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Chapter Ten
My roundhouse kick hit Demetrius square in the chest. He flew back, landing with a thud for the fourth time. Heaving breaths, I reached out a hand to haul him up.
“Damn, Moira.” He puffed out between gulps of air. “You gonna tell me why you’re kicking the shit out of me?”
“No reason.” I panted. “Just got some excess energy.”
He picked up a towel from the bench outside the boxing square and wiped the sweat dripping down his face, slicking his black hair.
“Does this excess energy have a name? You seeing Mikal again?” He sat on the bench, downing a water bottle.
I settled next to him, wiping my neck and face with another towel. “No. Of course not. I told you that was over.”
I scowled deeper, annoyed with myself that I was so irritated about Kol, and I couldn’t hide it no matter how hard I tried.
“Yeah. But he still talks about you. I thought there might be?—”
“Don’t go there, Demetrius. We’re not suited for each other.”
He stretched out his long legs, massaging his upper thigh where I’d probably given him a melon-sized bruise. He’d taught me a good maneuver to use when knocked to the ground and an opponent had the upper hand. I had proved I mastered the move when I kicked his ass.
He blew out a breath, slipping on a long-sleeved fleece. While hot and steamy up in our family’s parlor-turned-gym, outside, the temperatures were steadily dropping.
Demetrius had started giving me self-defense lessons when I was fifteen and growing into a young woman. Those lessons merged into weekly sparring sessions until he moved out of our parents’ home and found a place of his own with Shakara. And though I’d moved out a few years ago, we still chose to spar here. Old habits died hard. Or perhaps, there was some comfort in the familiar. No matter that this home held bitter memories and had created scars that might never truly heal for Demetrius, he always returned home and treated my father with respect, whether or not Father deserved it.
He aimed his brown eyes at me. “Not a guy. What then? School? Money?”
I shrugged, then retied my pony tail.
“Tell me,” he urged before draining his water bottle.
His snooping was well-intentioned. When Jessen had fallen for Lucius years ago, he’d sided with my father, driving a wedge between him and our sister. Though he regretted it, and they’d mended things, there was still an air of tension between him and Lucius. He just couldn’t help being the big brother.
“It’s nothing.” I slipped into my red hoodie.
“You know,” he said, combing a hand through his dark, sweat-drenched locks. “All you have to do is say the word, and Father will give you whatever you want. He still has a trust fund waiting for you whenever you’re ready to swallow your female pride.”
“It’s not money,” I said with too much disdain. “And you wouldn’t know the first thing about female pride.”
“Thank God,” he muttered.
I pushed him off the bench. He rolled and bounced to his feet, stifling a laugh. It was hard to be angry with Demetrius when he smiled, deep dimples in the corner. A sight I’d enjoyed more often since he married Shakara. Usually too sober for his own good, his smile could make the whole world feel right again.
“Seriously, Moira. You should give in to him a little. Let him help you.”
“Oh, like you did?”
“Father and I both finally came to our senses.” He smirked. “He’s an ornery, old ass who will never change his ways. And I’m a brilliant genius who finally decided to use my gifts accordingly and better the company. Win-win situation.”
“Yeah.” I snorted. “And from what I heard a stand-off that nearly split the company in half.” As well as the family.
He tilted his head, small frown in place. “When did you hear that?”
“I’m an investigative reporter. You thought I didn’t know you and him had a falling out when you started dating Shakara?”
His frown smoothed. His stature softened. A goofy smile spread across his face.
I threw a towel at his head. “Jeez, Demetrius. Go home to your wife. And stop pestering me.”
