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She raised her padded fists and sank into a defensive posture.
Dixon tapped his chest for her to attack immediately. He’d signaled so often that he likely had a bruise.
It had only taken one sparring session for Dixon to figure out why she sucked so badly at fighting. She never actually attacked, not unless her trainer demanded that she parrot back one of a handful of scripted passes at her practice partner, just as Connell and Nico had done at the oracle’s compound. She performed moderately average under such conditions, but in a real sparring session—when Lila could pick from any move she’d ever learned—she was lost. She forever waited for others to bumble forward, trying to gauge their timing and rhythm. She feinted when she should spring forward and deliver a blow.
All her opponent had to do was rush her, and she’d fall on her ass. Staring and half-assed jabs never won real fights. Real fights ended quickly, especially against a bigger, taller opponent. She needed speed against brawn, speed she didn’t have because she zoned out and overthought, wincing at the idea that she should partake in any violence at all. Heirs didn’t lift their hands or raise their voices. Both were unseemly. Never before had Lila realized how much of a snob she really was, how deeply the highborn attitude had been buried.
She fell back again with a groan, spreading out her weight as she slapped the mat, coughing.
Dixon had swept her legs again.
“It’s my turn next,” she grumbled, knowing what he’d say. She didn’t have the reach to use a leg sweep in a fight. He’d swept, and swept slowly, so that she would hop over her leg and attack while he lingered off balance.
She hadn’t managed it successfully yet.
Dixon walked toward the side of the room, rummaging in his things.
“Are we done?” she asked hopefully.
He cut her a glance and shook his head, scribbling something on his notepad.
She already knew what it would say. Real fights aren’t tidy. They’re fast and brutal. Until you’re willing to do what the other person won’t, you’re never going to win. He’d written some variation of it several times during their session.
Dixon flipped over his notepad. Forget everything you know about fighting. Just imagine that I’m Tristan and hit me.
“What?”
Dixon tossed his notepad next to his water bottle and returned to the mat, shoving her shoulder while moaning lewdly.
“Stop it,” she grumbled, repulsed by the idea. She might lose her temper, and she kept that well controlled, just as a highborn heir—
“Oh,” she said as he shoved her shoulder once more.
Pursing her lips, she let her eyes lose focus. Tristan and Dixon did have similar bodies. They shared the same swimmer’s build, the same approximate height and weight. Only their faces had been carved differently.
He groaned again in a grotesque parody of sex, stepping forward to push on her shoulder.
“I take your point,” she muttered, batting him away. “You can stop with all the noise.”
But Dixon did not stop. He kept going and going, interpreting Tristan’s whole damn demeanor during their relationship, even during the last week. Always pushing, always poking, always going on and on about how nothing he ever did was good enough for either of them, always rolling his eyes at every highborn thing that she and Dixon ever did.
This time when Dixon strode forward, she shoved him back in annoyance, both hands on his chest, pushing him with all her strength.
She certainly hadn’t learned that during any of her training sessions.
Dixon nudged her twice in a row, just hard enough to knock her off balance. It occurred to her then that Tristan and Dixon had the exact same curve to their lips when amused.
Narrowing her eyes, she shoved him again.
Fuck him and his opinions about her damn reach. When he shuffled back, she dropped to the floor and swept his legs.
He slipped awkwardly, falling on his ass. His palms slapped against the mat with a thud.
“Are we done now?”
He shook his head, stood up, tapped his chest, and moaned.
All at once, Lila barreled toward him. She didn’t care about hitting or kicking. She just charged into his chest full speed, her shoulder smacking into his pecs.
