Page 82 of Commanding Flame and Shield
Alvara pulled her long hair up into a bun as she continued, “Aren was…gentle with me, his need to protect his calling was so strong. But he treated me like I was made of glass, and it only fueled my anger. I didn’twantto be fragile—stay so exposed—so eventually, I convinced him to train me as he trained the others. So I might never again be at the mercy of a man. The anger may have fueled me, but training with Aren…focused me. Helped, somehow. Until fighting became as much a part of me as breathing. Until my outlet became…who I am,” Alvara paused, a soft smile on her lips. Aren was watching us from the corner of the room, lips pulled to the side. Amusement, as always, and a bit of pride glimmering in those pale eyes.
“When she saysconvincedme to train her, she means provoked me until Iwantedto beat the shit out of her.” He moved closer, taking a swig from his glass of water.
Alvara’s eyes flashed with that fire, the challenge of it. That soft smile turned to a full-fledged grin. For a moment, she looked like the wildfire she preferred to wield. “He didn’t,” she clarified. “Though I would have deserved it, if I’m honest. I was…itching for a fight.” Aren snorted across the room as he unwrapped his hands. She rolled her eyes and continued. “I was so weak that we had to begin with the very basics. You have a leg up, having already been active, remembering some bits of your past life skills. For me. It was a process. So many planks and pull ups I was convinced he must loathe me.”
“But she’d do them,” Aren added. “Grumbling, but obedient. She wanted it enough that the pain, the blood, the vomit…it didn’t slow her down.”
Alvara gave an apologetic little shrug, as though I might be offended by the details. After she’d paced and watched as I hurled my own guts up time and again over those grueling weeks. A reality that still made me flush when I thought of it.
“Most of us can’t wield like you do. Not at first. So, Aren taught me to control my gifts—fire, especially—before we began sparring or training with weapons.”
“I enjoy not being Commander brulé,” Aren said, as though it needed explaining.
Alvara finished with the last scrape, my skin again smooth without so much as a trace of purple and pulled back. “There,” she said, straightening her shoulders. She locked eyes with me, and her cheeks filled with warmth. “Much better. Do you feel anything else?”
I shook my head, not about to tell her what other feelings were brewing in my body, as she stood inches from my face, breath warm against my cheek. She smiled sweetly and jerked her head towards the door.
Warm aromas of garlic and roasting meat had slowly filled the hallways, and my mouth watered. The week had been long. Painful and exhausting. Alvara had in no way exaggerated when she said Aren didn’t pull punches. But I had learned a bit about anticipating the Commander’s strikes, and about redirecting his momentum. Alec and Alvara insisted fighting Aren was as close as I could get to fighting the Renown. His sheer size, brute force, and relentlessness a decent sample of their capacity for dealing pain.
Ansel, it seemed, would give me a better taste of defending against demons. I’d snorted at that, grateful there was no liquid to shoot out my nose. Grateful he wasn’t there to see my reaction. I wanted to like Ansel and his sharp-eyed mate. I really did, but there was something weighted and evasive about him I just couldn't put my finger on.
THIRTY-THREE
BULLETS AND BALLS
AUGUST
Dawn had not yet warmed the glass, the hall gradually filling with souls seeking breakfast, when Alvara returned with a calling in tow. Without a scratch on her, she marched in victorious, the young man following her, and Fae both unscathed as well.
I grinned up at her as she passed me to deliver the recruit to Aren directly. She paused at our table, bracing an arm on the edge as she snatched Alec's coffee and drug down a gulp.
“Oh, boys, just keep looking pretty, I've got it handled.” She flashed me a radiant smile, setting Alec’s mostly drained cup in front of him, and continued with her mission, letting me know that the boys would train me today, as she would be returning for another soul with Fae.
Aren turned his head, a hand immediately coming to cover his mouth to hide his smile as mischief flashed in his eyes. He zeroed in on Ansel, whose lips twitched, and then he ducked as Alec smirked, shaking his head and sipping his coffee.
“Okay,” I said, brows pinching together. "What am I missing?”
Alec flicked his eyes up, amusement cracking his facade as he took another drink, gaze on Ally and Fae as they strapped on weapons. "Wait for it.”
Scowling, I leaned back, looking from Aren to Ansel and returning to Alec without explanation. The moment Alvara and Fae vanished, Aren was looming over our table with a shit-eating grin.
“Brody!” He called down the long table. Ambroise—one of the blonde Greek brothers—leaned back in his chair, cocking his head. “The boys still in Denver?”
“Yeah."
“Pity. What day is it?”
Blonde brows furrowed, Brody blinked twice, before realization evidently dawned, and his face broke into a mile-wide grin. The feet of his chair slammed into the stone as he stood on a laugh. "Happy Sunday!”
"Happy Sunday?" I questioned, glaring at Alec, beginning to resent being on the outside of whatever joke I was missing.
"Happy fucking Sunday.” Alec and Ansel both rose to their feet and even the old general's face cracked into a grin.
Aren beamed at me. “We're playing hooky, Rookie."
Jersey already in place and blue cap on backwards, Aren had his boots propped up on the edge of his desk, tossing a baseball in the air as the guys continued their trash talk and yanked on shirts and hoodies.
“No fucking way. I've got fifty on Bears taking Packers with a two-and-a-half-point spread,” Alec said, popping out of his hoodie, wild grin in place as he snatched up his denim jacket. Aren chuckled from his perch as Ansel choked on a laugh.
