demonstration only, so no drawing blood, no debilitating blows. The first person to disarm the other wins. Do you understand?”
“Crystal clear,” I sniped.
“Felix?”
He nodded. “We’re good.”
“All right then.” Reginald held his arm up, then abruptly dropped it. “Begin!”
Felix raised his sword high, let out a fierce yell, and charged. He was trying to scare and surprise me, but it didn’t work. If we’d been fighting for real, I could have easily moved forward and run him through before he even realized what was happening. But I decided to be nice, so I sidestepped him instead. He whipped around and charged at me again. This time, I engaged him.
Felix was decent enough with a sword, but he fought in an exaggerated, reckless fashion, like someone who was trying to copy the flashy maneuvers he’d seen in the movies. I could have disarmed him in three moves, but I decided to be nice again and drag it out to seven.
He swung at me. I stepped forward and grabbed his arm, bending his wrist back far enough to make him yelp and drop his weapon. He tried to jerk free, but I drove my elbow into his stomach and slammed my sneaker into his knee. A second later, he was down on the mat, my sword pointed at his heart.
Felix’s face creased into a smile. “Have I mentioned that I dig bad-ass chicks? Seriously, you are, like, a total hottie right now.”
I couldn’t help laughing. I reached down, offered him my hand, and pulled him up onto his feet. Felix winked at me and stepped off the mats.
The training room was silent. I looked over at Reginald.
“Anything else?” I sniped. “Or can I go now?”
“Not just yet,” a low voice sounded.
Even before I turned my head, I knew what I would find. Sure enough, Devon shrugged out of his black suit jacket and tossed it over to Felix before rolling up the cuffs of his shirt, revealing his brown, muscled forearms.
He grabbed Felix’s sword from where it had landed on the mats and snapped it up into an attack position. I sighed and raised my weapon again. I wondered how many people I’d have to fight before Claudia and the others grew tired of this pointless display.
Reginald repeated the whole drill about fighting clean before starting the match. Instead of attacking me, Devon started twirling his sword in his hand in a slow, easy motion. So I mirrored his movements, just to mock him.
“I hope you’re better with a sword than your boy Felix. He wasn’t even a challenge.”
Devon’s green gaze flicked to Felix, who had taken a seat with the others behind the glass. “I know. It was cruel of you to toy with him like that.”
“I wasn’t toying with him so much as I was letting him lose with a little bit of dignity.”
“Well, please, don’t do me the same favor,” he drawled.
“Oh, don’t you worry about that—”
He charged at me, trying to take me by surprise, and the battle was on.
Devon was a far superior fighter to Felix. Stronger, smarter, more careful with his blows, and always thinking about his next move.
But I was still better.
I knew it instinctively, the same way I knew I should always pay the lochness toll. I knew it because my mom had trained me to be the best, and I’d spent the last four years honing my skills on the streets. I knew it because I was just like her deep down inside, no matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise.
We broke apart after a quick exchange and circled each other, going around and around on the mats.
I narrowed my eyes. “You’re almost fast enough to have a speed Talent.”
Devon grinned, the effect far more charming than I would have thought possible, given how much I hated him. “Almost,” he agreed. “But sadly, I don’t have any speed magic. But if you’re ready to give up, just say so. I’ll let you lose with a little bit of dignity.”
“Never—”
He raised his sword and came at me again, but I blocked his blows by following the steps, moves, and positions I’d memorized long ago. Then it was his turn to counter every move I made. Then my turn again. In a weird way, it was almost like we were dancing.
But this was way more fun.
Devon grinned again, enjoying this as much as I was. That hot spark I’d sensed in him before burned much brighter now, warming his eyes and softening the sharp edges of the guilt and grief that weighed down his heart. It was almost as if he found a certain freedom in the fight, or at least a distraction from the worrisome emotions that constantly ate at him.