Jason had other ideas.
He burst forward, coming straight at her, using all of his Inferno Gifted speed.
Allyra managed to duck past his first swing, his fist punching through the air, mere fractions of an inch from her nose. His next kick was so well aimed, so precise, she struggled to avoid it, managing only through a clumsy scramble and worse, by turning her back to him.
Damn, he was quick…
Before she had time to berate herself on breaking the cardinal rule of combat, never turn your back on the enemy, Jason wound his arm around her neck. He snapped it back painfully, forcing an unnatural arch into her spine. Having positioned her, Jason drove his fist straight into her kidney.
He loosened his grip on her, and she dropped to the ground, as limp as a ragdoll, gasping at the pain spiraling from her back. She was vaguely aware of him towering over her.
“I remember you being better than this,” he spat out. Blunt and to the point. He never did mince his words.
“And I remember beating you in the Final Trial,” she retorted, the impact of her words diminished by the uneven gulps of air she was trying to pull into her lungs.
He didn’t bother acknowledging her words, and his lips twisted in contempt. “Again,” he said.
“Give me a minute.”
Abruptly, Jason dropped to his knees and grabbed hold of the front of her shirt, jerking her forward until they were separated by no more than a feather’s breadth.
Instinctively, she swung to fight him off, but he was too quick for her, grabbing her wrists with brutal efficiency and pinning her arms to her side, his fingers digging into her flesh. This close, she could see nothing but his indigo-colored eyes, almost black in their intensity.
“Do you think anyone here will care if you’re hurting?” he asked, biting out each word like they were poison on his tongue. “No one will ever give you a minute, so don’t expect me to either.”
He shoved her away and rose to his feet gracefully. “Again,” he repeated.
* * *
Allyra thudded to the floor. Again. It had happened so many times she’d lost count.
The flooring was soft, this much she could attest to, but no amount of cushioning could protect her from the pain exploding from her already bruised ribs or the blood flowing freely from a nasty cut above her eye.
Vaguely she wondered if her body cut a graceful arc through the air or if she more closely resembled an ungainly sack of potatoes.
I’m losing my mind.
Pull it together!
Jason stalked toward her—his movements graceful and economical, not a single joule of energy wasted in his pursuit. She scrambled to her feet. She’d learned the hard way that Jason wasn’t above kicking her when she was down—literally.
“Pathetic,” he said coolly. “What have you been doing for the last month?”
What have I been doing?
She had allowed herself to forget. The pain and exhaustion. The blood and sweat shed. The lessons Alex had pummeled into her under the gray skies of the Between. She had forgotten what it felt like to face an opponent as capable and ruthless as Jason. She had allowed the sharp edge of her skill to grow blunt.
She didn’t bother trying to come up with an answer for Jason. Maybe she just didn’t have the energy.
Jason slowed his prowl toward her and stopped in the middle of the room, watching her undignified scramble toward the wall. He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you can’t even beat me, what do you think the Fifths are going to do to you?”
“Thanks for your vote of confidence, partner,” Allyra spat out. She was angry, more at herself than Jason at this point.
“I’m not here to make you feel better. We’re here to win. Your failings become my failings. Now get your head into the game!” he said, his voice low and controlled, but beneath the calm, there was an unmistakable undercurrent of pure poison.
Jason stalked from the room, slamming the door closed behind him.
Allyra dropped to the ground with a sigh, leaning her head against the wall. As much as it pained her to admit it, Jason was right.
She repeated it in her mind.
Jason was right.
The very idea of it made her feel slightly nauseated. Allyra rubbed the back of her hand across her nose, and it came away with a smear of blood. She looked at it in disgust—why did it always take a beating for her to come to a resolution?
I am going to survive.
No. I am going to win.
And in winning, she would fulfill all her promises. As a winner of The Five Finals she would be in a position of untold power. A position that would allow her to find the answers to her questions and get vengeance for her father, for Emma, and for Pierre.
Never again a pawn.
Allyra got to her feet. There would be no more beatings. She was better than this. Alex had trained her better than this. She had deluded herself into believing the training she’d done would prepare her for The Five Finals. When it came down to it, Rob and Jamie would always treat her like something fragile. Luckily, Jason didn’t suffer from the same restraint, and Allyra resolved to take every advantage of it. She would use Jason to hone her skills back to the sharpness of a knife’s edge.
Allyra tightened her fingers into a fist and steeled her resolve like a suit of armor around her. With her mind shocked into sudden, painful clarity, she wished Jason had stuck around for a few more rounds of sparring. There was now an excess
