Page 26 of Black Wing and Shadows
“Fucking submit, or I’ll drop my legs and drive this blade into your neck,” I snarled.
Her second dagger clattered to the floor. I pulled my blade away and slid off her back. My right calf screamed from the fight alone, but the left poured blood, warm and fast. She hadn’t struck deep muscle, thank the gods, but the pain ripped through me sharp enough to twist my gut. Nausea surged. Old wounds, new ones, all burning together—if I didn’t choke it down, I’d paint the mat with vomit on top of blood.
I tore a strip from my sleeve and bound the calf tight, pulling until the flow slowed. My opponent stepped over and offered her hand. I grippedit, hauled myself up, and we shook. If you walked away with a nonlethal stab, the Healers could patch you up. I’d already spent days in their care—I wasn’t going back. My arm was cut too, shallow but bleeding. It had already started to clot. I’d be fine. These scars would stay. I’d wear them like medals.
The rest of our squad wasn’t called. Some of them had been called the day prior, and we still had three more days of sparring. Everyone had to be called at least once and ideally win at least once. Hopefully, my winning would allow me to continue recovering. The Riders’ branch would be another brutal journey in a completely different way. I had some upperclassmen friends that I was so very eager to see and hug.
After afternoon sparring, we went to the dining facility. Thankfully, we stopped doing evening formations after the pass. Once sparring was over, we were dismissed for the day to eat and relax around the campus.
After I finished my meal, I headed back to our barracks because I was in desperate need of a shower. While climbing the stairs, I was pulled into the third-floor wing. For a moment, I was startled, but then I knew it was him. As soon as his hand wrapped around my arm, I felt a shock pass between us.
“Are you okay?” he said, his jaw tight and his words clipped.
“Um… Yeah, I am standing in front of you.”
He let out a low growl. “With quite a bit of blood all over.”
“Some of it is mine, and some of it was my opponent.” I gave him a little smile.
“I felt your pain course through me…”
“You did?” I tilted my head slightly, raising my eyebrows at him.
“You’re my twin flame, remember... When you have overwhelming emotions, I feel them. I don’t fully understand how it all works. I sensed you on the pass. I sensed you today. I was on watch duty, or I would have come after you sooner.”
“I prefer the term Anam Cara, mate.” Giving him a wink, like he had done to me.
“Deal, Mate.” His smile melted me, sexy and disarming in the same breath. He caught the back of my arms and drew me closer. Pain flared, sharp enough to make me suck my teeth and wince, but I let him pull me in.
He released me quick, eyes narrowing as he caught it. His hand slid to my right arm, gentle now, checking the damage.
“They got you right below your wound, smart move, but also what an asshole.”
“I got her back,” I blurted out. He leaned down and kissed my fresh wound.
“Where else did she get you?” he asked, looking at me.
“My left fucking calf, so now both calves are aching, little bitches.”
He let out a small laugh. “What a dirty little mouth you have.” He squatted down, pulled my left pant leg up to inspect it. “It looks nasty, but nowhere near as bad as that right was.” Then he placed another kiss there.
“It’ll buff,” I shrugged.
He stood up, placed his hands on my hips, and pulled me in. He pressed his lips to my forehead, giving me a long, delicate kiss. Then he lifted my chin and gently pressed his lips to mine. Instead of a frantic kiss, it was a slow, intimate one. He stepped back and looked at me all over again.
“I may not be able to see you again. Cadets will be returning soon, and it will be chaotic for a bit. Please make it through the Riders’ Judgment, I don’t want to regret not taking you to my room sooner.”
“I need to shower and tend to these wounds.” I rose onto my toes, ignoring my burning calves, and kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
Once I got in the shower, I assessed my cuts and the healing of my wounds. My new cuts weren’t as bad as my previous wounds, which was good, but they were going to feel worse the next day. I cleaned them, applied ointment, and rewrapped them all. I headed back to the barracks and relaxed in my bunk. Throughout the evening, fellow cadets came and went. I drifted off into sleep.
***
The rest of the week proceeded smoothly. Our spirited squad performed exceptionally well, with only three members submitting to the formidable opponent. However, they were summoned to face another challenging adversary and managed to redeem themselves. By the end of the week, nearly every member of our platoon bore some form of bandages, proudly displaying our battle scars.
The week blurred as we processed through the stark barracks. We turned in worn uniforms and issued gear, trading the old for the new. As a platoon, we wrestled with the mess of crammed bodies in one room, the constant fight to keep it clean, but we managed.
There was no graduation. Instead, we reported straight to our branches to begin the real path. Each had its own way of breaking in first-years. Witches clashed in duels of magic, sparks and curses flying until only one stood. Infantry crossed steel in brutal sword matches. Shapeshifters raced across the college grounds to determine their speed. Healers bent over fake triage, forced to prove who could save the most in chaos. Drusearons stepped off ledges into free fall, testing whether instinct or terror would win. Historians locked horns in word battles, knowledge thrown like blades. And Riders—Riders faced Judgment Day.
