Defiance

He tasted like freedom.

Christophe stroked my hair, not caring that I was pulling on his. I tried to make my fingers let go, but they wouldn’t. It had to be uncomfortable, but he looked strangely peaceful. His mouth had relaxed, and his eyes were still closed. “It’s all right,” he repeated quietly. “Shhh, skowroneczko moja, moja ksiezniczko, little bird. All’s well. Hush.”

I rushed back into myself fully with a thud, shoving the blood-hunger back in its box. Dusk light was fading in the high windows; I felt it retreating like a huge staticky sound draining out of the sky. My breath came in ragged gasps, and I was sweating. My tank top was all twisted around under my hoodie; I had no idea how that had happened. Plus the chain that held the locket was all twisted up too, digging into my skin.

“Very good.” He sounded pleased. Kept stroking my hair. “Very good. You’ve acquired more control. Now, how do you suppose I defeated you?”

My mouth opened. Nothing but a dry husk of a cough came out. I coughed again, trying to get the taste out of my throat. It didn’t work. Only time and getting calmed down would do it.

He waited while I cleared my throat several times. My fingers relaxed. It was work to make them slip out of his hair, especially when they kept wanting to grab and pull his pulse closer to my fangs.

Running with wulfen was one thing. Getting fangs was another. I struggled with myself. Steady, Dru. Steady.

“I had you,” I finally managed to get out. “Then you cheated.”

I felt like a hoser even saying it. Cheating is the name of the game when it comes to winning fights, right? You don’t fight fair. You fight to win.

It shouldn’t have been possible for him to look more pleased, but he managed it. “Well, I had to. You forced me into it.”

That was high praise, from him. “Great.” I didn’t feel like celebrating. I felt like every bit of me had been pulled apart and put back together wrong. I was exhausted. Jesus, I couldn’t wait to finally bloom if it would stop this sort of thing from happening. My mouth kept merrily going, though, independently of my brain. “Are you going to do that every time the hunger hits?”

Then I could have slapped my own forehead. It sounded like a cheap come-on line.

“Would you like me to?” Another one of those happy smiles, and his eyes snapped open. The blue took me by surprise, as always, and my fingers slid completely free of his hair. We were both probably a mess, but the aspect was already shrinking his bruises and turning off his bleeding. My nose had stopped bleeding, too, thank God. But I’d still need some time in the baths to get rid of the worst of it.

Yep. Couldn’t wait to bloom. “Nah, that’s okay.” I felt like I could move now. Various muscles ached and twinged, and Christophe had to steady me. “Ouch. I need some aspirin.”

He nodded. “And some food, probably. You were in the aspect for a bit, there. It was hard to keep ahead of you. Svetocha are generally very fast.”

I’m fast enough to play rabbit, too. Still, his praise almost made me blush. “How many have you trained?” I tried not to look too interested. Sometimes he wouldn’t talk about his personal past.

He had a funny idea of what “personal past” meant, too. Of course, he was older. Like, way way older.

It was kind of weird. Check that, it was really weird. Sometimes, when I remembered just how old he was, it was downright unsettling. I mean, he’d known my mother. And my hormones were jumping up and down all the time. And he was just so . . . so . . .

I couldn’t come up with a word for what he was.

“Three. Including you, my dear.” He set me on my feet and let go of me. I tried not to feel bereft. At least when he was that close, I felt like nothing nasty could get to me.

Things like that will do something funny to a girl’s head, I guess. “My mother. Me. And . . . Anna?” It wasn’t so much of a shot in the dark. They had to have spent some time together, right?

Them being an item for a while, however long ago.

“Training didn’t interest her much.” He shrugged. Even with dried blood and bruising all over his face, he looked perfectly finished. It was as if the blood was just decorating him. “But I tried as best I could. Nothing else a Kuoroi can do, when faced with a svetocha.”

What’s that supposed to mean? I spotted my sticks, flung halfway across the gym. One of them was a splinter-chewed mess. “Jeez. I’ll need new ones, again. Good thing we weren’t practicing with real malaika.”

“Real malaika are just for forms practice for now. In six months or so, you’ll be ready to spar with them.” He was already striding away in search of his own weapons.

“Six months?” My voice bounced off the bleachers, and the fluorescents hanging overhead flickered unevenly. But it’s been weeks already, and I have to . . . I stopped dead, looking up at the lights, brushing a curl out of my face. Even one of Nathalie’s braids would lose a few strands when faced with a fight with Christophe.

He didn’t even look back. “Until you’re ready? Yes. Perhaps longer.”

“You said I was coming along! You said I was fast! I killed that thing last night—”

“You are fast. But before I trust you in a sparring match with edged weapons, you need to be fast and precise. Not to mention completely in control of where your blades are at all times. One lucky shot against a young nosferat— with malaika your wulfen friend stole, by the way—is not enough to convince me.” He scooped up one stick, half-turned on one booted heel, and set off for the other. “Anna never wanted to walk when she could be carried, your mother wanted to walk when she could fly, and you want to run before you can walk. It is”—another quick movement, and he had the other stick—“maddening, sometimes. First guard, Dru.”

I thought we were done. But I grabbed both sticks and straightened, whirling, just in time to catch his strike.

Dirty fighting, again. He came at me like he wanted to hurt me, and I returned the favor. Maybe he had to make up for kissing me or something.

That was the thing about Christophe. I never knew which side of him I was facing in the practice room.

I managed to keep him off me for a full two minutes before I ended up sprawled on the mats. One of his sticks was right under my chin, touching delicately. If it was a malaika, it would cut.

“Half a year,” Christophe said softly. “At least. More if you insist on playing slip-the-leash during the day; you need your rest if you expect to function well during accelerated training.” His voice rose, but only slightly. “It takes years to learn this thoroughly, Dru, and I will not cut corners with you, even if I allow you a certain limited part in seek-destroy missions to soothe your Lefevre pride. Don’t argue with me. Not about this.”

So he knew. Of course he knew; he’d walked right into the pizza parlor. He just hadn’t caught us outright. Still, with the smell of wulfen—and me—all over the building, he hadn’t had to.

And Lefevre. My mother’s name. As if my father hadn’t existed at all. Of course, he’d just been human, right?

Jesus.

You’re an asshole sometimes, Christophe. I knocked the stick away and bounced up to my feet. It wouldn’t do any good to yell at him; he’d just wipe the floor with me some more. Instead, I stalked for the exit, dropping both of my weapons with hollow sounds.

He said nothing else. He didn’t need to. My teeth tingled, my mouth burned, my eyes were full of tears. None of them escaped, they just made my vision waver.

And I still couldn’t get the taste of him off my lips.

CHAPTER EIGHT