Ghost Bird: The Academy Omnibus Part 1: Books One - Four

by C. L. Stone

  I shook my head, waving my hand dismissively in the air. Even when I didn’t know it or wasn’t thinking about it, North and the others still looked out for me. In the moment, I really didn’t care what anyone else thought of me or why. The guys were what mattered. Victor was right. Worry about those who matter. “You meant well,” I said. “You were doing what you thought you should do. Don’t be sorry about it.”

  Silas pursed his lips. “It’s not the only reason why,” he said. He turned in the bed, putting his feet on the floor, standing and stretching. “It was kind of fun thinking of you as my girlfriend for the night.”

  This sent a river of sparks shooting through my spine. “Silas ...”

  He beamed after me. “Next time I ask you out, I promise, no parties.”

  Silas followed me out to the kitchen. My mind was barely able to tolerate the idea of being sent in to wake up North.

  Nathan handed me a pocket knife, the blade open. “Be careful with this. It’s sharp. Don’t cut yourself.”

  “Or North.”

  Nathan smirked. “If you accidentally cut North, I’d call it karma.”

  I chuffed at him. How could he say that?

  “I’m kidding!” He held up his hands. “Don’t give me that look. I didn’t mean it.”

  I rolled my eyes, padding my way across the house toward the second bedroom.

  I knocked this time, unsure I liked the idea of entering alone. The last time I saw North, he was so wild and saying such bad things. I half expected him to be super angry and still in the same state.

  When I peeked in through the crack in the door, North was on his side in the bed, facing the opposite wall. His arms were still tied behind his back. His hands looked puffy.

  “North?” I called softly.

  “Hm?” North murmured, not moving.

  “Can I come in?”

  “I’m not stopping you.”

  This didn’t exactly sound like an invitation. Were the guys sure I should be doing this?

  I opened the door, leaving it slightly ajar just in case I had to call in the others for help. I tiptoed near the bed, gazing down at North.

  “Are you okay?” I asked him quietly.

  He shook his tied arms at my direction. “Do you mind?”

  I supposed it was safe enough. He wasn’t cursing. I used the knife Nathan had given me, being extra careful to aim it away from North so I wouldn’t cut him.

  When the zip tie snapped free, North yanked his arms, rolling onto his back and pushing his hands above his head, flexing and making fists. His eyes looked blurred, but not with the same crazy expression, just tired. “Sang,” he said.

  “North.”

  He grunted. There were indentations on his wrists and spots where the skin had rubbed raw. “Now I know how you felt tied to that damn stool. Almost.” He sucked in a deep breath. “At least you didn’t put me in the shower.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  He put his arms down, sitting up slowly and turning on the bed to put his feet on the floor. “You probably should have,” he said, gazing at his bare feet. He must have kicked off his socks and shoes during the night. “I deserved it.”

  I released a breath, wanting to reach out to him but I wasn’t sure how or if he wanted me to. “Don’t say that, North.”

  He turned his head from me, avoiding my eyes. “I said some really bad things.”

  “You didn’t mean it,” I said. “You were drugged. It was the ...”

  “It was the drugs that made me say it out loud,” he said, his head lifting, and his eyes finally meeting mine, shining with sorrow and an anger bubbling somewhere deep inside. “It wasn’t the drugs that made me think them.”

  I tried to recall exactly what he had said the night before. I was doing what Nathan had said and tried to not pay attention to it so I didn’t give it any credence. “It wasn’t what you said. It was how you were saying it. But none of it was your fault.”

  His eyes narrowed at me. “Will you stop softening this?”

  I blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

  “Why aren’t you angry? Why aren’t you yelling at me?”

  My lips parted. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

  He chuffed, shaking his head. He fell onto his back on the bed. The black T-shirt rode up his stomach, revealing his dark trail that lead to his belly button and the definition in his abs, temporarily distracting me. He pressed his hands to his eyes. “I didn’t mean to do that to you in the car. I mean I wanted to, but I knew I shouldn’t. I couldn’t stop myself.”

