The Reject Chapter 8 - 3

Cesare caught Anastasia's eye with his own. That was all it took. A burst of heat rushed from her, Anastasia's skirt fluttering in the sudden torrent of scorching air, dark flickers dancing in the depths of her eyes. Her hands loosened, fingers opening and closing in readiness.

Cesare's center of balance shifted low as his boots slid across the ground. Fire ignited in his heart, hot and wrathful at the promise of blood. With each beat, painful threads of acid tipped adrenaline pumped through his body, muscles flexing in preparation. His eyes ran over the group, picking out the fighters, bullies, followers, and the weak. The knowledge coalesced into a picture of slaughter, who to take first and who to leave for the end.

After hours of sparring together, not a word needed to be said for Alexandra to pick up on his mood. Her own body slipped effortlessly into the loose, almost lazy readiness of a predator. Half hooded eyes fell on the group of boys surrounding them. Those that weren't stoned on lust, flinched back from her stare, knowing it meant mangled flesh and disfiguring agony.

Cesare started forward, the girls melding with him in an almost supernatural sense. The fruits of hours spent sparring, training, fighting, sweating, and working with each other. The girls could never have worked together alone, their loathing would strangle the fetal idea before it could birth, let alone create a gestalt like this. With him as the lynchpin, they were forged into something of terrifying power.

Kids are animals; they can sense power and fear. They're instinctively drawn to one and greedily exploit the other. It's what makes pack animals, and the reason kids never come out of school whole. Innocence is crushed, beaten and raped, by the mindless need to exploit weakness.

On the trios second step, the boy's eager grins faded as they pulled back. Feeling the vicious edge in the air, the fighters caught on first. Jerking back, they pushed into the other boys in their sudden need to fade into the group. Now they recognized the girls weren't meat to feast on. No, they were horrors of womanhood, devourers of men, queens of carnage. They'd cornered a rabbit, only for the shadows to peel away in tatters of darkness and reveal the monstrously hulking hyena, madness glittering in its eyes, rotting flesh gracing its teeth with unholy sacrament.

There was no need to cut through the crowd, fear sent them stumbling back. The room tumbled into silence, boys turning their eyes away, shoulders rounding in submission. Almost as one, the mass of kids slunk away from the three predators that stalked through their ranks. Closing the door behind him, Cesare faced the girls. "Why?"

Stepping forward, Alexandra met his eyes squarely. "I came here intending to hide who I was, I knew they'd never accept me." Looking away, her words trailed off. Blinking, she visibly pushed the memories down. "They suffocate me, strangle me with their whining voices and petty, selfish needs, until I hunger to rip them apart and hang them by their viscera. I've seen you grow stronger as you've embraced who you are. I want that."

He knew there was more, not that she'd lied, she just hadn't told him everything. He could hardly ask her to respect his secrets if he was prying into hers. If she wanted to keep the rest to herself, he wouldn't push it.

"I've been with you since you started working with Viktor and Tamlin," Anastasia said, drawing his attention. "I know how hard you work, and while I'm not following the same path, I see the benefits."

With Alexandra, he knew he was getting as straight an answer as she'd give. But Anastasia was holding more than a little back, she was holding the whole. The way her eyes shifted to the vampire let him know the reason.

Shrugging, he slung the duffel across his back as he made for the end of the hall. "I won't argue. You don't ask Mother Night to hide her silvered beauty behind clouds."

Emotion drained from their faces, leaving them dead and empty with only a bone-weary look in their eyes. "By the Lord, you complicate life more than any person I've known," Alexandra said. For the first, and maybe last time, Anastasia agreed with a simple nod of resignation.

Cesare left them with a shake of his head. He didn't get it, but girls weren't supposed to make sense. He'd told them truth, having them there made the class alive in a way it couldn't be without them. Now he could enjoy it for something beyond the pleasure of muscles moving and hard exercise.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Cesare felt the wolf flowing into him with each step, like a tide rushing in and fading out in lapping waves. He was in front of the door before he knew it, yanking it open. The wolfs presence flooded into his mind in all its wild beauty.

He dropped into the primal ocean without a ripple, its feral madness pouring into his ears, mouth, and nose, invading every part of his being. An alien sea more real than anything he'd known, speaking of a reality stark and true. Tides swept him into their depths, sinking him deeper in the stygian abyss. Foreign and fey emotions caressed over his psyche, the fundamental realness of its emotions a grace beyond understanding. Currents swirled around him, cradling him with gentle, loving waves, their terrible force checked by the wolfs brutal will.

