I bite my tongue and give a stiff nod.
At this point, any argument I have is weak, and regardless of how bad I want to bark back, it’s not worth it. I’ll grin and take it on the chin. She grabs one of my wrists, her pinched features clearly painting her unhappiness with me, turns it over, and slaps a small dagger in my palm.
I look at it, then at her, hesitation clearly written all over my face. We’re supposed to be working on strength training, not battle tactics. According to Kingston, I’m not ready for that yet. She looks at me like I’m stupid.
“Congrats, first-year. Today is your lucky day,” she insists, malice coating her words.
“I seriously doubt that,” I retort blandly. “Luck and I aren’t exactly on a first-name basis.”
“You’re going hand-to-hand with one of the best,” she says, her lips pulling into a sardonic sneer. I’m starting to wonder if this is the only expression she knows how to make.
I look around us. “Are you seeing someone that I’m not?”
Makon laughs, drawing my attention back to him. “I see someone woke up and chose to be a brat.” He walks over and stops directly in front of me. His long black hair is partially bound in a warrior’s knot at his crown, and the rest hangs loosely over his shoulders. His eyes are a deeper brown than his brother’s and lack the onyx ring. The scar running down his temple to his mouth makes the smirk he’s throwing in my direction seem downright hazardous.
I take a slight step back, then curse myself for doing so.
“A lot of women would love to be in your shoes right now and have the opportunity to have their hands all over me,” he says, his voice low and thick.
“Rest assured, I am not one of those women.”
He steps closer. “Yet,” he purrs, circling me.
He’s the predator, and I’m the prey.
Story of my life.
Corrine crawls up on one of the boulders and kicks her legs out in front of her. “The goal is to draw first blood. The smallest drop and you’re victorious. Loser runs four laps around the training field,” she says, waving her hands dismissively.
Four laps? I’ll die before I reach one.
I can’t run thirty seconds without being winded. I hate cardio more than I hate trying to wield shadows.
I exhale heavily and grip my dagger, stepping toward Makon.
This day fucking sucks.
He tilts his head, his tongue running over his teeth. Fucker looks like he’s measuring my worth or something.
I swing out blindly, and he knocks the blade out of my hand into the snow.
He bears his teeth in an antagonizing smile. “Pathetic,” he says, each syllable dipped in poisonous mockery.
I keep my eyes on him while I bend down to retrieve the blade.
Tossing my long ponytail over my shoulder, I stand and point the dagger at his annoying face. All I need is one small nick. Just one. The snow makes any sudden movement difficult, causing my boots to sink into the powder, throwing off any speed or precision I might have.
I lunge forward again, and Makon swats me to the side like an annoying gnat. Both of my hands and knees sink into the fallen snow.
I was right, wet leather is extremely uncomfortable.
“Is this seriously the best you’ve got? The academy fucked up in your assessment, Caderyn,” he spits in my direction. “You’re definitely 100 percent Veil.”
“Finally, something we agree on,” I growl from the ground.
I’m tired of being shoved into the snow, and even more tired of being fucking awful at sparring. This extra training isn’t helpfuleither. It’s just making a joke of me. “I think it’s quite obvious to everyone that I don’t have any Noctryn in me!”
His lips tug in amusement. “Would you like to?” he asks, his voice dripping with innuendo.
