“I mean it, Gray,” he said. “Pull it together.”
“Is that really necessary?” I asked. “She’s been through—”
“Take a hike, Spooky,” he said. “Amateur hour is over.”
Gray sighed. “He’s not going anywhere, Ash. He’s still teaching me about my powers.”
“Well, given how that turned out, I figured I’d teach you how to kick some ass instead.” The demon grinned, a look as frightening and feral as the ancient pit from whence his ancestors came. “Starting with mine.”
Thirteen
GRAY
“Again.”
Asher locked his hands behind his back and closed his eyes, waiting for my epic smackdown to resume.
“This is pointless, Ash. I’m no match for you.”
“You’re right. You’re no match for me or any other supernatural. Vampires and shifters are faster, stronger, and more agile than you could ever hope to be. Fae are master manipulators. And demons… Well.” Asher grinned, enjoying this way more than I was. “We’re just trouble any way you slice it.”
“Then why are we wasting our time?”
“Listen.” His smile dropped. “You’ve got innate magic, Gray. Alotof it. Once you learn to channel it properly, it’ll make you stronger and faster. Add a few solid fighting techniques into the mix, and next time you’re backed into a corner, you might have half a chance at getting out.”
“Half? Not sure I like those odds.”
“Half is better than zilch. Reading lore books and sparring with Ronan isn’t enough. Not anymore.” He gestured for me to come at him again. “Let’s go.”
Swallowing the very last of my wounded pride, I wound up and took a swing.
He dodged easily, surprising no one.
We’d been at it an hour already, trampling the lush backyard as I chased him in circles in the fading evening light. He’d kept his hands behind him the whole time, and I’d yet to land a single punch.
My knuckles brushed across his bicep once. That was the closest I’d gotten to inflicting any damage.
“Come on, Cupcake. You’re acting like you don’twantto hit me, and we all know that can’t be true.”
I rolled my eyes. I could think of nothing more satisfying than knocking that smug grin off his stupid face.
“It’s not for lack of trying,” I said.
“If you get into a situation with this hunter again—or another Hollis or Weston or any number of underworld assholes salivating for a chance to kill you—trying isn’t gonna cut it.” He whipped off his shirt and tossed it into the grass, then clapped once and gestured for me to come at him again. “Don’t hold back, baby.”
“What do you have against shirts?”
I waited for the smartassery, the innuendo, the flirty teasing that had become our comfortable norm. But it never came.
Asher’s face twisted with annoyance that bordered on disdain. “Stop screwing around, Gray. This is important. I need you to focus.”
He closed his eyes again, his arms loose at his sides, and I lunged at him, truly believing I had the element of surprise this time.
Me and my brilliant delusions.
He sidestepped, and I stumbled, the momentum of my ill-timed swing carrying me forward. I stopped myself from face-planting, then regained my balance and spun around on my heel, throwing my hands in front of my face just in time to block his hit.
Barely.
