As I swing my weapon closer, she blocks it with her practice sword and jumps back to clear herself of my reach. With her other hand, she brings down her curved blade toward me. I twirl my weapon to intercept the strike while usin’ my wings to thrust me forward, inside the range of her pretend curved blade.
“No, Delta, you only engage your scythe if you have no choice but to reset someone. Otherwise, you need to strike with your sword,” Jerif yells out, the big fiery-haired demon stridin’ forward from where he was watchin’ on the sidelines.
“I know,” Delta grumbles. “But I can’t help the instinct to use it when it’s sitting in my hand,” she tells him, clearly frustrated.
I step back and take deep breaths to pull oxygen into my lungs. We’ve been sparrin’ for hours, and Delta’s mates are relentless in their push to get us as ready as we can be, as fast as possible. I reach behind me and rub at my back. I’m lovin’ this whole wing thing, but man, my shoulders and back are sore.
“Go again,” Jerif barks out, and Delta and I move back into position like the good little Annuli-in-trainin’ that we are.
Delta releases her frustration in a burst of activity that forces me to retreat as I counter her blows. She’s strong and fast, and her dummy sword and my dummy scythe smack together loudly over and over as she brings the heat.
I have a grin spread across my face from ear to ear as I work to keep her from gettin’ a hit in, and I breathe deeply and evenly to feed my muscles with the oxygen they need to match my sister’s furious pace. For some reason, I love this. I’ve never been a brawler, and aside from pickin’ up a Nerf sword when I was younger to battle an imaginary dragon or a cousin, I’ve never been into weapons really.
I’ve been shootin’ with my daddy a couple of times, but it never made me feel like I do now with a scythe in my hand, gettin’ stronger and more capable with each swing to fend off foes and make them rue the day they messed with me. I never knew I could be a rue’er, but just like my demon side happened to fall in my lap, a tough vengeance has also creeped its way into my blood.
Delta spins, pivots, and changes directions like a tornado that can’t make up its mind which trailer park it’s goin’ for, but I match her, rotation for rotation. We’re both storms of movement and action, neither of us able to hit our mark and pushin’ to find a way inside the other’s guard. It’s the best.
My trainin’ scythe is double-sided, makin’ it a very good replica, and I took to it just like I did with my real one that night against Mickey. Every strike and counter strike feels natural, like just holdin’ the weapon is all the key I need to unlock some dormant warrior that’s been hidin’ in my marrow. I learned that night against Mickey that one side will ash someone, while the other end will strike to cut, and I’ve been workin’ on how to implement both when needed.
Delta complains that she doesn’t like sparrin’, but the gleam in her eyes as she searches my defenses for a way in tells me otherwise. She swings low, but I’ve already caught on to her Karate Kid move. I leap up into the air, my wings spreadin’ out and workin’ to fill with air. I rise, and Delta takes flight too.
Instead of runnin’ and lettin’ Delta give chase like she thinks I’m gonna do, I feint like I’m gonna book it, but then at the last minute, I flip up and around. I don’t quite clear her aerial charge, so my wing clips hers. We get tangled up together, and it sends us both whirlin’ and fallin’ toward the ground. Instead of preparin’ for my all too quick and impendin’ crash to the ground, I bring my scythe around and mimic deliverin’ a fatal blow to my sister.
My wings stretch out and angle themselves as though they have a mind of their own. They go from actin’ like feathered appendages of destruction, to actin’ like parachutes. I grab on to Delta and manage to slow our fall enough that we’re no longer meteorites shootin’ to meet the ground, but mere acorns fallin’ from a tree. It still stings when we slam onto the mats, but I know our demon selves will dilute the small amount of pain in minutes. Yay for fast healin’.
“That’s it. I quit,” Delta pants out from next to me, as all of our mates converge on us.
“Well done, Medley,” Jerif compliments as he reaches our sides.
Delta and I just lay on the mats as though we’re doin’ our best pancake impression.
Delta growls. “And my asshole mate is handin’ out compliments now. Yep, I’m so done that if I were a steak, Gordon Ramsay would send me back to the kitchen. I give the fuck up!”
31
Jerif helps his peeved mate up, while strong arms reach under my armpits and haul me to my feet too. I can already tell it’s Alder. He has a real gift for the whole armpit lift thing he always seems to be doin’. I inhale deeply as he checks me over, appreciatin’ his scent that can only be described as bouquet of man. It’s floral, yet masculine, and...crap. Maybe I’m gettin’ the itch again.
I banish my needy thoughts about how good Alder smells, looks, and feels, and focus back on Delta instead.
“You okay?” I ask her.
“Am I okay? No, I’m not,” she
