Of course, he was still a Master vampire, and the strike still hurt. Had I been closer to him, he'd have broken bone. I wondered if the sound was distracting to him, too. A second later, he was in my head.
You cannot rely only on sound, he said. You must quiet the noise, be able to feel an enemy beside you, be able to fight even in utter darkness. How am I supposed to learn that? I asked back, shifting my weight from front to back as I waited for him to strike again. You are a nocturnal predator, he said. You don't need to learn how. You just need to learn to trust yourself. I was on my way there, I hoped.
I took a moment and closed my eyes. Technically, that was pointless, given the depth of the darkness in the room, but it helped psychologically, like I was actively working to shut out the din. My eyes closed, I focused on the noise and worked to build up my mental blockade. But I didn't have time to get it done.
He was on me again. This time, he punched forward not to injure me, but to taunt. His fist hit my left shoulder, but before I could throw him off, he was gone. Then his heel hit my back—not with enough force to knock me down, but with enough force to push me. I stumbled forward, arms waving as I tried not to trip over my own feet.
Thank God the lights were off. The Master vampire taunting the Novitiate would have been a pretty comical sight. You're not concentrating, he silently said, his voice ringing over the clamor of honking trucks.
My skin was beginning to itch with irritation. It was loud, and it was dark, and I was being pushed and prodded by a Master vampire who relied on action flicks to teach me how to fight.
I'm doing the best I can, I assured him.
He kicked again, the back of his foot hitting my side. I parried my forearm against his leg, but he was gone and away without effective contact. I'd forgotten about his speed . . . the fact that he could move with supernatural efficiency. I was fast at the Katas, of course, but those were practiced moves. As we obviously knew, sparring was an altogether different kind of animal.
I've seen you do better, he answered.
A tingle of magic lifted in the air, maybe related to the teasing cant of his words. I felt that tingle—like a breeze in the air—across my face. He was standing in front of me.
It took me a second to realize what I'd done—that I'd determined where he was standing with neither hearing nor sight . . . but with magic. Might as well take advantage.
I punched out, but he blocked me with his forearm. Before I could protest, he turned, and his back was to mine and his hand was on my arm and he was using his leverage to throw me to the ground.
And there I was, flat on my back again.
The fall hadn't been especially hard, but it was hard enough to take the wind out of me. When I could breathe again, I barked out a curse. You're hardly trying, was his response. This time, there was venom in his voice.
I picked myself up off the ground. I don't know what you want me to do.
Then he was in front of me again. I struck out, but he grabbed my arm again and yanked me closer.
Fight, goddamnit. Too pissed off to consider the possibility that he'd baited me, I did just that. I rotated my wrists to grab his hand, then pushed his arm up at the elbow. I twisted, and then used my body weight to push him off balance and throw him down. I finished the move on his side on one knee. Better, he said, flat on the ground, but there wasn't much time for celebration. Before I had a chance to react, he was up again, and he'd pulled me around and down on my back.
And then he was back in his favorite position—spreadeagle on top of me, his hands pinning my wrists to the floor. I rolled my eyes in the darkness.
Ready to tap out? he asked.
I ignored the perk of physical interest and answered with action, lifting my left leg in a scissor kick and using inertia to reverse our positions. I managed to get on top of him, but I didn't stay there for long. He rolled me over again, and then I rolled him over again, and there we were, two vampires, rolling around on the floor like children. I was again glad the lights were out and we were out of view of the rest of the House. (Or so I assumed. Were they better than I at seeing in the dark? If not, they were getting a pretty crappy show.)
I finally managed to throw him off, then scrambled to my feet and felt the slight vibration in the mats as he bounced back onto his. We circled each other for a moment, but when I raised a hand to block a shot I was sure was headed toward my face, he grabbed my wrist, then yanked me toward him until my body was snug against the long line of his.
My heart tripped.
We stood there in darkness, my mind absorbed by the feel of one of his hands around my wrist, the other pressed to the small of my back. Ethan was tall enough that the top of my head just reached his chin. I kept my gaze level with his collarbone—afraid that if I looked up, he'd use the move as an excuse to look down. Our lips would align, and that would be the end of me.
Slowly—treacherously slowly—he lowered his head, his lips against my hair. Goose bumps rose on my arms; my eyes drifted closed; my skin tingled with an intoxicating combination of lust and power. We were leaking magic again, the sharp, bright prickle of it filling the space Ethan and I occupied. That was when my eyes flashed open, as I realized what he'd been trying to teach me.
He let me loose my hands, and I pressed one palm against his chest to push him back a few steps. He moved willingly and gave me space to learn. I couldn't see in the dark, and I certainly couldn't hear with the din of noise around us . . . but just as I'd done a moment ago, I could sense the magic in the air. That punch hadn't been a fluke. Detecting magic was a different kind of sight, but it was a kind of sight just the same. There, in the dark, a few steps in front of him, I lifted a hand and trailed my fingers over the electric currents around us, feeling the bumps and ridges of magic as it leaked from our bodies. I could sense the knotted mix of our magic in the space between us, and the slow fade of sensation the farther I drew my fingers away.
I let my fingers rise and fall as the pressure shifted, not unlike sticking a hand outside a moving car's window. Most important, the current shifted as he moved, creating a breezy tingle beneath my fingers. I felt him move to my right, body straight as he faced me and then aimed a roundhouse kick at my face.
It was his favorite move, and he'd signaled it perfectly.
I dropped low, and as he came around I offered up my own roundhouse, a low kick that brought his other leg out from beneath him. He hit the ground.
As if by his silent command, the music went off, and the lights came on. I blinked into the sudden vacuum of noise and the brightness of the overhead lights. The room, the audience, was completely silent, probably absorbed by the sight of the Sentinel on her feet—and their Master on the ground. I wouldn't call it a victory. After all, I only really tripped him.
But that was something. It wasn't everything, but it was a step forward.