Page 15 of Marked By His Touch

She’s sparring with a man I don’t recognize, a hulking figure with the stoic features of a seasoned fighter. Their movements are a blur of speed and precision, making my stomach clench. I can hear the thud of their fists and the sharp intake of their breaths that reverberates through the room. The wind whistles through a crack in the window. A faded poster of some forgotten motivational message, clings to the wall, a silent witness to the endless training cycles I assume take place here.

This is everything I hate.Dexter, the Raven, the violence that defines this world. But there’s something else, too. A deep-seated longing stirs within me. Seeing Zara move with such lethal grace makes me crave her strength, her power.

But is it naive?

Each blow lands with a sickening thud, a crackle of energy that makes my stomach churn. I can’t even stomach watching a sparring session. How can I ever imagine myself becoming one of them?

“Zara, stop,” I plead.

She pauses, her eyes meeting mine, there’s a hint of amusement in those green eyes. But she doesn’t stop. Instead, she throws a punch, landing a sharp, resounding crack on the man’s face.

Zara stands over him, her eyes gleaming. “That’s for trying to hold back,” she grunts.

I gasp. The man stumbles back, his hand flying to his cheek, a crimson stain blooming on his face.

“Relax, Ava,” Zara says, her voice as smooth as silk. “It’s just practice.”

“Yeah, I know—” I say, feeling stupid and weak. I glance down at my hands, my fingers slender and delicate, unlike Zara’s powerful grip. The truth slams into me like a wave. I have no strength. No muscles.

She turns, her gaze meeting mine. “Think you can take me, Ava?” Her smile is wry, almost predatory.

“No,” I whisper, my voice small. I can feel my cheeks flush with shame.

She laughs a low, throaty sound. “Smart girl,” she says.

She’s changed since I saw her last; she is leaner and stronger. Her attitude, well—that didn’t change much. She was always fiery, even though I’d only known her for a few hours in that shipping container months ago.

She walks away before I can say more.

The man, still sprawled on the floor, looks at me, a grimace twisting his features.

“Are you okay?”

“Fuck yes,” he grunts, spitting out a mix of blood and something else – is that a tooth? “She’s amazing.”

“She is.” My stomach churns.

I need to learn how to fight. This world isn’t going to wait for me to catch up.

I leave the room, my steps reverberating down the stairs and into the hallway covered by a green carpet. A muted television crackles and laughter spills into the hallway from the end, where the living room is. Katerina stands there; her presence is like a storm cloud in the room as I reach her. Her eyes are sharp, her movements purposeful, like a silent command.

“Ava,” she says, her gaze a piercing laser beam. “Sleep. You need,da?”

“Soon,” I murmur, already feeling the exhaustion pulling at me.

“Now,” she grunts, her voice a low growl, and turns, striding further into the living room.

She stops by a group of women huddled around the television, their eyes glued to a reality show. Some laugh, but the laughter dies instantly, replaced by a hushed silence as Katerina approaches.

“Enough of that,” she says, her voice a sharp, commanding tone. She gestures towards the stack of books on the shelf, their spines worn from years of use. “Read. Learn. Or sleep.Da?”

The women, their faces downcast, obediently disperse. A few of them take a book and find a quiet corner to sit. Some of them go to sleep. Katerina watches them go, her gaze lingering on each one, assessing them.

I watch her. This isn’t a mother’s love. It’s a love born of necessity, a love forged in the fires of a world where survival is a constant struggle. Katerina is a warrior, a protector, and a shield. But she’s also a woman who’s been hardened by the world and has seen the darkness and felt its sting.

She turns her attention to Maya, a flicker of warning in her eyes. “Don’t you dare forget,slatka,” Katerina says, her voice laced with a sharp edge, “that freedom and knowledge is a gift. You fight. You protect it.”

Maya nods, her eyes downcast. Katerina turns, her gaze meeting mine. Her love might be born out of necessity, but I recognize this kind of love. She’s a mother bear, her claws sharp, her heart fierce, always ready to defend her cubs.

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