  “North ...”

  “Will you let me finish, please?”

  I flinched, taking a step back. A finger fluttered up to my mouth. “Okay.”

  “You should have pushed me off,” he said. “I was about to ... I mean I was going to ...” He sat up. His voice strained. “Why didn’t you tell me to stop?”

  I couldn’t stand this anymore. He was beating himself up over something he couldn’t control.

  I stepped forward again, closing the gap between us. He sensed my approach, sitting up higher, surprise and anger simmering together under the surface. He opened his mouth again with what I was sure was some more self-pity and desire for me to be angry and hurt him. I didn’t have any of that in me.

  I dropped my fingers from my mouth, bringing them to his lips. It was his turn to flinch, but I didn’t give him a chance to respond.

  I closed my eyes and planted a kiss on my fingers.

  I drew back, opening my eyes. His eyes fluttered open, locking with mine. It was all the courage inside me I could give to him. I didn’t know what else to say or do.

  His hands gripped my arms. He drew me to sit in his lap facing him. My knees found the bed on either side of his hips.

  He pushed my hand back to his mouth, kissing the fingertips. His lips slipped down to my palm. Sparks sailed from his mouth to my hand, and fluttered into my heart. I clutched at his chest, feeling unbalanced on his lap, but I wasn’t willing to move. I wanted to be there with him. North, the fierce, ever vigilant watchman.

  “Sang Baby,” he murmured against my palm. He kissed it and sighed heavily. “God, don’t hate me.”

  I broke. I pulled my hand away from his mouth and slipped my arms around his neck, burying my face into his shoulder. His big hands closed in on my back, pressing me to his body. His lips buried into my hair.

  “Do you still like me?” I whispered.

  His mouth twisted into a smile against my head. “Yes. Do you still like me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You shouldn’t be so damn nice to me.”

  I nuzzled at his shoulder. “Do you really want me to stop?”

  He pulled back until he could look at my face. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell me to back off. You can tell me what you want. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  I lifted an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t be afraid to tell me things, either.” Isn’t that what he was just complaining about? The drugs had let slip some things that he was keeping to himself, things I didn’t realize he’d been feeling. While the way he’d said it was crude, at least he told me something. He’d said everything I’d wondered if they were thinking and confirmed my fears.

  I’m not sharing. I don’t want to share her.

  He felt he was sharing me with the others. Did Nathan and Silas feel the same way last night, despite when Nathan said it was okay? Did Kota feel like he had to share me with Nathan? Did it require drugs for North to be honest with me?

  His mouth opened and his lips twisted for words but nothing came out. He shook his head, sighing heavily. “I don’t understand you sometimes.” He collected my other hand and kissed the palm. He inhaled deeply, kissed it again and started to nudge me away. “Do me a favor. Try to ignore me for the next couple of days.”

  I stepped onto the floor, moving away from him so he could stand up. “Why?”

  “If this was Ecstasy, there might be some side effects. I mig
ht get a little grumpy.”

  “You mean more than usual?”

  The touch of a smirk caught the side of his mouth. “Very funny.”

  SELF DEFENSE

  After breakfast, Silas and North left for the diner. They were a little late, and North looked like he’d been run over by a truck, but he claimed he could get through a couple of shifts.

  Kota insisted I get dressed, despite my pleas to be a slug for the day. He’d promised self-defense training and wanted to get started. I was tired and not sure I was ready for this. I took a long bath and changed into a pair of shorts and stuffed myself into a sports bra and a T-shirt. I twisted my hair, clipping it back, but a couple of locks of hair fell against my face. I tried shoving them behind my ear but they remained defiant, slipping back across my cheek.

  When I was done stalling, I padded back into the house, calling for Kota and Nathan but didn’t hear either of them. I was about to call them on my phone but caught the sliding glass doors in the living room hanging open, letting in a gentle breeze. I stepped out.

