Page 80 of Commanding Flame and Shield
Aren swung, and I dropped to my knees to avoid the blow, whipping a leg out to pull his out from under him. Only, he anticipated the move and dodged it effortlessly. And then planted his foot in my chest. I couldn’t. Couldn’t rise. Couldn’t breathe.
“They will strike you down before you catch your breath, Mr. Porter.” Aren lifted his foot off me and then barked, “Stand, dammit!”
I rose, only for the Commander to slam me back to the earth. Something cracked, and distantly, my mind was aware of Alec and Alvara wincing.
“Dead. Now, stand!” He motioned me forward, the scarred, nearly translucent letters on his bicep stretching with the movement.
Fuck. Everything hurt. My head. My back. My throbbing hands. I pushed the earth away, only for a kick to the ribs to send me spinning back to the ground. Air. I needed air. I needed a moment to catch my breath.
He was trying to make me trigger—trying to push my mind, my soul, torememberwhat I was.Wish it would fucking hurry. Panting, my eyes scoured the room for anything. Anything I could get to, anything to buy time. Anything to defend myself with.
“Stand.”
The command didn’t change. Obediently, I summoned the wobbling strength from that well in my chest. I threw a shield out with one hand and used the other to bring my bloodied body to its feet. Gasping, I steadied myself, raising my guard. He grinned, all teeth and vicious amusement.
“You’ve got more than that in you, August Porter. Show me,” the last words were a snarl.
A quick nod, and he hooked. I dodged, this time anticipating the right thrust, and sprung away from that too. Two strikes to his ribs, and he stuttered a foot away from me, an authentic smile spread on his face. Staying on my toes, I advanced. He dodged my first fist, but when I spun into a kick, my foot met his chest, and he staggered a step. A great booming laugh. And then I was on my back again, staring back at that damned empty ceiling. His great hand was around my throat, knee crushing into my chest.
“Too slow, Mr. Porter!” The Commander bellowed, tone thick with taunting amusement.
“Fuck!” I swore as he released me and wiped the blood and sweat from my brow with the back of my arm.
“Take five.” He extended a hand to hoist me up.
Upright once more, I wiped my face against my hands. Holy shit. I remembered all my mortal hand to hand combat training. But there was no competing with the ancient power in Aren’s bones. He wasn’t even using his immortal gifts. Just brute strength, and his wits. And I didn’t stand a shot in hell.
Alvara, chin tall, and shoulders back, was still pacing at the edge of the mat. Eyes on me. Willing me to perform. To learn. To survive. She snatched a water bottle off the windowsill, along with a small black rag. She tossed me the hand towel as I approached.
“Aren is the best of us. Not just here. Anywhere. It wouldn't make a lick of fucking sense if you could keep up.” She took the towel from my hand. “You have to learn to pace yourself—pace your suffering.”
Alvara was insane, I realized. Actually insane. But I nodded nonetheless, fighting back the wince as she pressed the dark towel to my split brow. She held up the water bottle next, and I gulped it down in a couple of long drags. Sweat stung across my sweltering skin, burning the cuts that had opened as we sparred. Alec had been watching quietly, sprawled across a pair of chairs in the corner, locked with my gaze, his eyes narrow. Lips pursed. Thinking deeply. I couldn’t help but wonder how Alec fared in the ring with the Commander.
“When you are outmatched, and outweighed,” Alvara continued, “as you will be with the Renown, leverage becomes your greatest asset. Knock them off their center of gravity. Your own weight is your salvation, or your undoing. Your discipline of that weight is everything. Use your energy wisely.”
Aren was already back at the center of the mat, cracking his knuckles, his neck, great grizzly smile on that face. He had barely worked up a sweat as he beat the daylights out of me. Crazy. They were all crazy. I turned to the ring to meet the madman in its center. He shook his head, and flashed his canines, waving me away like a fly that had annoyed him for too many hours.
