Dirty Blood

by Heather Hildenbrand

 

  “No, don’t point your toes, unless you want them broken. Keep your foot flat, leg straight. That’s it,” said Jack.

  I breathed in, making sure to balance myself correctly, and then kicked hard against the pad in Jack’s hand. His wrist barely budged from the hit, though I felt the vibrating impact all the way to my knee.

  “Better,” he said.

  I blew out a breath. “Whatever,” I grumbled. I was frustrated at my lack of progress.

  Jack either didn’t hear or, most likely, pretended not to. “Again.”

  My brow lifted. “Seriously?”

  “Again,” Jack repeated.

  “Jack, I’m done. I’m out of breath and energy and our time’s up.”

  Jack didn’t bother checking his watch. “We’ve got five more minutes. And I’m in charge, not you. So I say when you’re done. Besides, do you think your enemy is just going to stop attacking to let you catch your breath? Push through. Again.”

  I glared at him but fell into a fighter’s stance. I balanced and then kicked out, almost missing the pad altogether.

  Jack gave me a scolding look. “You know, tomorrow I’m going to start fighting back. This is the easy part,” he said, his voice gruff.

  I opened my mouth to argue but he cut me off. Before I could react, his padded hand came up and whacked me across my cheek. My head jerked to the side and I froze in surprise. I turned back to him, glaring. “What the hell was that for?”

  He grinned. “Motivation. Again.”

  With renewed energy, I kicked out and made contact, pleased to see that I drove him back a step this time. Okay, it was more like a quarter-step, but I’d take what I could get. Jack was like a wall. I kicked again, and again, each time with the same angry, determined energy.

  After the fourth kick in a row—just as I was getting into the rhythm of my movements—Jack straightened and dropped the pads. “Good, okay, that’s it for today.”

  I stared at him. “What? But I was on a roll.”

  “Time’s up, like you said,” he pointed out.

  I put my hands on my hips. “So what? Let’s keep going. I’m feeling better now.”

  “No.”

  “No?” I repeated.

  He stepped over and leaned down until he was in my face, all traces of smiles and teasing gone. “You need to learn to fight just as good when you’re not mad.” Then he spun and headed for the house.

  I watched him go, too dumbfounded by his response to argue further. The back door swung shut behind him and I wiped at the sweat on my forehead with the back of my hand. My arm muscle protested against the movement; everything felt like Jell-O. Then again, that was becoming routine for my body. I’d been training with Jack for four days and my body hadn’t made the adjustment yet. I was sore and stiff and because of that, I was afraid I’d be useless in an actual fight, if it came to that right now. Which was probably part of the reason I was so easily pissed off at Jack’s teaching methods and my own lack of progress.

  I collected the pads from where Jack had thrown them onto the grass, and returned them to the container marked “Padding.” Jack had a room full of similar containers, all marked with different labels. I’d noticed the ones labeled “Weapons” the previous day when he’d asked me to retrieve this one. I was impatient to get to that one but Jack kept putting me off. So far, we were focusing only on hand-to-hand combat. Jack insisted this was more important; a weapon wasn’t always guaranteed.

  “He’s tough but he’s good,” said a voice behind me.

  I spun around. A tall man with dark hair stood leaning against a nearby tree. He looked familiar but I tensed, anyway.

  “Sorry if I startled you. Miles Ducati. We met at the meeting last week.”

  “Oh, right. I thought you were going out of town or something.”

  “I did. I’m back. Just waiting for Jack to finish so we can talk business.”

  “Oh.” I didn’t really know what else to say. Something about this Miles guy put me on edge, like I could never tell if he was messing with me or being serious. I wandered over to where I’d set my water bottle and took a swig to fill the silence. I could feel Miles’s eyes on me and it was a weird feeling. If he’d been ten years younger, I would’ve said he was checking me out; maybe he was. But there was something else behind his smile, something calculating. I started gathering up my things, expecting him to say something else but he didn’t. “Well, I better get inside. Nice seeing you again,” I called.

  “And you,” he said as I walked away.

  I found Jack waiting for me at the back door, a grin tickling the edges of his mouth. “Still mad?”

  My earlier aggravation with him returned, though not quite as strong. “No,” I lied.

  He laughed good-naturedly, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “Same time tomorrow?” he asked, completely transitioning out of his trainer role and back to friend.

  “Yeah, same time,” I muttered.

  “Tell Wes to get you a heating pad for your shoulders,” said Jack.

  “What makes you think I need a heating pad?”

  Jack laughed. “Because you’re walking like you’ve got wooden limbs. Alternating hot and cold will help loosen your muscles before we start combat training.”

  “I’ll tell him,” I said, though I wasn’t sure if I would. Things had been awkward between Wes and me the past few days. And even though he was still driving me to school in the mornings, picking me up every afternoon, we hadn’t said much, and I wasn’t even sure how to fix it. It made it almost worse that Wes acted like nothing had happened. His responses were all friendly and cool; there was a distance to him that I couldn’t push through and couldn’t figure out.

  I finished helping Jack put away the box of training gear and then left him sorting through containers in his study-turned-stock room. I found Wes in the living room, locked in concentration and staring at a chessboard sitting between him and Fee. She looked much more relaxed than he did, and had a smug smile on her face to prove it.

  “I’m telling you, it’s checkmate,” she said, cheerfully.

  “It’s not. It can’t be. Give me another minute,” he grumbled.

  She laughed. “Take all the time you need but it won’t do you any good. Your only hope against me is a full moon.”

  He glared at her and then caught sight of me in the doorway, his face going carefully blank. Fee turned and smiled. “Tara, how’s training going?”

  “Fine, I guess.” I shrugged and instantly regretted the movement.

  “She’s doing great,” said Jack, coming up behind me and laying a hand on my shoulder.

  “He uses that word loosely, I think,” I said, trying not to make a face at the soreness the weight of his hand triggered. “Then again, we haven’t tried to kill each other yet.”

  Fee laughed. “Well, that is something.”

  “You’re too hard on yourself,” said Jack, settling into his usual chair and propping his feet on the coffee table. “You’re two weeks old at something most Hunters would have been learning when they were babies.”

  Fee nodded. “Jack’s right. You have to remember how new you are at this.”

  “Great, so I’m like the slow kid, the one who got held back in kindergarten,” I muttered. I eyed the couch, torn between wanting to get off my feet and not sure if I could get back up again without help. I leaned harder on the doorway instead.

  “I think you’re doing a little better than that,” Fee said.

  At my sarcasm, Wes’s lips inched up at the corners, giving off a ghost of a smile, and despite my body’s exhaustion, my stomach fluttered. I pushed it away, refusing to notice. The past few days with Wes had been beyond frustrating. It had started the first day of my training with Jack. He’d been quiet and distant and closed off, and I’d yet to come up with a good theory as to why. Every time I asked him about it—or anything else—his answer was the same. “Cause business.”


  I’d even tried bringing up the kiss we’d shared when I’d been doped up on morphine, figuring it would at least throw him off enough to give a real reaction. And for a split second, his eyes had sparkled in amusement, and the wall had come down. Then, just as quickly, it returned, and his expression went carefully blank, and he made up some excuse to leave or make a phone call. A part of me wanted to just let it go and give up on whatever had been beginning between us; but the part that still fluttered when he smiled knew it was impossible to even try.

  “You ready?” Wes asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “See you tomorrow, Tara,” Jack called.

  “Can’t wait,” I mumbled.

  The last thing I heard before I closed the door was Jack’s booming laughter.

  ~ 21 ~