by Radclyffe
For the briefest instant, surprise flickered across Sean’s elegant features. She had expected to spar Chris Roma, if she sparred any of the black belts, and a current of both anticipation and anxiety rippled through her. The blond stranger was imposing, had at least a two-inch height advantage, and would no doubt beat her handily. Destroy me is more like it. Well, I won’t go without a fight.
Sean bowed deeply, replying with the traditional form of respect accorded anyone of higher rank. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Black belt rules.”
Several of the students cast sidelong glances at each other. Black belt rules meant head contact was allowed, and Drew Clark was a fourth dan; she had to be a very experienced fighter. Excitement swelled in the ranks, along with apprehension.
Drew pulled on sparring gloves after slipping her feet into the foam foot covers that protected her opponent from the full force of her kicks, but she left her head-gear in her gym bag. Then she slipped in a mouth guard before walking purposefully to the center of the room to face Sean.
Sean looked up into a face that stared back at her without a flicker of emotion.
“Bow to your opponent,” Cho instructed sharply.
Each woman bent smartly at the waist, returning again to lock eyes. Sean’s green eyes were clear, her expression calm. Drew’s eyes were sharp, but completely opaque. Whatever was behind them, she hid well.
“Free-spar ready positions.”
Sean and Drew each dropped one leg back, both knees bent. Now, only their forward raised fists and their sides were exposed, presenting the smallest target and protecting vital parts.
“Begin.”
Sean moved forward quickly with a front round kick to the head followed by a hand combination, hoping to take her opponent by surprise. Drew countered swiftly with a forearm block, then swept Sean’s forward leg with her foot, a move designed to break Sean’s balance. With someone less physically agile than Sean, it would have knocked her to the floor. As it was, Sean had to pivot on her rear leg to reestablish her footing, while avoiding a back fist that came perilously close to her chin.
Fighting for momentum, Sean managed a side kick that forced Drew back in an evasive move, but still Sean had not made body contact with the black belt. As she snapped her kicking leg back to avoid a hand trap that could topple her over, Sean rotated quickly into a back side kick that nearly caught Drew in the chest as the blond closed in for a strike. Sean followed her kick in, moving toward her opponent as she had been taught, attempting a jab-hook combination when Drew surged ahead and landed an upset punch to her abdomen.
Sean had sensed rather than seen the blow coming, and she tensed her abdominal muscles to absorb its force. Still, the punch stung, and she tried not to be distracted by the dull ache that remained. Spurred by the adrenaline that surged in response to the pain, she swiftly blocked Drew’s follow-up strike with her forearm and, completely reflexively, whipped a backhand jab off the block that caught Drew squarely on the chin. Drew’s head snapped back from the force of the unchecked blow, and for an instant, as the impact radiated smartly up her own arm, Sean was shocked into immobility. Oh, no! I didn’t mean to hit her so hard!
One of the sacred rules of free-sparring was to maintain control at all times in order to avoid injuring one’s sparring partner. Sean hadn’t been in control; she’d been reacting to her own pain. She’d struck out instinctively, full force, and she’d drawn blood.
She’s hurt. That one second of hesitation and self-recrimination proved to be Sean’s undoing. She let her hands drop.
Drew absorbed the blow, ignored the swift stab of pain in her jaw, and, without a break in the flow of her movements, continued forward—always forward. Only inches from Sean, she dropped to the floor on one bent knee while simultaneously chambering a side kick, the most devastating of karate kicks. From below Sean’s line of vision, she extended her leg and thrust her foot upward, catching Sean squarely in the center of her unguarded chest. At the last second, Drew tempered some of the power of her kick, but it landed with enough force to send Sean sprawling backward to the floor.
Stunned more from the surprise of the attack that she hadn’t even seen coming than from the actual impact of the kick, Sean lay breathless. Alarmed, Drew knelt quickly beside her. There was a small cut on Drew’s lip, and a trickle of blood streamed unnoticed down her chin.
