He was probably mad he wasn’t getting to kill me himself. I was sure he’d love to be the one who exterminated the well-known ward of General Markos.
It was a flicker of time. The lack of oxygen caused a glitch in my brain. Even though I laid on the ground, I felt myself right next to him. His rich smell mixed with sweat and grime, the heat pulsing off his skin.
“Fuck you,” I sneered in his ear. Then in a blink, I was back.
He jolted, his head glancing over his shoulder, then shot back to me in the arena.
His nose flared, his head slanting to the side, his glare narrowing.
“Fuck you back,” his voice scraped the back of my neck, the feel of his lips brushing my ear. “Now fight.”
What the hell?
A charge zapped life into my chest, clearing out the cobwebs, bringing me back to myself as my mind emptied of everything except the sensation of Rodriguez’s grip and the lack of air sputtering in my chest.
“Die, fucking HDF bitch!” Rodriguez tried to push my face into the dirt. “How are you not unconscious yet?”
With more energy than I thought I had, my head slammed back. Crack! The sound of his nose breaking snapped in my ears, his cry as his grip loosened, allowing oxygen to enter my lungs.
Heaving in, I swore I could feel Warwick next to me, yelling at me to move, to get my ass up. Gods, I must have lost a lot of brain cells.
Ramming my elbow into the bull’s stomach, he pitched to the side, grabbing his nose and his middle. Rolling the opposite way, I scrambled back up to my feet, my lungs still working to greedily fill themselves as I backed away from him.
I really didn’t feel any pain, only adrenaline pumping through my veins, all my energy settling down on one emotion.
Anger.
Rodriguez shot for me, and I darted to an overturned box, one side propped up on a stick. Diving for the spike, I yanked it from the ground, my body skidding across the gravel, tearing into my flesh. I rolled back up.
Rodriguez’s head still peered around as if he was searching for me. Hello? Over here! Did he not see me move?
Taking advantage, I leaped back for him. Before he moved, I was able to pierce his shoulder with a sickly crunch with the wood spike. His head reared, and his back arched as a loud moo bellowed from his throat. His body jerked as I yanked the spike back out.
I was not going to lose my weapon to him. Plus, this left him bleeding. Weaker.
He whirled around, nose flaring with wrath, his eyes dark as night, his shoulders expanding.
This was no longer sport. He lowered down, kicking his leg back. Bulls did that when they were about to attack. It was his nature, but his nature was also his weakness.
His reveal. He gave me plenty of warning before he charged for me.
Twisting, I vaulted to the side, spearing him again as I twirled around him, blood spurting out of his side. He roared with pain, twisting back for me. Snorting and pawing the ground, he stormed for me again.
The dance of the bull and matador.
Holding out until the last moment, I leaped to the side, but his arm jutted out, catching me across the neck and slamming me to the ground. Blinking back pain, I managed to spin over, making sure to keep him in my sights. His feet hit the ground as he charged for me, death glaring from his eyes.
I realized it wasn’t just Bakos’s training that had equipped me for this, but Istvan’s as well. He’d obsessively pressed Caden and me to study the history of all regions, plus their customs and civilizations. From Tibetan monks high in the Himalayas to Spanish conquistadors. And traditions like bullfighting.
I remembered reading how matadors waited until the last moment to strike. The beasts, no matter in animal form or human form, had one real way of fighting, their bodies unable to stop and pivot as fast once they got speed.
I stayed on the ground, appearing hurt, watching him come for me, my heart thumping in my ears.
Hold, I ordered myself as Rodriguez sprinted for me, billows of dirt puffing off his boots with every strike to the earth. The instinct to get up and run wailed like a banshee in my chest.
I gritted my teeth.
Hold.
Closer. Closer. His boots quaked the ground under me.