Rogue. Rachel Vincent

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ if in nothing else.

      “—however, his interruption is typical of the kinds of distractions you’ll face in a real fight.” My father adjusted his silver wire-rimmed glasses and stared hard at me through the lenses. A lecture was coming. I could feel it. “You can hardly expect a confused, out-of-control werecat to oblige you with silence just so you can concentrate on putting him out of his misery, can you?”

      I frowned, unhappy to hear that we’d dropped any pretense of these lessons being about self-defense. I was hired muscle for now, whether I liked it or not. Sighing, I repositioned the wide shoulder straps of a black sports bra I no longer completely filled out. “No, but—”

      He held up one thick, worn hand to silence me. “You have to practice as if every fight is real, as if the danger is not only to you, but to those under your protection. You owe it to the rest of the Pride to give everything you have. All the time. You can’t win a real fight if you’re easily distracted.”

      Grinding my teeth together, I fought the urge to remind my father that I’d been out in the real world, that for the past three months, I’d been chasing down interlopers, handdelivering warnings, and patrolling the territory boundaries. I’d been supervised, of course, but not two days earlier, I’d apprehended Dan Painter on my own. I wanted to say that and more, but I didn’t, because I knew how he’d answer. He’d ask why, if I was capable of more, was I not showing it now. I didn’t have an answer for him. So I kept my mouth shut.

      That was one lesson I’d learned well over the summer. And since it was apparently the only thing I’d learned, I nodded curtly, sending my ponytail into a harsh bob behind me.

      “Try it again.” With that, my father backed into a dark corner of the basement, his clothes fading into the shadows as the darkness seemed to consume him, but for the shine in his bright green eyes.

      I took a deep, calming breath, ready for round four. Or was it round five? I couldn’t remember, but it didn’t matter, because Ethan was already coming at me again.

      This time I was prepared.

      I squatted, feet and knees spread, so that my center of balance was closer to the ground and my stance more stable. Ethan loped toward me, impossibly nimble. He lunged the last few feet. I bounded to my left and out of his path. He skidded past me. I whirled around to keep him in sight.

      Ethan spun in midstep, showing off a lithe feline grace and flexibility. He landed on his knees facing me. His hand shot toward my leg. I darted out of reach and kicked out with my right foot. My sneaker connected with his jaw. His head snapped back.

      He growled as I backpedaled, and both his depth and volume put Ryan’s puny attempt to shame.

      Ethan rubbed his jaw. I smiled sweetly. Fresh sweat glistened on his back in the light of the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. He dropped to all fours, fingers splayed on the mat. His back arched. My smile vanished. He was going to pounce.

      I barely saw him move. Beads of perspiration hit the mat. Ethan’s sweatpants were a black blur as he flew toward me. I dropped to the pad, rolling onto my back. I tucked my elbows in at my sides and pressed my knees into my chest. Feet flexed, I pointed the soles of my shoes at the ceiling. Ethan landed exactly where he’d aimed: on me. His weight crushed my legs into my torso. Air burst from my lungs. Fingers scrambled for a handful of my hair. Grunting, I shoved my legs away from my body.

      Ethan flew backward across the basement, still several feet off the floor when he passed the edge of the mat. He twisted in midair, like a house cat falling from a fence post. His scuffed sneakers hit the ground. His hands followed almost instantly. Ethan hissed in pain as his momentum drove him forward, skinning his palms on the rough concrete. He jumped gracefully to his feet, his back to me, shoulders hunched. When he turned to face me he was smiling.

      “Damn, Faythe!” he cried, rubbing two angry red shoeprints on his bare chest. “Where’d you learn that?”

      Standing, I opened my mouth to answer, but my first syllable ended in a string of vowels as something crashed into my left shoulder, driving me to the mat. I landed on my right side, pinned by something hard and heavy. Air whooshed from my lungs for the second time in as many minutes. With the first of my recovered breaths, I took in the scent of my new attacker, even as I recognized his laugh.

      My temper flared. I hadn’t even heard him come downstairs. Why couldn’t our basement steps creak like everyone else’s? Stupid high-quality construction. That’s what comes of being born to an architect.

      “Get—” I paused, shoving at the form draped over me as I twisted onto my back “—off. Get the hell off me.”

      Marc smiled down at me, propping himself up on his palms as his knees moved to straddle my hips. “Give me one good reason.”

      Frowning, I stopped struggling to glare up at him. “What I’ll give you is five seconds to get up before I end what little possibility you have of ever siring children—with me or anyone else.”

      Instead of heeding my threat, he laughed again and leaned down to steal a kiss. I hissed and lunged off the floor with an ugly grunt of effort, my palms shoving on the front of his dark T-shirt. I didn’t make it to my feet—in fact, I barely moved Marc at all—but anger must have been obvious in my eyes, because my father cleared his throat, and we both stopped to look up at him. “Marc, get up.”

      My mouth opened in surprise and my hands fell to rest on my stomach. The Alpha was backing me up? Instead of Marc? Were the roads of hell slick with ice? Had pigs taken to the skies? I smiled at my father, pleased by his support, even though I didn’t need it. I could throw Marc off on my own. I’d certainly done it before.

      But then my father had to go and ruin what might have been an unprecedented father-daughter bonding moment. He met Marc’s eyes, a smile claiming the lightly wrinkled corners of his mouth. “I want grandchildren.”

      Of course. I rolled my eyes in frustration. Just because I’d lost sight of the big picture didn’t mean he had. Or that he ever would.

      Marc took one look at the exasperation on my face and slid onto the mat on my right side, between me and my father. The gesture, though clearly unconscious, was more than appropriate. Marc was always coming between us, though it was hard to tell which of us he was trying to protect.

      “Grandchildren, huh?” I said, sitting up in a single jerky motion. My father’s joke wasn’t funny, because it wasn’t really a joke. It was yet another reminder that no matter how good an enforcer I became, I couldn’t escape my primary duty, and no amount of sugarcoating could make that pill go down easily.

      I gained my feet, and Marc took a step back. Ethan’s smile vanished, his hands dropping to hang loose at his sides. On my left, Ryan’s shoes shuffled away from me on the floor of his cell, and I could almost feel the tension in the room spike. They thought I was going to start yelling; I could see it in their faces.

      I met my father’s eyes and forced a laugh. “You don’t even know what to do with Ryan. What on earth would you do with a bunch of grandchildren running underfoot?”

      Our Alpha smiled, and Marc exhaled in relief. He was a big fan of my new effort to be agreeable, because as my father’s right-hand man and my potential other half, he was usually caught in the middle of our fights and forced into the role of moderator. And Marc was a rotten moderator, which was just as well. Alphas typically got their own way, and thus had little need for lessons in compromise.

СКАЧАТЬ