Laying in its patch of winter sunlight with its head raised, the beast watched with golden eyes. Night black fur drank in the feeble rays of the sun, stripping their innocence with effortless force. Gliding across gleaming wooden floors, Cesare was held by a truth greater than the one he lived. A smile cut across his face as his fingers dove into the wolf's downy softness. Warm contentedness swept through him as they grew quiet, soaking up each other's presence as eagerly as a heroin addict's first fix of the morning. A minute or an hour, he could never say how long they stayed that way, deep in an eternal moment that existed without a past or a future.

The sound of steps pulled him out of the bond. He twisted around to face Tamlin, hand tightening in the wolfs fur. The wolf never left this room, and Cesare had never seen the wolf without Tamlin close by. He wasn't sure what kind of bond they had or why the wolf had followed Cesare. It hadn't mattered out in the world.

He didn't give a fuck what Tamlin thought of it. If he was pissed Cesare had stolen his wolf, then fuck him. He wasn't giving up the wolf for Tamlin, he wasn't giving up the wolf for anyone. His hand clenched in silk born fur as the decision hardened. Hate came eagerly to his call, black as old evil, jagged with sadism, its rusty blade stropping across his heart.

Whipcord and muscle, the man flowed across the wooden floor, loose black pants swishing in the silent room. Tamlin's black shirt shifted with each step, showing the dips and valleys of his muscled body. Tanned a burnt earth brown, the man's skull was a web work of old, ropy scars.

The easy amusement of a wolf watching a cub stumbling around came through the bond. Viscous and slow with the exorable power of earth's blood came its surety, nothing would take the wolf from him.

"You're moving better than when you left," Tamlin said, eyes flickering over Cesare, mentally ticking off points in his stance. "I hope you're ready to work."

Tamlin didn't look at Cesare's hand buried in the wolfs fur. It wasn't lack of interest; it was the feeling of something having come true that was always there. Turning away, the lean man lead Cesare to the center of the mat as the wolf laid down and watched with lazy satisfaction.

The moment fell over Cesare as Tamlin came at him, feet whispering across the mat. Tamlin was little more than a blur of violence, fast and hard, a force of nature given human form. Punches darted at him with only blurs to mark their path, rapping along his body with bruising force, motivating love taps.

Faster and faster, the punches came until the only way to avoid the barrage was to let go. The mind was distraction, only movement could save him from punishing blows. He couldn't push his thoughts away, the more he tried, the slower he got. The more he fought against his mind, the more punches pounded his body. The more he struggled, the faster he drowned.

Through it all, the wolf was there. Prowling through his instincts, overwriting them with carnivorous scarlet lines. For weeks it had been in his mind, day in and day out, slowly carving a den for itself in his consciousness. Having it back felt like a piece of himself falling into place.

Minutes passed in an endless stream of sweat and bruises. Time ceased to have meaning, transforming into moments punctuated by grunts of pain and sharp cries of power. The wet, meaty sounds as blows were stopped, the scratching of feet across the mat, the bellows of Cesare's breathing, filled a silence pulsing with purpose. Pushing him harder and harder, Tamlin butchered mastery into Cesare's flesh.

Taking a single step back, Tamlin left Cesare's territory. Legs folded under Cesare, dropping him to the mat in a puddle of sweat. Rolling onto his back, he pulled frantically at the air, trying to settle his racing heart as the world blurred. Closing eyes to blessed darkness, his ragged breathing and thundering blood resounded in the room.

"Sen is the soul of a fight; it is not initiative as much as it is the cadence of the dance. The heartbeat of carnage." Towering over him, the man's words were unhurried and easy. "Sen is the practice of feeling that heartbeat, being at one with it, to feel your opponent's body as your own. Sen marks three openings, when he attacks, as he parries, and in the moment his attack misses, these moments are the road map to victory or death. Will and body joined as one, eyes concentrated on something to be or something that had passed. You must learn to feel them, to know the Sen of a fight, to dance to its savage song. A man wins by taking advantage of a window of weakness, a man loses by being blind to them."

Tamlin might give him time to recover, but the man's patience was a finite thing. More than once he'd attacked Cesare while he was on the ground, making it clear a lesson wasn't to be wasted.

Swaying, Cesare held his ground as Tamlin stepped close, hands coming up in the beginning of sticky hand work. Setting his wrists against the man's, they started with a slow push as they worked out a rhythm between them. Picking up speed, the strikes were never more than touches, control as important as the movement itself. Holds formed out of the blur of hands, simple stops incorporated into a symphony of brutality.

