Night In A Waste Land (Hell Theory #2) - Lauren Gilley Page 0,2
showed off her lean musculature. She was poised lightly, ready for another attack; one cadet helped another over against the wall, and no one looked ready to have another go at her.
When Lance entered, she blew a strand of hair out of her face and straightened. Shoulders back, feet squared, chin lifted in challenge. Her eyes sparked, glittering with grief masked as defiance.
He wondered, briefly, what she’d been like before Becket was taken. If there had ever been anything soft about her.
“Rose,” he greeted. “How are you?”
She swallowed, the movement of her throat betraying her nerves. But when she spoke, her voice was steady. “Disappointed in your cadets.”
He felt a grin threaten. “You and me both. It’s hard to find good soldiers these days.”
She shifted her stance, ready again. “Maybe you’re not looking in the right places.”
He unzipped his jacket, and shrugged it off; passed it to the nearest cadet.
“Sir?” he asked. “She’s nuts.”
“She’s good,” Lance corrected. He tucked his dog tags down inside his shirt, and stepped onto the mat. “Watch and learn something.”
Rose’s gaze narrowed, and one corner of her mouth flicked up a second: she was pleased. She wanted a good match, and had been denied one, if the way the cadets stood now on the sidelines, nursing bruises and glaring at her was any indication. One of the girls had an eye swollen shut that was going to turn into a wicked shiner.
Lance shook out his arms, rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck – and launched his first strike without warning. It was a move he’d used in every cadet training match, and which usually garnered him a few good hits, if not an outright pin.
But Rose was ready for him. She dodged, and ducked under his guard right away; caught him the throat with a sharp jab from the heel of her hand.
Lanced choked – but he was well-trained and practiced enough to push past it, reaching for her even as his lungs emptied and his eyes watered.
She wriggled away, though, slick as an eel, and squared off from him again, her slight smile tight now with satisfaction.
The cadets around them murmured and exclaimed. Someone hissed an insult.
Lance took a deep breath and moved in again, more careful this time.
She was strong – but it wasn’t a brute strength. She couldn’t have bested him at arm wrestling or weight lifting, but she’d been taught well – taught to fight in a way that made the best use of her own unique talents. She was quick, and slippery; could twist out of every grip he tried to apply; could dodge; could chop at his ribs, or the side of his neck; kicked his shins and knees. Flexible enough to bend back at the waist and evade him when he grabbed for her; athletic enough to kick up to her feet from flat on the floor.
But everyone had weak points. And Lance had the stamina to keep going, matching her with blocks, noting the way she reacted; learning her patterns, her feints. Her weak points.
She stepped back from his next strike, whirled into a pirouette, spinning around to kick at his chest–
And he caught her ankle.
He saw her eyes widen, saw her lips part in shock. Then he yanked her off her feet.
She didn’t go down easy – thrashed, and resisted, and elbowed him in the ribs, just like she had the night she lost Becket, hissing and cursing and clawing at him.
But he had her. Caged her in with his arms and bore her down to the mat; pressed her to it face-down, an arm twisted behind her back, his legs pinning hers, his free hand pressed between her shoulder blades.
She was breathing hard; he could feel the heat coming off her body, smell the sharpness of sweat. He could feel the way she trembled, too. She was furious with him.
“Yield,” he said, almost gently.
She bared her teeth like a snarling animal.
“Yield, Rose, or I won’t let you up.”
She panted a moment, body tight, resistant. And then she sagged on a deep exhale. “I yield.”
He released her, and stood, and offered a hand down to help her up, convinced she wouldn’t take it.
The room was silent around them, the tension of their audience palpable. Rose rolled over, sitting with knees drawn up, still out of breath. She smoothed a stray piece of hair from her forehead, and stared at his hand a long moment, expression guarded, impossible to interpret.