I closed my eyes and let all my fear go. I focused on the feel of the wind, on the momentum of my body, on the sheer bliss of being airborne. I'd been flying my whole life. This was second nature to me.
It happened in a flash. First my shoulders burned and my back felt on fire, and then the air currents changed as my body expanded and grew new limbs. I opened my eyes and saw that I was racing over the ground, no longer falling toward it.
Joy, intense, visceral joy overwhelmed me. I turned my head and saw silvery feathers made almost of light shimmering at my back. I wanted to touch them, to feel their texture, but that could come later. For now, my wings and I were ready to soar.
I flew over the woods and dove toward a lake, letting my hand trail in the water and splash around me. I could see my reflection and the light of my wings in the water. I looked otherworldly.
Zorin joined me, his wings dark to my light. The night before, in the dark, I thought his wings were entirely black, but in the light of the sun I could see they had blue mixed in. I wondered how it would feel to touch his wings, to run my hands over them.
I blushed and pulled my eyes forward.
He chuckled as if he knew what I was thinking. "Let's see how fast you can go, shall we?"
He sped up, turning into a blur as he flew, and I pushed myself to match him.
We became sparks of light twirling through the sky. When he finally slowed down and let me catch up with him, I could tell he was impressed. "You surprise me, Scarlett. It's been a long time since someone has."
I grinned, still in flight, so very happy that I could almost forget the horrors of the last few days or why I was really there with Zorin. To train. To learn as much as I could in the next two days so I could save Jax.
"Now, let's stop," he said, and he hung mid-air, suspended as his wings kept him from falling. Like treading water.
Only I didn't know how to tread. Airplanes couldn't tread. At least, not the ones I flew. I kept flying in a blind panic as I tried to slow my wings to stop without falling out of the sky.
And instead I crashed into a tree and fell to the ground like some kind of miserable cartoon character.
He floated up next to me and reached out his hand to help me up.
"We'll work on that," he said, smiling a tad too brightly.
***
Zorin held a stick out to me and kept one for himself.
I glared at mine. "A stick? When do I get a fancy sword? Or even one of those wooden swords kids train with? Why a stick?"
He raised an eyebrow at me. "Because I don't have any wooden swords on hand, and you aren't ready for a real one. You'd end up hurting yourself and we don't have time for that. You don't have time for that."
I held up my stick, sufficiently scolded.
"Do what I do."
We parried back and forth, hitting each other's sticks as he spoke. "Nephilim swordsmanship originated in Greece, and the different forms are named after our different deities of the night. This is the Way of Nyx. She is the personification of night, and just as she stands at the beginning of creation, so does her form stand before all others. You must learn it before you can progress to other forms."
I hadn't realized that the Nephilim leader had been using the name of one of their deities. "How many are there?" I asked, trying to mimic his wrist movements.
"Seven in total," he said, blocking me and striking. "In time, I shall teach you all of them."
My muscles burned and my hand grew tired of holding up the stick. I dropped it to my side, halting our practice. "I'm not sure why I have to learn this. I already know how to shoot."
"Bullets won't kill a Nephilim, nor an Angel. You've seen that yourself. But a Nephilim Blade, like its master, can draw the life from its victim until there is nothing left."
I'd felt the power of his blade the night before, though less than a fraction of it I was sure. "When do I get one of those?"
He smiled. "Not until you're ready. A Nephilim Blade of your own is a great responsibility."
I held my stick back up and lunged. He blocked and parried.
"You're afraid I'll lose it?" I asked.
"I'm afraid of what you might do with it. Or what it might do with you." He stepped past my block and whacked me on the arm.
"Ouch! That hurt." I rubbed the sore spot.
"Not as much as a Nephilim Blade would. A Nephilim Blade craves life force just like a Nephilim… so if one is not careful… the blade will send them into a bloodlust, or, if no blood is to be found, it will turn on its master."
"You make it sound like it's alive."
"Not quite," he said. "I'll explain more later." He whacked me again on the hand and a red welt formed. "Focus."
I rubbed at the sting. "But how do you make it appear from—"
"Focus."
I hit his stick with mine, but didn't give up. "But how do you make it appear?"
He stopped our sparring, and silently began to collect sticks.
I huffed and I puffed but he didn't acknowledge me until I sighed and said, "Fine, I'll focus."