It was more than learning moves; it was Sen. In this place, with Tamlin close enough they breathed the same air and sweated the same stink, Cesare could feel him. They were one in a way impossible for someone outside to see, close as lovers climbing the steps of ecstasy.

Stepping away, Tamlin nodded to the bucket with its lonely sponge bobbing in still water. "I won't install a shower, but you can clean up with this." Tamlin tossed the words over his shoulder as he walked away and disappeared into a side room.

Cesare looked from the bucket to the wolf's dancing eyes. Shrugging, he stripped off his sweat drenched clothes and sponged himself clean. The only clothes he had in his bag were his school uniform and the new ones Ramona had bought.

Putting on the soft new clothes, he picked up his duffel before facing the wolf eye to eye as it laid in the fading sunlight. Its size used to terrify him; enormous power carried with sublime grace. People pretend to be weaker or stronger than they are, they deceive and connive. Animals are true, strong or weak, they exist with an honesty that would kill civilization.

Its size didn't scare him anymore, only bringing thankfulness that he didn't have to kneel to run his hands through the lush fur on its head. They knew he had to go, but he could steal a few minutes to enjoy the silky feel of its coat and its quiet acceptance.

The girls waited outside the classroom. Leaning against the wall, their eyes were locked on the door with the absent expression of those buried in their thoughts. He must have spent more time than he thought in the wolf's bond if they'd beat him.

They straightened as awareness flooded their expressions when he stepped out. He started down the hallway as they settled into their places beside him. "Training?" Their eager nods of agreement said more than words how much they'd missed the grueling sessions. It was a strange thing to miss being pushed to the edge of flesh and will. But when you wanted something so bad it cut through the meat of your soul; the worst torture was not working on it.

Students clogged the hallway, everyone in a hurry to be somewhere else. Serious kids rushed to get to the library and lock down a table or a prized computer. Gladiators shouldered through the crowd, making for practice with grim faced excitement. The unknown rest were the connective tissue between brains and brawn, the silent ninety percent, regular students who just wanted to hang with friends and forget about homework until it was too late.

They all gave way for the trio in their own way. Those going to the library watched with wary eyes. Cesare's group was the kind of trouble that ended years of academic excellence. They'd spent their short lives dedicated to one goal, and they weren't about to let the freaks ruin decades of grind. Friends, fun, and relationships were pushed to some nebulous future. Cesare and the girls were murder to everything they'd worked for, walking, talking, plagues.

Risk was life for the gladiators. No less driven than the brainy kids, their lives revolved around a single saying 'the greater the risk, the greater the reward'. They respected strength and power, and the three students had it in spades. While they gave way before the three, it was with respectful nods instead of wary, frightened eyes.

The mainstream students were the fish between, not smart and far from strong, they knew their place. Keeping their eyes down they showed their respect in the distance between them and the dangerous groups. Survival was their only hunger, scars how they marked out who won and lost. Prey outnumbered predators by insurmountable numbers, but that didn't change who called the shots. The guppy don't get ahead when sharks butcher for fun.

Cesare noted the groups as his eyes scanned the crowd. Prey needed to know the lay of the land, and a predator always liked to know what was on the menu. He wasn't sure which he was, but it didn't matter, the lesson was the same. Your environment was an enemy best watched, if only to strip the advantage from the sleek coated jackal looking for an easy kill.

Anastasia moved into his side as they hit the halls, arm tightening possessively around his waist. His arm fell around her shoulders, not knowing her game and not caring. The soft press of her breasts and the blazing warmth of her body drove any speculation from him.

Alexandra prowled at his side with the easy dominance of an apex predator. Confident and comfortable, in control of its territory in a way the weak could only envy. Her eyes roamed over the crowd of students, hesitating on the gladiators before dismissing them as beneath her. She was a lion walking the savannah, everything that crossed her path living by her grace alone.

Passing through the forest, Cesare couldn't help wonder what changes had taken the clearing. When he'd left, it was already getting overrun with weeds without Anastasia's harem helping with the chores. Training and schoolwork flensed the day clean of time to work on cleaning.

The corridor of thorns waited with the patience only the earth knows. Gray as the soul of man, a heroin addict's dream of needles speared from the branches, aching to sheath themselves in the flesh of trespassers. He stepped into the twilight of the corridor, hungry needles reaching greedily for the soft meat inches away. The girls came close behind Cesare, walking along the narrow path prescribed by the tyranny of the guardian.

Cesare stared at the transformation Elizabeth had wrought on the training grounds. She must have been more worried than he'd given her credit for. Like him, when she worried, she worked. It was the only cure he'd found for the anxiety that rode his soul.