“Are you all right?” Drew’s deep voice questioned, as she pressed one hand lightly against Sean’s abdomen. “Take a deep breath, slow and easy.”
Sean did as instructed, aware of Drew’s fingers gently rising and falling with the movements of her body. Finally, with a slight quaver in her voice, she said, “I’m okay.”
“Did you hit your head?”
“No…ma’am.” Embarrassed, Sean blushed. At least I managed to remember that much of my training.
Drew removed her hand and leaned back on her haunches, gravely studying Sean’s face, searching for any sign of lingering injury. The green eyes that looked back at her were clear and pain free. Satisfied, she advised, “When you have the advantage, Ms. Gray, always use it. You should have dropped me with a head kick after you landed that punch to my face. If this were a real fight, you’d be dead right now.”
Sean was mesmerized by the compelling countenance of the woman leaning over her, pierced by the eyes that stared at—no—into her. “I’ll remember that, ma’am,” she answered softly. “Thank you.”
“Good fight, Ms. Gray.” Drew reached a hand down to help her up.
Standing a bit unsteadily, Sean watched the other woman walk to the sink to wash the blood off her face. Her words echoed in Sean’s mind, and the spot where Drew had rested a hand against her stomach tingled as if the fingers were still there. The encounter had left Sean shaken, but not from pain. For a moment, looking into those deep blue eyes, she had forgotten that there was anyone else in the room. She’d never experienced anything quite like that before, never been affected by anyone quite so strongly, and especially not by someone she didn’t even know.
Her teacher, Master Cho, was a strong and commanding woman. All the women in the dojang, students and teachers alike, were competent, forceful women; but Drew Clark was riveting in a way that took Sean’s breath away. When she just looks at me, it’s like she’s touchi—
“Face front.”
The sound of her teacher’s voice startled Sean from her musings. Rapidly, she came to attention once more and faced the test board. Drew had returned to join the others, a small butterfly dressing on her lip.
“Congratulations, Sean. You did well.” Janet Cho stepped around the table. “I am proud to promote you to black stripe.” She attached three black stripes to the tail of Sean’s red belt—the highest level to which Sean could be promoted before she received her black belt. To receive three stripes after only one test was unusual, and an honor.
Sean bowed deeply and then shook her teacher’s hand. “Thank you, ma’am.”
When Janet Cho dismissed the class, the students swarmed Sean en masse, pounding her on the back and relentlessly pumping her hand. The silence broken, their enthusiasm filled the room with a cacophony of shouts and cheers.
Smiling, returning their hugs, Sean barely heard the words of congratulations as she looked past the group to the austere blond stranger who stood alone, watching her contemplatively.
Chapter Two
“I appreciate you putting me up while I find a place to live,” Drew said.
“No, it is we who are happy to have you with us after such a long time away,” Janet Cho replied as she maneuvered her Jeep Cherokee through the evening traffic and merged onto the drive that ran along the river bisecting the city. She glanced over her shoulder at the rangy form of her former student, who was leaning forward in the rear seat, her arms folded on the back of the front passenger seat where Chris Roma sat. “How is your lip?”
“It’s nothing.” Drew grinned slightly, her blue eyes no longer unreadable. They were sparkling
in a rare moment of unguarded pleasure. “She caught me by surprise with that jab—a very nice follow-up to that long kick of hers. I should have known better than to underestimate a student of yours, Master Cho.”
“You did not underestimate her; you merely expected her to perform like any red belt. She is better than that already, so she responded like a more experienced fighter. Some students are...naturals.”
Janet smiled inwardly, recalling a night many years ago when she had had to use every trick a lifetime in the martial arts had taught her to fend off a young black belt testee in a free-sparring match. Drew, inarguably her finest student, had been fierce and focused as well as gifted. She had also been an angry teenager, a potentially dangerous combination when deadly weapons were involved.
