attacker, and my style had best been described as dirty.
The dojo was in the back room of a jewelry store on St. Louis, open to the public only after store hours, but I was one of a select few students Daniel would see during the day. I had my own key. The dojo wasn’t far and the jog got us both warmed up. I could smell the clean sweat on Eli as we turned down a narrow service alley, thirty inches wide, damp, and dim.
I keyed us in through the small door of the dojo and locked it, watching Eli check the place out. He scanned it like a combat veteran with close-quarters, urban training. The long room had hardwood floors, two white-painted walls, one mirrored wall, and one wall of French doors that looked out over a lush, enclosed garden planted with tropical and semitropical plants. Eli moved to the doors and scoped out the garden. The cats who usually sunned themselves there were gone today, their bowls empty, the large fountain shaped like a mountain stream splashing in one corner, the small pool at the bottom filled with plants. The garden was surrounded by two – and three- storied buildings and was overlooked by porches dripping with vines and flowering potted plants. Sensei lived upstairs in one of the apartments.
I punched the button that told Sensei he had a student, unrolled the practice mats, and started stretching. Five minutes later, he showed up, dropping into the garden from his apartment above. Most of his students weren’t able to tell when the man literally dropped in, but with Beast’s acute hearing and sense of smell, I always knew. The smell of Korean cabbage he loved so much was a dead giveaway. Eli knew too, which was impressive.
Daniel walked in, limbs loose and ready. He often leaped through the open doors and engaged me instantly, but today he seemed to sense something different. Silent, he walked around the room, bare feet solid, body balanced as a walking tree, looking Eli and me over, considering. Daniel was average height, had muscles like rolls of barbed wire, and a face no one would remember for two seconds. Mr. Average Man. To irritate him, I called him Danny Boy, but not today. Not taking my eyes off him, I gave a half bow. “Daniel, this man is a guest in my house. We have a disagreement and have agreed to settle it on the mats.”
“And you want me to referee?”
“No, Sensei.” I studied their reactions as I finished with “I want you to keep me from hurting him too much.” Daniel laughed, surprised. Eli’s brows went up. Even with Daniel, and all his training and speed, I held back a lot. If I let go with Beast-strength and speed, I could do some damage. But even I knew that the sparring over ravioli was just an excuse to prove who was the big dog in Eli’s and my relationship. He was . . . aware, maybe. Aware that I was something other than a tall, skinny girl with guns. When I didn’t laugh with my sensei, the room went silent. I could hear the fountain tinkling in the enclosed courtyard. I could hear the air through the air-conditioner vents. And I heard the slight hitch when Eli took a preparatory breath.
CHAPTER TEN
Worthy Prey. Will Not Hurt Him Too Bad
Eli’s right foot shot out, heel first, leg going level and straight, balance shifting as he moved, weight sliding. Faster than human, I stepped aside. With an almost uncanny awareness, he seemed to expect my body shift and followed the kick with a sweep of his leg. His heel impacted my side, but I was moving as fast as the kick. With an elbow, I clamped his foot against me and ducked under his leg, twisting, forcing him to follow or wrench his knee. In midair, he spun with me. Yanked his foot free and landed, cat-footed and sure. Eli bounced back from me.
I stood still, letting my little half smile and my silence work for me. I didn’t look at Daniel, but I could smell his surprise. Now he knew I’d been holding back. I wondered how that might affect our training and sparring sessions in the future. Eli stepped in, closer, studying my body language, which was almost lazy. He rolled his head on his shoulders, letting the action camouflage his next move. Just before he punched out, my knees bent; I leaped. His fists were a fast one-two-three, into the space where I had been. I was three feet back, my breathing slow and steady.
Something in his face shifted into a cool, neutral expression. The fighting man was no longer playing. I let my half smile spread and gave a little
Eli swept out with his leg. I leaped, kicked with the heel of my foot, straight for his solar plexus, holding back enough to keep it from a killing strike. Too fast for his human reactions, my kick landed. He fell back, grunting with the aftershock. Reached for my leg. But it wasn’t there anymore as I landed, cat-footed. I circled him. He swiveled with me and punched with his right. And the fight was on.
Eli was faster than any human I’d ever fought. Had more muscle mass. Knew some dirty moves I wanted to learn, even as they landed and bruised and the breath huffed and hissed out of me. But I was faster and way stronger than I looked. Eli started to sweat one minute into the fight. At two minutes he was breathing hard. I was grinning. And Beast was landing some moves of her own, one a cat-clawing strike that I had seen alley cats do, right claw going for the face, body shooting back, and back claw spinning up and going for the abdominals. Nasty move.
I was no longer hiding that I wasn’t human, or at least not fully human, not pulling my punches and kicks, and I was faster and stronger with Beast participating. At twelve minutes, by the clock on the dojo wall, I had broken a sweat, but Eli was dripping, stinky, breathing hard, and his cockiness had disappeared. He had a few scratches, maybe a bruised rib or three.
I leaped back and let my hands drop slightly—only slightly—I wasn’t stupid. “Yield.” The word was a growl, low and snarled, and I could feel that my eyes were glowing faintly gold. Grudgingly, Eli nodded once, a downward jut of his chin. “Ravioli?” I asked.
The combo of Italian food and an animal growl must have tickled Eli’s funny bone because his mouth twitched down slightly and then up. He laughed, a soft huff. “One serving of pasta or one
There was too much wiggle room in the statement. I clarified, “One fourteen – or fifteen-ounce can of Italian, pasta-based, prepackaged food, or one twelve-inch or smaller pizza from the restaurant or frozen brand of Alex’s choice, or one fast-food meal of his choice, not supersized, to be given for every shower he takes with soap and shampoo, but limited to one food item per day. And for every day he skips a shower, he misses two days’ worth of food.”
Eli thought about that, weighing fast food against his brother’s body odor. “Done.”
“Pizza? This was about
In unison, we said, “Yeah.”
Daniel shook his head, but he had a speculative look on his face that boded poorly for our next private sparring session. Daniel wanted to take on the fighter he had seen on the mats today, not the girl he had been working with for several months. Sensei might not want to compete, but that didn’t make him want to fight or win any less.
We walked back to my house, Eli ruminating silently, me enjoying the feel of the late afternoon sun beating down on my shoulders. I felt, more than heard, when he had his questions all in order. “No. I’m not. And no. I won’t.”
He laughed again, that soft huffing breath that must have worked well in Ranger recon. “Say what?”
“No, I’m not human. No, I won’t tell you what I am. And while I’m at it, yes.” I let my half smile lift, feeling his eyes on me. “You were more fun than anyone I’ve sparred with in a long time. Even if I
“Hold back?” His voice rose a hair in surprise.
I slanted my eyes at him. “You’re still alive.”
Eli cursed under his breath and put one hand to his solar plexus where my first kick had landed. “Hold back,