  The pool gleamed, sparkling and full of alluring promises. Beyond it, the shed doors were open wide. Kota and Nathan stood together inside, their heads tucked together as they talked. They wore identical black pants and top robes resembling karate uniforms I’d seen on television.

  I circled the pool. Kota turned his head as I approached, his lips portraying that calm smile. He stepped forward, offering a hand. Instinctively, I dropped my hand into his. He grasped it, and tugged me into the shed.

  I felt the slick, smooth wood on my bare feet. My finger betrayed me, shoving itself against my bottom lip.

  Nathan pushed my hand from my mouth. “Stop being nervous,” he said. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

  That wasn’t really what I was nervous about. It was just new-to-me stuff and I wasn’t sure if I could do it.

  “She’ll be fine,” Kota said. He swept a finger across my cheek, catching one of the locks of hair and shifting it back behind my ear. When he did it, the lock stayed, as if afraid to defy him. “Ready to get started?”

  “What do I do?” I asked, feeling strangely out of place. They looked professional in their gear.

  “Let’s see what you can do,” he said. He jerked his head at Nathan, doing that wordless communication.

  Nathan took a few steps back, kneeling on the floor by the wall. He planted his palms on his thighs, waiting and watching.

  Kota tugged me by the arm until we were in the middle of the wide space. The karate posters and displays of colored belts along the walls, plus the open doors with the drifting smell of pool chlorine were distracting.

  “Okay,” Kota said, nudging his glasses up. He stood by, his hands by his sides and his feet shoulder width apart. “Pretend I’m not a nice guy and try to hit me.”

  My face radiated. I knew he meant well, but I felt really awkward striking out at him. “I don’t know ...”

  “Sure you do,” he said. “Do what you did in those fights.”

  I chewed my lip, wanting to push my finger to my mouth but knowing Nathan would probably say something about it, so I forced my hand back.

  “Peanut,” Nathan said, “while you’re hesitating, he could have hit you a bunch of times.”

  “You’re not going to hurt me,” Kota said, although he hadn’t moved, still standing still without even a hand up in defense. “Try punching me.”

  I swallowed, made a loose fist and swung it toward his chest.

  His hand shot up, cupping my knuckles before I made contact. “That’s not a punch. Throw another one.”

  I pulled my hand back, turned my body a little to swing my fist stronger at his chest.

  His hand shot up again, stopping me before I struck. “Better, but stop aiming for my chest. Try somewhere else.”

  I chuffed, still feeling weird about hitting Kota. I knew under his almost nerdy persona he was actually muscular, almost as much as Nathan. I wasn’t worried about hurting him, but the act itself felt bizarre.

  I pulled my arm back, aiming this time for his stomach.

  He slipped a grin, stopping my fist again. “Stop doing it so softly. I’m not a china doll. You’re not going to break me.”

  “It’s awkward to hit someone.”

  “It didn’t stop you during the fights.”

  “It’s easier when someone is swinging back.”

  “Practice will make it easier to swing first before they get a chance to hit you.” He pushed my fist back. “Now pick up both hands and swing at me.”

  I picked up both hands, unsure of what to do with my left hand. I swung out at Kota’s stomach again, trying to do it quickly.

  He caught it again. “Aim for different spots. Don’t throw punches all in the same way or it becomes instinct to do it that way and it might not be the best place to hit every time.” He let go of me, putting his own fists up in front of his face. “Try this.” He demonstrated by punching the air to the side. He jabbed with his right, and did a hook follow up with his left. He did it two more times before he backed up and put his hands down. “You do it.”

  I did, although with loose fists and slowly, aiming at his chest.

  “You’ve got the hang of it, but stop trying to hit center mass.” He captured my hands and pressed my palms to his chest. “What do you feel here?”

  I blushed, not really sure what he meant. “Muscles?”

