battalion of Army Rangers to shame. Dark blue fatigues, long-sleeve, formfitting black knit shirts, and polished combat boots, Raif’s potential task force members showed up battle ready.
I cross-referenced each file’s picture with a face as I looked over the assembled warriors. Three women and six men waited for the honor to beat each other to a pulp only to prove they were worthy of Raif’s recommendation.
“Let’s get to it, then,” Raif said, eyeballing each Shaede individually. “Louella . . . and . . . Julian.” Raif jerked his thumb behind him. “Start us off with a decent sparring.”
“Hear that, Loulie?” The one called Julian elbowed a dark, feisty-looking girl in the ribs. “You get to be the first ass-whoopin’ of the day.”
She didn’t respond to her opponent, just walked, eyes facing front toward the mats. I liked her. Even before she caught Julian off guard with a low, sweeping kick to the ankles, I knew she’d be the first member of my team. Louella was shorter than me by a good four inches. Her petite build, coupled with wide, brown eyes and bronze skin made her look more like an innocent girl than a trained killer. But she put every inch of her body to good use and managed to pin her much larger male opponent to the mat in under a minute.
Julian lay still, catching his breath. Six feet tall and as fair and blond as Louella was dark, he watched her [ waontwalk back to the wall with a goofy smile plastered on his face. I had a feeling he enjoyed every second of the beating, and his good-natured attitude definitely earned him a spot at the top of my list.
Raif gave Julian a hard, appraising stare as he hauled himself upright. “You went a full ten minutes before she bested you last week.”
The cocky smile quickly vanished from Julian’s face, and he bowed his head. When he looked up, Raif jerked his chin toward the back wall, and Julian retreated like a scalded dog. Raif never had to say much to get a reaction and no one wanted to disappoint him. And when you did, well, the disappointment was far worse than any punishment he could ever dish out.
A tall, lanky redhead stepped forward, and I flipped through the files until I found the right one. Myles Caffray. He didn’t really look like a Myles. Taller than Julian, his green eyes glowed against ivory skin. His freckles made him look unassuming and almost boyish, but something about the catlike slant to his eyes made me think twice about my first impression. Without being asked, he stepped onto the mat, feet braced and standing at ease. Apparently, he wanted to go next and wouldn’t wait around for an invitation from Raif.
Nice.
“Fine,” Raif said to no one in particular, but the annoyance seeped through his tone. “You’re so eager—you can go up against Liam.”
Liam stepped forward, a big, scary son of a bitch. He looked older than the rest, or, at the very least, more battle hardened. Blue tattoos chased a swirling pattern on his bald head, running down his neck and disappearing beneath his shirt. Both of his ears were gauged with large black plugs that only accentuated the aura of brutality that surrounded him. I had a feeling he could break Myles in half if he wanted to. And from the expression on his face—he wanted to.
“Weapons?” Liam asked, his voice like gravel in a cement mixer.
Raif inclined his head. “But remember, this is a training exercise only. Nothing more than an exhibition.”
I have to say, Liam looked a little put out. He walked to the back wall of the gym, perusing the weapons like he was a suburbanite window-shopper. If I hadn’t had the emerald key to
O Anel
hanging around my neck, the sound of seconds ticking away while he made his selection would have driven me insane. He finally settled on a wooden
bokken,
which he tossed to Myles, and then he simply walked to the mat. Unarmed.
“Really, Liam?” Myles asked, giving the wooden version of a samurai sword a couple of practice
I cross-referenced each file’s picture with a face as I looked over the assembled warriors. Three women and six men waited for the honor to beat each other to a pulp only to prove they were worthy of Raif’s recommendation.
“Let’s get to it, then,” Raif said, eyeballing each Shaede individually. “Louella . . . and . . . Julian.” Raif jerked his thumb behind him. “Start us off with a decent sparring.”
“Hear that, Loulie?” The one called Julian elbowed a dark, feisty-looking girl in the ribs. “You get to be the first ass-whoopin’ of the day.”
She didn’t respond to her opponent, just walked, eyes facing front toward the mats. I liked her. Even before she caught Julian off guard with a low, sweeping kick to the ankles, I knew she’d be the first member of my team. Louella was shorter than me by a good four inches. Her petite build, coupled with wide, brown eyes and bronze skin made her look more like an innocent girl than a trained killer. But she put every inch of her body to good use and managed to pin her much larger male opponent to the mat in under a minute.
Julian lay still, catching his breath. Six feet tall and as fair and blond as Louella was dark, he watched her [ waontwalk back to the wall with a goofy smile plastered on his face. I had a feeling he enjoyed every second of the beating, and his good-natured attitude definitely earned him a spot at the top of my list.
Raif gave Julian a hard, appraising stare as he hauled himself upright. “You went a full ten minutes before she bested you last week.”
The cocky smile quickly vanished from Julian’s face, and he bowed his head. When he looked up, Raif jerked his chin toward the back wall, and Julian retreated like a scalded dog. Raif never had to say much to get a reaction and no one wanted to disappoint him. And when you did, well, the disappointment was far worse than any punishment he could ever dish out.
A tall, lanky redhead stepped forward, and I flipped through the files until I found the right one. Myles Caffray. He didn’t really look like a Myles. Taller than Julian, his green eyes glowed against ivory skin. His freckles made him look unassuming and almost boyish, but something about the catlike slant to his eyes made me think twice about my first impression. Without being asked, he stepped onto the mat, feet braced and standing at ease. Apparently, he wanted to go next and wouldn’t wait around for an invitation from Raif.
Nice.
“Fine,” Raif said to no one in particular, but the annoyance seeped through his tone. “You’re so eager—you can go up against Liam.”
Liam stepped forward, a big, scary son of a bitch. He looked older than the rest, or, at the very least, more battle hardened. Blue tattoos chased a swirling pattern on his bald head, running down his neck and disappearing beneath his shirt. Both of his ears were gauged with large black plugs that only accentuated the aura of brutality that surrounded him. I had a feeling he could break Myles in half if he wanted to. And from the expression on his face—he wanted to.
“Weapons?” Liam asked, his voice like gravel in a cement mixer.
Raif inclined his head. “But remember, this is a training exercise only. Nothing more than an exhibition.”
I have to say, Liam looked a little put out. He walked to the back wall of the gym, perusing the weapons like he was a suburbanite window-shopper. If I hadn’t had the emerald key to
O Anel
hanging around my neck, the sound of seconds ticking away while he made his selection would have driven me insane. He finally settled on a wooden
bokken,
which he tossed to Myles, and then he simply walked to the mat. Unarmed.
“Really, Liam?” Myles asked, giving the wooden version of a samurai sword a couple of practice
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