As a teacher, Janet had never tried to quell Drew’s fury, because she had intuited that it was an essential part of the rebellious young woman’s strength. She had sought only to instruct Drew how to control the fire that burned in her blood, fearing that without it she might not survive. Drew had survived and, apparently, had contained the anger, although at what cost she was not entirely certain.
“Perhaps I should have warned you about Sean’s legs,” Janet added. “When she was younger, she was an exceptional ballerina and even danced professionally for a time. She has the best kicks I have ever seen.”
“Except for yours, Janet,” Chris said warmly.
Janet laughed and reached fondly for Chris’s hand. Here was another woman who had once been a student and with whom she now shared her life. Chris Roma, fifteen years her junior, was her lover as well as her partner in the Golden Tiger Kwan. “You flatter me, and I am grateful. But I know that I’m too short for truly effective offensive kicks. I’ve had to learn to use my feet in defense, unlike you tall Americans.”
“Ms. Gray is very good,” Drew commented, remembering the total concentration on the dark-haired student’s face as she had met each challenge during her test that evening. She remembered, too, the firm muscles beneath her hand and the unguarded green eyes that had met her own. There had been trust in Sean’s gaze, something Drew was used to seeing in the eyes of students. But, this time, it had moved her more deeply than usual.
Seeing the trust always reminded her of the personal responsibility she had chosen—teaching women to defend themselves in a world that so often claimed them as victims. Sean’s eyes, though, had held more. There had been intelligence and determination and, surprisingly, a sense of calm. Perhaps it had been that calm, something that had eluded Drew her entire life, which had made the moment so unforgettable.
“I kicked her too hard,” Drew continued, trying to dispel the disquieting image of Sean lying too still on the floor. “I’m sorry.”
“No.” Janet shook her head. “It was not too hard. She must learn to accept the pain. On the street, if challenged, she must fight back despite injury if she is to survive.”
A barely-stifled gasp from the rear seat surprised Janet. Glancing quickly at her passenger in the rear view mirror, she caught a glimpse of anguish before Drew could hide it. “Ah—I am so sorry, Drew. I did not think. Please forgive me.”
“No, you’re right.” Drew shook her head, fighting off memories, forcing images of loss into the dark recesses of her mind. She searched for the sharp edge of her anger, the only antidote to her pain, other than self-imposed isolation, that she had ever found. “Sometimes I forget that there is danger in everyone’s world, and that these women have come to us to learn how to be safe.”
I am sure you never forget the danger, old friend. Janet forced a smile. “And now, I will have you both to help me teach them. Yes?”
Drew hesitated. Janet had offered her a position teaching at her school as soon as she’d learned that Drew was leaving active duty and returning to Philadelphia. Despite several subsequent phone conversations, Drew hadn’t yet given her a definitive answer.
“I’m not sure I want to teach anymore, Master Cho.”
“Drew,” Janet said fondly. “We are not in the dojang now. You will not have to do push-ups if you call me Janet.”
Drew allowed herself a laugh at her former teacher’s reference to the conventional method of disciplining students. Suddenly she felt a weight, so familiar she only noticed it by its absence, slip away for an instant. “Yes, ma’am.”
Both Janet and Chris laughed before Drew spoke again.
“I love the martial arts, but I’ve been teaching full-time for the last few years. I’m not sure I can keep it up.”
She didn’t add that for most of those years only the demands of her training and teaching had provided any kind of comfort in her life. Teaching women to survive, whether they were marines or students, had been her sole purpose, and often her single reason for getting up every day. Still, the physical and emotional demands and responsibilities of that task were enormous, and she was weary. Weary with caring, weary with the fear that she might not be giving enough. Weary with the knowledge that if she failed, someone could die.
“I am many years your senior,” Janet began.
“Not so many as all that,” Chris protested affectionately, giving her lover’s hand a nudge. “And don’t think that if Drew joins us that you’ll be able to skip classes, either.”
“Ah, I am so transparent, I see,” Janet said with a sigh as she took the exit into Center City. “Still, another teacher, especially one with your background, would be very good for the school. For the students.”
