Crossroads (Crossroads Academy #1)

by J.J. Bonds

  Chapter Four

  I’m energized when I enter the training center for the first time. The combined scents of bleach, sweat, and spilled blood greet me warmly like an old friend as I step under the bright lights of the gym. I’m dressed in a fitted red tracksuit that I chose carefully in the event we are working hand-to-hand today. My hair is pulled back in a high ponytail, and I’m wearing a pair of light and comfortable running shoes. I feel great and am anxious to get started.

  My classmates and I line up at the edge of the blue sparring mat and await the arrival of our instructor. I notice it’s a relatively even mix of girls and guys and that we range greatly in size. Not that it matters. Experience has shown me that size can easily be overcome by skill and strength. I know that even the smallest opponent can pose a deadly threat, as each and every being here has the purest of blood pulsing through their veins.

  The training center door opens and our instructor comes sailing in with Nikolai close on his heels. I do a double take to make sure it’s not my imagination and scold myself for being so obvious. What the hell is he doing here anyway?

  “Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Andres Garcia, and I will be your instructor this semester. You may call me Garcia. This fine young man at my side is Nikolai Petrov. Nikolai is one of my most advanced students, and he will be assisting us this semester.” Nikolai gives the class a less than modest nod of acknowledgement and I feel an overwhelming urge to kick him in the shin. “Nikolai will participate in both the instruction and the administration of the skills tests. A directive from Nikolai is no different than one you receive directly from me. You’ll do well to remember that. Now, to the mat.”

  We rush forward as instructed and spread out on the mat as Garcia continues. Nikolai remains fixed in place watching from the foreground. I pretend not to notice him although I feel the heat of his gaze settle on me.

  “Each of you has been placed in this class because you have some level of experience with martial arts or weapons training. In order to better assess your skills, we’ll be testing you today. I need to see how good you really are.” Garcia eyes the class skeptically. I steal a quick glance at him as he passes me by.

  Garcia looks every bit the picture of a trained killer. His steely black eyes are attentive and wary. His long black hair is bound tightly at the nape of his neck, and his hairstyle is as functional as his attire: cargo pants, military boots, and a utility belt that contains at least one knife that I can see.

  “This will be a no holds barred test. One-on-one,” he continues. “We’ll start with two volunteers. The victor remains in the circle to face the next challenger. By the time we leave today, I will know who is the most skilled fighter among you.”

  As the others jostle to be first, eager to demonstrate their abilities, I hang back choosing instead to watch. I prefer to study their techniques and look for weakness.

  Garcia chooses two students, both males, to start the competition. Physically, they’re total opposites: one tall and wiry, with skin the color of night, the other bulky and muscular with sandy blonde hair. The boys circle one another, both assuming a fighting stance. I’m curious to see what they can do.

  The blonde boy is anxious and charges immediately. His counterpart is more patient and easily dodges the rush, landing a glancing blow on his attackers’ neck. Although he’s got his back to me, I’m certain the blow has surprised the larger boy. His guttural growl confirms that he didn’t see it coming. He whirls on his opponent and bares his teeth, his fangs extending to full length. Anger flashes in his eyes.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” he challenges, spittle flying from his mouth. The dark skinned boy does not respond and maintains his defensive position. He’s studying his opponent and does not waste time or energy on psychological taunts.

  The blonde boy charges again and this time his speed and force are used against him. The dark boy rolls as his attacker makes contact. He throws the blonde boy from the mat and sends him sailing into the crowd, as though he was no more consequential than a paper doll. He lands on the cement with a dull thud. I recognize the move immediately. It’s the same one I would have used.

  Without delay, a new contender steps forward. This time it’s a girl. Taller than me, she’s more evenly matched to the victor in terms of weight and height. Not that it helps her much. He disposes of her just as easily as he did the first challenger.

  I watch intently as a steady stream of my classmates step forward to be beaten. I know my turn is coming and realize that I will be the last. I’m certain this is an advantage as I’ve gotten a feel for his moves and speed.

  He’s fast, but I’m faster. The key will be to draw him into the attack.

  I step forward confidently, as Garcia nods in my direction. I need to impress him and this is my best opportunity. I’m prepared for anything and know I have the upper hand having seen him fight.

  Locking eyes with my sparring partner I too lower myself into a defensive position. We circle for what seems an eternity, and I can see the pressure starting to build on his face. He’s contemplating an attack. This is what I’ve been waiting for. I use this flicker of indecision to launch myself into his space. After placing a solid blow to his right knee I withdraw before he can react.

