Page 20

Our swords clang together. I thrust mine down and around, twirling out of the way and readying for another attack, which Carver delivers with brutal efficiency. There’s no time for me to even think; all I can do is let muscle memory avoid every thrust I can through parrying or ducking out of the way.

Only, the more I fend him off, the faster his strikes come. Every time I think I have a handle on him, he attacks even more viciously, with speed and strength that I’ve never encountered. The might of a warrior.

My chest heaves as I struggle to catch my breath. This man is a force. Our swords slam together. The reverberation rattles down my arms, and my shoulders ache in furious protest. He presses me back.

Shit, I’m going to lose. I grit my teeth, scowling at him. “Is that all you got, pretty boy?”

“I’m not a boy, I’m twenty-six. You should remember that.”

“Is that supposed to intimidate me?”

“Careful, Raina.”

“Or what?”

He pushes off my sword, sending me stumbling back. I barely catch my footing before he’s on me again, forcing me to stay on the defensive. Frustration sizzles inside of me. I haven’t been this outmatched in a long time. That mild annoyance sparks, lighting a fire that blasts through me until rage consumes me, my skin hot and tight. My breaths tremble in my lungs. Angry and short.

{Fight,} the voice hisses.

(I’m fucking trying, here!} I scream back in my mind.

Carver’s too fast, and my form is sloppy as I struggle to keep pace. I’ve never felt so out of control. He slams his sword into mine again, and I nearly buckle. He’s laser focused, a hunter ready for the kill.

I hate this. I hate being weak. Weapons work is the only thing I’ve ever been good at, or at least I thought I was good at it, but Carver’s made it more than clear I’m rubbish.

With a flick of his wrist, he disarms me. My sword flies through the air, and suddenly the tip of his blade is at my throat and his hand grips my shirt. “Once again, you lose.”

I. hate. him.

That sensation barrels into me. Beating against me like a heavy rain, pounding against my skin. Drenching my soul. Drowning me until it’s the only emotion left. No happiness. No sadness. No peace. Only pure, white-hot rage.

{Resist.}

The voice is lost in the haze of my anger, but as suddenly as it slammed into me, that all-consuming feeling is wrenched away, replaced with bone-deep sadness. Grief hollows me out. The loss of my parents and then my sister being taken away. Fear that I’ll never find her or know what really happened. That my brain is my own worst enemy.

My brow furrows, and I glance at Carver, who is staring at me so intently the breath is knocked out of my lungs. Him. He’s perfect. In every way. Goddess above, he’s so handsome. Strong. I’d crawl for him. My legs weaken, and he releases his hold on my shirt. My knees hit the padded floor. Carver keeps the sword pointed at me and slowly steps back until there are several feet between us.

{{Come.}} A deep, strong voice strokes through my mind, different from the one that’s lived inside my head for as long as I can remember.

It’s no secret I have a problem with authority and being told what to do, but at that command, I’ve never wanted to do anything more in my life than obey. My palms press into the mat, and I crawl toward Carver on hands and knees, seeking his approval. He’s the world. Everything. I should bow before him.

Carver watches me with parted lips, chest still heaving from the fight. I make my way toward him, desperately hoping I’ve pleased him, and stop when I’m at his feet.

The flat part of the sword presses to the underside of my chin, and he uses it to tip my head back. {{Good girl.}} The words caress my spine, and then with a blink, all those thoughts evaporate, gone like a whisper.

My eyebrows knit together. What am I doing? The flat of the sword is still holding my chin, and Carver smirks as I slowly realize with growing horror that he completely and totally ravaged my mind. “What the fuck, asshole?”

Mindcraft is a vile affinity.

He pats my cheek with the blade before lowering it. “You wanted to spar, didn’t you?”

“With the swords,” I growl, climbing to my feet and closing the distance between us until we’re almost brushing chests. “You cheated.”

His scoff brushes against my skin. “Do you think the demons will hold back? Do you think other students will?”

Frowning, I clench my fists, holding on to my indignation. That’s different. He made me crawl to him.

“Answer me.” His command slides through my mind. {{Answer.}}