It could be easier. They’re not the Corps. Drew was tempted, because teaching was in her blood. It’s not the same life and death situation. Ah, Jesus, who am I trying to kid?
Better than anyone, she knew how much that was a lie. A mugger, a rapist, a brawling drunk—it wasn’t only war that threatened harm. And the students trusted her to teach true and necessary skills, skills that might someday keep them safe. Trust—that was what bound the teacher and the student.
She thought again of the trust she had seen in a pair of calm green eyes and, without questioning why, made her decision. “If you and Sabum Roma will have me, I’d be honored.”
“All right!” Chris Roma, Drew’s contemporary in age but not experience, pumped a fist in victory.
Drew leaned back in the rear seat, relieved by Chris’s enthusiastic reaction. She’d been worried that Chris might not welcome another teacher, especially one who outranked her and one who had a long history with Janet. She didn’t know Chris Roma very well—the woman had been a young white belt when Drew left Philadelphia. She did know the story of Janet and Chris’s relationship, however.
The two of them had met over a decade before at a self-defense course the older woman had taught at the city college. Drew had been there that night herself, as a newly promoted black belt assisting Master Cho. Chris had been taken with the style, but apparently had been taken even more by the chief instructor, and had stayed after every class to talk to Janet. Eventually, Chris and Janet had become romantically involved, and a year later, Chris had expressed a desire to enroll in Janet’s school.
In a rare moment of personal revelation, Janet had confided her uncertainties about that to Drew.
“I am not sure it is a good idea for Chris to train with me.”
“Why not? It’s fairly common for partners to run schools together,” Drew pointed out. “Look at the Cranes. Their Aikido dojo is very well-respected, and they’re husband and wife.”
“Co-teach, yes. But Chris would be my student, not my partner. Not in the dojang. Not now—not ever, really.”
Drew knew that Master Cho was referring to the same kind of hierarchy that separated ranks in the military. Traditional martial arts schools held to the same principles, the theory being that through order and discipline, one learned to temper the emotions and develop the control so essential in battle. The result was that the dojang was not a democracy—the chief instructor’s word was law.
“I’m sure Chris understands that. She’s observed dozens of classes.”
Drew laughed. “She’s seen me do enough push-ups to know that everyone gets disciplined once in a while and that it’s not personal.”
Janet nodded, her expression thoughtful. “She tells me that she will have no problem relating to me as a teacher inside the dojang.”
Drew heard the doubt in Janet’s voice. “I think you should trust her to know her own limits. If it doesn’t work out, you’ll both know it.”
Despite her reservations, Janet had accepted Chris as a student, and due to Chris’s deep respect for her lover’s skill, dedication, and commitment to teaching, they had been successful. Within the walls of the Golden Tiger Kwan, Janet was Chris’s teacher and nothing else.
“Here we are,” Janet announced as she pulled to the curb in front of a neat brownstone row house in a quiet section of the city known as Society Hill. Here were the narrow streets, many still cobblestoned, and historic homes with their carefully preserved facades for which Philadelphia was known.
“We have plenty of room,” Janet commented as they quickly unloaded their gear. “You know you can stay with us as long as you like, Drew.”
“I appreciate it—both of you.” Drew shouldered her duffle and gripped her other bag in one hand. “I’m anxious to get settled into my own place though. I’ll go apartment hunting as soon as I can.”
“Well, for tonight,” Janet replied as she fitted her key to the lock, “let us just enjoy the company of good friends. Yes?”
“Yes,” Chris and Drew answered in unison. Laughing, the three women disappeared inside.
*
Ten miles away, Sean pulled into the long drive that led to her family home in Gladwyne—a stately wooded enclave of old stone mansions that comprised the heart of the Main Line. A hundred years before, the area had been the location of the summer homes of the city’s wealthy. Her parents had divorced when she’d been eight, and her mother had died a decade later. Now, Sean shared the house that had been her childhood home with her twin sister, Susan.
