Thirty seven

It would be an absolute bared-face lie if I'd say that I didn't miss sparing or getting tossed around. There is a different kind of satisfaction at the feel of strained muscles and the overwhelming sensation of feeling invincible. Even if it's just for a fleeting moment.

I've missed Zareen. Better said, I've missed Zareen with Mason in it.

" Focus," Mason taps the staff on the floor at my feet. True to his word he hasn't been easy on me. In fact, he just invented a new level of difficulty. One that I don't fathom achieving any time soon. The man is stealthy, light on his feet, moving at incredible speed. His body bends and twists with the flexibility of a contortionist. Impressive doesn't even begin to cover.

Looking up at him, I feel a bead of sweat roll down my temple, while Mason hasn't even broken a sweat, yet.

He smirks," Getting tired, Petal," He drawls but I don't miss the way his intonation changed when he said the word ' Petal'. His eyes shine with mischief, but the taunting is not as abrasive as it used to be. It is more on the playful side.

" No," I huff out and take my stance. Legs wide, slightly bent at the knee, just enough to give me the advantage when I need to shift for evasive manoeuvres. On the other side, Mason is relaxed, wearing a confident smirk that I would love to wipe off. Even if it's just for a split second.

He takes a lightning-fast step forward, and pivots on his tiptoes, like a frigging ballerina, twirling the staff in his hand with enviable accuracy and speed. And I realise, then and there, that, that little move is designed to be a distraction when he pivots again to strike me on my left rather than my right.

Instinctively, I change hands and bring my staff to parry the strike, but I am a split second too late, and he gets me right in the thigh. A blow so sharp, that I feel reverberating all the way to my bones, making me hiss at the bite of pain.

He pivots the staff in an instant and strikes my shoulder, and he keeps going, his movements blurring. Strike after strike, some harsher than others while my eyes follow the staff trying to find a pattern, while I strive to evade, and parry as much as possible. There has to be one.

When he propels himself in the air on the staff, I take a swing at him, trying to catch him before his feet touch the ground. I'm left stunned when he grabs my staff mid-swing and pulls me towards him, his feet coming at me at dizzying speed. When his feet are a few inches off my face, I go for the old tuck and roll, because this man is on a different level. Pride and shame, blend in my chest, while I roll on the ground, thankful that I don't wear his footprints on my face.

Sprintly, he lands on the floor in a half crouch, with his back to me, while both staffs land on the floor with a loud clatter, mingling with the sound of our heavy pants. At least he is winded, so I pat myself on the back for that little achievement.

He glances at me over his shoulder and gives me the most conceited smirk if ever saw one.

" You did good," He says as he rises to his feet, picking up both staffs off the floor. I think I did abysmally. I try not to think about the number of welts that are now blooming all over my body, but hard to ignore the stinging pain all over.

" You're only saying that because I'm sleeping with you," I huff out, hands bracing on my knees trying to catch my breath while I try to replay what hell went down. I'm wheezing, like a racehorse after finally crossing the finish line. Only there is no victory for me at the end. Not even second best.

" Partly," He hums, amused as his feet come into my field of vision where I'm trying very hard not to keel over, and curl on the floor.

" The truth..." I heave, I can't even catch my breath and he is barely winded. Sure as hell, If we keep this up I won't survive long enough for Micah to get his hands on me.

" You did good," I stare at his bare feet, and I realise that maybe this is what I'm doing wrong. I'm fully clothed, wearing heavy shoes while he is in this breezy two-piece linen suit and bare feet. Although he has kicked my ass wearing suit trousers, dress shoes and a crisp white shirt. So, my theory doesn't stand.

The end of the staff appears in front of my eyes, and can't help but look at him from under my lashes, slightly miffed. He must be joking.

" You can't be serious?" I huff, swallowing the thick saliva in my mouth, searching for any hint in his expression that he is only pulling my leg.

But he stands there, staring me dead in the eyes, deadly serious," No. We can't begin harnessing abilities until your body isn't at peak performance. You're lagging, your movements are sluggish and rather brutish if you ask. You lose momentum pretty quickly, you lack elegance and fluidity. Taethi trained you well, but you need to last longer than twenty minutes of intensive physical activities," His assessment renders me speechless. I kind of died about a week ago, I want to say in my defence but that retort dies on my tongue when he takes my hand in his and gives me a wistful smile.

" It will take time. Time we don't have, Canim. I'm sorry that I have to put you through this, but when this is all over, I want us to come out with both our lives intact," He presses his lips together to stop himself from speaking and lets go of my hand. I'm not sure if I want to kiss him or throw my shoe at him, either way, we're doing this, apparently.

He strides towards the opposite wall, while I straighten up, and shake my limbs. Mentally preparing myself for another beatdown. Fantastic. I can hardly wait.

He halts at the wall and slides one of the panels aside and pulls out two bottles of water. I swear this place, is full of hidden compartments. Everything is tucked in tightly inside walls. Nothing is in plain sight.