  Kota’s mouth tripped with a smile. “Ribs. Bones. Bones are bad. You want to avoid hitting them; you’ll do a lot of damage to your hand. You don’t want to hurt yourself; you want to take down your opponent.”

  “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “Sweetie, if you get to the point where you’re having to throw punches, you aren’t looking to hurt. You’re looking to incapacitate.”

  My eyes widened.

  He seemed to recognize my surprise and nodded, his face turning solemn again. “This isn’t for fun. If there’s trouble, your first job is to run. If you can’t get away, you strike out at them until you can get away. You do that by knocking them out, getting them from standing to on the floor in the shortest amount of time possible. You hit hard, hit fast and don’t stop until they’re down.”

  “Can’t I just push them? Trip them up or something?”

  “No,” he said, his mouth tightening. “You don’t get to do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “You don’t get to give warnings. If someone’s close enough that you can’t run, and they won’t let you get away, you’re done. Kick, swing, whatever you have to do.”

  “It sounds mean.”

  “Ugh,” Nathan groaned behind us. I glanced back at him. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor. His elbow was on his knee, his head propped up on his hand. “Peanut, will you just listen? If someone isn’t letting you run away, he’s not a nice person. Beat the shit out of him.”

  Kota let go of me and took a step back. “Try again.”

  I sucked in a breath, holding up fists and aiming at his stomach.

  “Better,” he said, “but don’t aim for all the same spots.”

  “Where am I supposed to aim?”

  “Anywhere there aren’t bones.”

  I paused, recalling the fight and how I’d struck out at Greg in the throat and how quickly he went down. I slowly swung out, aiming for Kota’s throat so he knew it was coming.

  He grinned, cupping my fist. “Stop playing with me. But the throat is a good spot. One good hit can take a guy down pretty quickly. It doesn’t matter where you hit them in the throat, just avoid the face and the collarbone. The face isn’t bad, but with bones and with your small hands, you’ll likely break your fingers first. You can hit the nose if you can reach, but since you’re shorter, you’ll have an easier time aiming for the throat. Pick another spot.”

  I blinked at him. Outside of his stomach and his throat, there was only one last spot I could think of and I for sure didn’t want to try.

  “Kick him in the
crotch, Sang,” Nathan said as if reading my mind.

  “Will you let her figure this out?”

  “She was never going to do it.” He stretched his arms over his head, bending them around to tighten his muscles. “She’s too nice to try.”

  He was right. It had come to my mind, but I didn’t really want to try it. It was embarrassing and since he’d said throw punches, I wasn’t sure if I should try it like that.

  Kota rolled his eyes. “But yes, he’s right. Three spots you should be aiming for are the groin, stomach and the throat. Strike out where you can, of course, but if you aim at those places, the bad guy will go down quickly so you can take off. Try again.”

  I swallowed, swinging this time at Kota’s throat. He caught it. I aimed at his stomach, and he caught it again.

  I zeroed in on his groin, blushing and trying to figure out how to attack.

  “Front kick,” he said, seeming to read my mind.

  I did, again slowly. Before I made contact, he took a step back out of the way.

  He popped me with his palm sharply against my thigh. “Faster.”

  I swung at him repeatedly in those spots. He showed me where to hit him in the solar plexus for something more substantial to aim for. Every time I tried to kick him in the groin, though, I did it slow and he popped me on the thigh.

  “Sang, if they see you coming, they’re going to take you down first. You need to move faster.”

  “It’s awkward,” I said.

  He blinked at me. “What?”

  “It doesn’t feel natural. I think it’s because I’m shorter. I’m on my tiptoe trying to get close and I feel like I’m about to fall over when I kick before I get there.”

  “It’s because you’re doing it slow,” he said, the power he had slipping into his voice. “Do it faster. You might be on your toe, but if you strike quickly, you can put your foot down again. You want to catch the person off guard, not try to warn him off by going slow.”

  No warnings. I tried a kick again, a little faster but still wobbling on my toe.