From his place on the floor, Walter snagged it out of the air, vamp-fast.
Wasters were shaped like swords and would leave bruises and break bones but would seldom kill, unless they were used for blows to the neck or head. Anything above the shoulders or to the groin was off-limits in practice matches.
I walked toward the vampire, taking a two-hand grip on my own wooden weapon, one built to mimic the weight and balance of a bastard sword. I liked bastard swords, I liked sparring with Walter and, despite my better judgment and dislike of having a one-man protection detail forced on me, I liked Walter himself. Not that I ever told him so, after that one attempt to be friendly.
EJ had never once been interested in being Walter’s pal, but I was stupid enough to always want more from the people around me.
EJ stood slowly, moaning. “Oh, dear God,” he grunted. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”
“More than one,” I said, my eyes on the gorgeous vampire in front of me. Walter’s dark skin glistened, and his eyes had gone bright and amused.
“Go get an ice bath, kiddo,” I said to my brother.
“I thought you were going to yoga,” EJ said.
“Tried it. I need more tonight.”
“Ice bath, Evan Junior,” Walter commanded, his eyes never leaving me.
I grinned, showing teeth. It was a vampire challenge, even when a human with no fangs did it.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’m going,” EJ said.
I watched both Walter and EJ as my brother limped to the kitchen and poured ice from the large-capacity ice maker into a ten-gallon bucket. The ice pulled him into an unnatural position, but he didn’t look totally incapacitated as he limped into the gym’s recuperation area. That space consisted of a single ice tub, a two-person hot tub, a small steam room, and individual bathrooms, each with a shower stall, sink, and toilet, and enough space to change clothes. EJ closed the door on us, leaving us alone.
Walter assessed my face, rolled to his feet, and assumed a stance similar to mine. He gripped his weapon. “Bastard swords for three rounds,” he said.
“I nearly beat you with my bastard last time,” I warned with a taunting smile. “You nearly lost your cojones.”
“Nearly doesn’t count in battle, Little Angelina.”
Walter attacked.
The clack of his waster against mine echoed off the bare walls. Lunge, cut, cut, cut, lunge, block, block, block. Clacks echoed, overlaying each other. Faster. I let myself fall into the rhythm of fighting. Ignored the strain on my wrist, hands, and shoulders from the torque of my moves, the concussion of his parries, my body balanced and feet spread a little wider apart than was standard.
“Touch,” I said, landing a blow on Walter’s side. I danced back. Lifted my sword in salute.
“Touch for a Mithran vampire. Mortal blow on a human,” Walter said, saluting me back.
“Not fighting a human,” I said. “Fighting a bloodsucker with an agenda.” Without waiting, I attacked again.
He blocked my attack and danced back, then forward. “Bloodsuckers with agendas are deadly creatures. Beware.” Ten seconds in, he lunged.
My breath shot out as a groan. My gut exploded in pain. A quarter inch deeper and I’d have needed surgery to repair a damaged abdominal wall. I managed to inhale, though it hurt like a dump truck had crushed me into a brick wall.
Between one heartbeat and the next, the world opened out to me: magic, energy, light everywhere. Exhaling, my magic flowed through me. With that breath, bright swirls of color traced along my limbs and churned in my core like small cyclones full of lightning and deadly winds.Battle magic. Almost impossible to access, unpredictable, volatile, capricious as storm winds. I didn’t fight the magic down as I should have. Instead, I used part of the power to stop the bleeding in my bruised stomach, used it to lessen the pain, took the power into me, much like the way a knight took the reins that guided a war-horse. I inhaled, feeling the power dance a little before it settled.
Weapon down, I shook out my shoulders and arms. This was dangerous. If I lost control of battle magic in a sparring bout, that would be bad. I had given in to it only once and I had been deadly, flawlessly brutal, a precise, vicious, killing machine.
Amused, Walter said, “Death blow.”
I met Walter’s dark eyes.
“I see,” he said, recognizing what had happened. “Finally. Under control?” he asked.
“Yeah. Need a sec.” I saddled the magic, controlled it, pulled it tight inside me. Reset my grip. My magic settled into me. It felt as if I were riding a dragon. “Yeah,” I repeated.
Walter and I had been working for years to bring my battle magic to the surface so I could learn to use it safely. I had madesome progress. Not enough. When it rose, people died. That made me loath to draw it into me. My battle magic appeared at haphazard times, and not always when I needed it most. It—I—was dangerous, undependable, and unpredictable.
