“What you need to do is sit your ass on the bed,” he counters, his voice a little too calm. The kind ofcalm before the storm.
I can’t deal with his attitude right now. I ignore him, continuing my restless circuit of the room. Everything is too soft here, too fancy. Everything inside costs more than anything I’ve ever owned. Right now I need mystery, I need pain, I need my hate back to fuel me. “You don’t understand,” I say, hating the desperation that slips into my voice. “I can’t just sit here doing nothing, feeling defeated when I know I’ve lost a whole year for nothing.”
“For nothing,” he repeats, the sound almost inhuman.
My eyes go to him. “No… that’s not what I meant,” I take a seat at the edge of the bed beside him. “Yesterday…” I swallow the knot in my throat without losing eye contact, but for some weird reason, I feel like I’m having trouble breathing. “Yesterday you were right. No more lies,” I reach for his hand. “Still, you can’t ask me to become someone else... to forget everything that happened. This is who I am.” I pause for a second, letting the silence clear our thoughts. “But you can let me be ready.”
“Ready for what, exactly? We don’t even know what we’re up against.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I explain, “I feel weak… and I need to be stronger, faster, better… I… I need to stop thinking about how useless I am… about how maybe I won’t get to the bottom of this.” I’m desperate as I say this. Almost out of breath.
Deep down, I’m expecting Ares to sympathize. He knows I never open up like this to someone.
Instead, he laughs, as if what I said was a joke to him. “It seems you don’t know me, little curse. I never leave loose ends, things unsolved, or holes in the balance. We will get to the bottom of this, even if I have to burn this fucking city to the ground to do it.” He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “But fine, if that’s what you feel like doing now to help you calm down, I’ll train you.”
“You?” I ask, like that couldn’t be a real possibility. I did see Ares as more than the man who takes me to bed. I’ve seen him fight, even defeat me, but somehow this never crossed my mind.
“I trained hell’s legions and more warriors than are people around alive today. So, I think I could train you. Don’t you agree?” He looks at me like he's surprised I didn’t ask him for help in the first place. “Besides, your leg isn’t fully healed, so we’ll need to do this in a way that won’t put additional stress on it.”
“Fine,” I answer, knowing that disagreeing with him won’t solve anything. Besides, I’m getting trained by the God of War. That should be an honor. “Let’s go.”
“Now?” he asks like that wasn’t even an option.
“Now,” I drop to the floor, positioning myself for push-ups, and lower my body until my nose nearly touches the carpet.
One.My arms tremble slightly.
Two.The wound in my leg throbs.
Three.Sweat beads on my forehead.
"What exactly do you think you're proving?" Ares asks, walking next to me like a predator considering whether its prey is even worth the effort of the kill.
I don't answer, focusing instead on controlling my breathing.
Four. Five.My injured leg protests each time I shift my weight.
Six. Seven.My form is deteriorating, strength weakening, but I refuse to stop.
"Enough," Ares says, his foot suddenly pressing down between my shoulder blades, not hard enough to hurt, but with sufficient force to pin me to the floor. "This isn't training. This is self-destruction."
I twist out from under his foot, rolling to my back and immediately regretting the movement as pain shoots through my thigh. Still, I push myself up to sitting, then force my body into a stretch, reaching for my toes while the pain in my leg makes me hiss through clenched teeth.
"Stubborn woman," Ares mutters, watching me with a mixture of exasperation and something that might just be admiration. "You'll ruin your leg, and then you'll be useless for weeks instead of days." Ares’s hand closes around my upper arm with enough force to stop my movement, but not enough to bruise—yet. "That's enough."
I try to jerk away, but his grip is unyielding. "Let go of me."
"Not until you stop this fucking craziness." His face is inches from mine, his warm breath falling against my cheek. "You want to train? Okay. But we do it my way. For as long as I say. While taking your fucking injury into consideration, as I told you before."
His grip on my arm loosens, his thumb stroking the skin there on instinct.
“We'll start today. But light training only. Nothing that sends you to the hospital because of that leg.” A smile tugs at onecorner of his mouth, something close to appreciation. "You really are the most stubborn creature I've ever known."
Coming from him, it sounds almost like a compliment. I don't return his smile, but I do nod in agreement. "Where do we train?"
"I have a place," he says, going to his dressing room and pulling out training clothes. He tosses a set to me. Black leggings and a fitted tank top that I’m surprised he got for me, but I think he knew this day would come sooner or later.
"Get dressed. And try not to make that leg of yours completely useless in the meantime."