“Alvara!” He boomed. Aren’s great grin broadened, mirth dancing in those light blue eyes. Arms spread wide, I realized how deep a disadvantage we were all at when it came to that wingspan. How far he could reach. And how bloody strong those hits were. The Commander’s thickly muscled frame was a patchwork of scars so jagged and brutal, I didn't want to think of what had caused them on an ascended soul of his power. A slight disruption through the intricately inked cross on his chest was all that remained of his run in with the second hierarchy demon. Not for the first time, I eyed the lone scar below his right eye—one narrow line—and wondered who, or what, had been strong enough to strike his face. “Come play!”
I turned to find Alvara's expression, now comically twisted. Her eyes were narrowed, muscles tight with a playful accusation. She pursed her lips, and that great thunderous laugh rang through the hall. And then Arenclucked. Clucking like a damn chicken, taunting her like a child at the playground. Alvara’s pursed lips twisted into a knowing smile. Eyes still slits, she shook her head, smirk bright and playful. She leveled him with a glare, but her eyes were all amusement as she spoke.
“Winner takes the New York politician.”
“Oooh-oooh-oooh! Playing for stakes, are we?” Another ringing laugh. Alvara granted him a single, unblinking nod. “Loser gets the demons in Ivy Springs,” Aren added.
I bristled at the mention of my home, but Alvara grinned, the expression all feline. She sighed, the movement long and exaggerated. Like she was humoring a small child after a long day.
Alvara’s fingers raised into her hair as she gracefully spun her long silky locks into a bun atop her head. She popped her neck, and rolled it from side to side to stretch, before cracking her knuckles too. The intensity of her eyes on Aren, like a lion watching her prey, would have been menacing despite her beauty…if it weren’t for the victorious echoing laughter in the ring. My heart faltered a bit as she pulled her loose t-shirt up and over her head, revealing the slender, chiseled abdomen beneath. Even her smooth belly was speckled with scars. She tossed it aside, wearing a tight sports bra and her high waisted leggings from our morning run as she strode into the ring, head held tall. The outfit left very little to the imagination.
Realizing I was gawking a bit, I pulled my attention back to the men in the room, mouth dry, and found Alec smirking at me. Aren, gratefully, seemed oblivious to my lapse in control. Did she have to be so damnably tempting? I peeled my tongue away from the cotton of my mouth and wandered to Alec’s side as the lioness began to circle the bear. Alec kicked his feet off the chair they’d rested on and leaned forward onto his forearms. I sensed that he thought something to Alvara, but it was only for her. Shielded from the rest of our minds. She flicked her eyes to him, and gave him a quick wink, before turning her eyes back to Aren.
Alvara continued her prowling, that feline focus mesmerizing. She would not be the first to throw a fist. Aren laughed again and closed the gap, slow and steady. Without warning, he lunged for her, but she dropped her weight low, and thrust a powerful blow to his chest, forcing his weight across her body. She returned to her prowl as he righted himself. In an instant, he swung his great hand, and she jerked out of the way. Dropped low to swipe his leg. But he evaded her advance too. Long minutes ticked by, their level of skill mind-boggling. A mesmerizing and excruciating sequence of movements so disciplined that they looked choreographed as they continued to dodge and weave together. She moved like lightning, and Aren’s hulking form did nothing to slow him down. They swung, struck, parried, and escaped each would-be blow, a swift dance to music the rest of us could not hear.
And then, out of pattern, she lunged forward for him, but his palm thrust out, connecting with her jaw. She staggered back a step, hissing, but still ducked his next blow. When he stepped away, she spat a mouthful of blood to the side of the mat and narrowed her eyes in focus. Another victorious laugh from her sire.
He swung forward, but she wrapped her hands around his arm, pulling him towards her as she jerked her knee into his ribs. He grunted with the impact, air crashing out of him. Alvara tossed Aren’s arm aside and raised her forearm to strike his face—one, two, three breakneck blows before he had her arm in his great hands. She threw her weight forward, against his grasp, right as she raised her other elbow towards his throat. Between the two, he dropped her arm as he blocked the second.
They staggered apart, fierce smiles now playing between them. Aren raised a hand to his lips, and wiped blood from his mouth.
