My eyes closed, and remained that way. Of course he would stay around to make sure I didn’t run off again. I whispered quietly, “I hate you.” Sighing softly, I opened my eyes to see King Venclaire and Ezra watching closely, definitely having heard my comment.
Antonio chuckled, even as King Kincaid and Fi practically fell over themselves making sure they had a room available, and he whispered back, “I love you, too, Lil.”
I crossed my arms, knowing I would be watched like a mutant, diseased cockroach.
Antonio squeezed me even tighter as King Kincaid told him they had a room close to mine he could have for as long as he wanted.
Perfect Hell.
Antonio sniggered again, giving me a brief, two-armed bear hug before releasing me, his golden eyes steadfast on mine. “I need to pick up clothes and such.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys, handing them to me. “You need a car, since yours was taken.” I stared at the Hummer’s keys, not even knowing my truck had been stolen, and he mumbled with a sigh, “You’re welcome.” Hands back in his pockets, he clarified, “I’ll be back before nightfall.”
I glared.
His eyes crinkled in mirth, but I abruptly stood stunned. One minute he was there, the next, he was just gone. No glowing skin. No flaring eyes. Only, poof! Not there anymore.
Into silence, Ezra mumbled, “He raised you? One of the harshest, most vicious heroes in Mys history?”
I nodded dumbly, staring where he used to be.
“And you still can’t fight?”
“Shut up.”
He shrugged. “Just saying I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
My middle finger made an appearance.
Chapter Six
“Get up,” Ezra snarled, scowling at where I lay flat on the mat, frustration hardening the unforgiving lines of his features even further. “I said go left, not right! You need to listen!”
Two and a half months ago, when Ezra had said he had his work cut out for him, well, he had hit the nail on the head, and my little one-finger salute had only egged him on, not helped the situation. He didn’t like being argued with. He didn’t like anyone telling him no. He didn’t like being told what to do. Or, apparently, being flipped off — I should have figured that out the first day I had met him, but no, I was an idiot — since he had laid into me from that day forward.
Even more so now than before.
These new, unimproved, extra morning sparring sessions were followed directly by meetings — right before school — with the Kings and the other Prodigies, since we were at a “Level 5” threat worldwide, compared with previously being at a “Level 10” after Dominic died. An example of peaceful times would be the day before his death. We had been at a “Level 1” then.
That had shown just how complacent the Mys community had become: we had not been clued-up with the intel that a Prodigy was being targeted, much less, all of the Prodigies by the Coms. Our intelligence agency had taken a major hit, to say the least. Only thirty-five percent of those employees still had their jobs within the MSA (Mystical Shield Agency), owed mainly to King Kincaid’s fury. The new, and fresh, sixty-five percent were all hardcore, dedicated to the dangers we now lived in.
Pushing onto my side, I glared. “No. You said right, then left!” Sucking in a harsh breath, I realized Ezra had badly bruised my left shoulder blade. Letting my head fall, I bit my lip and blinked tears away. He was so strong. Not to mention, he was so fast I could barely track him.
He growled, stalking me in a circle as I pushed onto my hands and knees. “No. I didn’t. Pay attention!” He squatted, glowering into my blinking, glistening eyes. “And there’s no damn crying when you spar with me. Learn. Get better. But don’t you dare cry.”
I closed my eyes. Some days it was so hard to even get out of bed, and when I did make it, the mornings still dark outside it was so early, I had to deal with this. My life. Purgatory had been an apt description by my current tyrant.
At least I was feeling regular emotions again.
“Leave her alone,” Pearl muttered from her perch on a soft, cushioned chair. Lucky her. Both she and Jack came over early daily to watch the morning sparring held in King Kincaid’s exercise room, since we had to meet in a half-hour anyway. “And your directions weren’t very clear.”
He grabbed my bicep. Yanked me to my feet. The force almost made me fall. “Again.” Grinding his teeth, he ordered harshly, “And this time, left, duck, right.”
“Fine,” I grumbled tersely, gingerly rolling my aching shoulder, but stayed on the balls of my feet, knowing he would be coming without notice.
I was right. He came at me, and I punched left. Ducked his roundhouse kick. Punched right. Then, he pulled an Ezra move, swiping my feet out from under me when I thought we were done. I grunted as my back hit the mat, and quickly rolled, escaping the foot he slammed down where I had been a second ago, but missing his elbow that hammered against my stomach as he dropped. In these last three months, if I wasn’t Mys, he would have killed me.