  I am certain he will retaliate when I see the pained look on his face. I prepare myself for the counterattack and feel my training start to take over. He feints right and comes at me from the left, leading with his fist. The force of the blow is excruciating. I spin right and drop to the ground, my left leg sweeping his feet out from beneath him. I’m on him in a second looking for a pin, but he’s ready. We struggle briefly, and I’m flipped over his head and onto my back. I’m momentarily stunned, giving him the advantage. He jumps to his feet before I can react.

  Standing over me, he grabs my right wrist while simultaneously placing a foot on my chest. He jerks the arm mercilessly, wrenching it from the socket. I gasp in pain, as a pathetic cry escapes my lips. Fire shoots up my arm, and there’s no doubt in my mind that it’s dislocated. The searing pain is like nothing I’ve ever felt before, but I refuse to be beaten so easily. One look at the boy standing over me and I’m able to channel the pain.

  He smiles victoriously, celebrating a bit too soon for my taste. Protecting my injured arm, I roll to my side and land a well placed kick to his right knee cap, bending the leg backward at an impossible angle.

  No sooner does he hit the ground than my teeth are on his neck, a low growl erupting from my lips. I could rip out his throat in a heartbeat and he knows it. My fangs are sharp, ready, and thirsty for blood. I imagine sinking my teeth into his flesh, releasing a wave of sticky, sweet blood. My fangs ache with the desire to taste him. His blood calls to me with every beat of his heart. The scent of his fear hangs in the air, beckoning me.

  “Enough!” barks Garcia. I shake off the momentary bloodlust but hold my position until my opponent concedes, acknowledging his own defeat.

  I climb to my feet and extend my good arm to the boy lying on the mat. I am a little miffed about the dislocated shoulder but want him to know there are no hard feelings. After all, I won. “You’re good.”

  “But today you were better,” he returns, accepting my hand and pulling himself up from the ground. He favors his left leg. I can’t help but feel a little pleased.

  “Well done. Both of you,” states Garcia, clapping us each on the back. “What’re your names?”

  “Marcus.”

  “Katia.”

  “Let’s hear it for Marcus and Katia,” he instructs the class.

  After a brief round of obligatory applause from our peers, Garcia continues. “Now that I’ve had an opportunity to assess each of you, Nikolai and I will be better able to tailor our lessons to your individual needs. While many of you are taking this class because it’s required, others of you may have a natural affinity for the subject matter. Regardless of your future career choices, the day will come where you need to defend
yourself. It’s my job to make sure that you are prepared and leave this school equipped to do so. We’ll break early today. Use the remainder of your class time as you wish, but come prepared to train next week.”

  The class begins to fan out, and I contemplate my next move. I think my arm will heal itself properly. It feels better already, but what do I know? I’m trying to decide between the obstacle course and target practice when Nikolai approaches.

  “Let me see your arm,” he says by way of greeting. To be honest, I’d almost forgotten he was even there. Almost.

  “I’m good,” I state, turning to leave.

  “It wasn’t a request.” He grabs my good arm and holds it firmly, the pressure of his fingertips drawing a raised eyebrow from me.

  Although disgruntled, I’m reminded of his position as Garcia’s assistant and realize I have no choice but to comply with his command.

  “I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but a dislocated joint will heal itself faster if you put it back in the socket where it belongs.”

  “No, I hadn’t heard,” I say, placing my good hand on my hip in a show of annoyance. “I’ve been living the abysmal existence of a fugly mountain troll, so how could I possibly know such things?”

  “So, you heard all that, huh?” He runs his hands over my afflicted arm and shoulder. “They’ll come around,” he finishes, apparently having decided on a course of action. “They’re just intimidated by you.”

  “Like I care.” I roll my eyes for good measure, although the gesture is completely lost on him. He’s focused intently on my shoulder. Unbelievable! I don’t know if it’s worse that he’s making excuses for his intolerable friends or that he expects me to understand their obnoxious behavior.

  He nods approvingly, placing one of his hands flat on my shoulder and grasping my arm with the other.

  “This is going to hurt,” he warns. His eyes meet mine for the first time. He holds my gaze just a little too long, but I refuse to let him make me uncomfortable.

  “Just get it over with,” I retort.

  “Stubborn as hell, aren’t you?” he asks, smirking. “I like that.”

  I promise myself I will not scream again. Especially in front of him. My body shakes, as he forces the joint back into the socket, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out in pain.

  “Good as new,” Nikolai assures me, rubbing the sore shoulder gently. “You were very good in the ring. Marcus underestimated you. I would never make that mistake,” he finishes lowering his voice intimately.

  “You already have,” I snarl, turning on my heel and storming off toward the door.