Sloan rolled over, her arm falling on the pillow beside her. She rubbed her tired eyes, and instantly remembered her injury. The pain helped her wake up. Jared was already gone. He was always awake first, always the first one prepared.
It had been three days since the morning of Tandy’s death, since she had broken Paul’s shoulder. She rolled out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Brushing her teeth, she admired Paul’s handiwork. She looked awful. The Infirmary could take care of the injury but it was an unspoken rule that you wore your bruises with pride.
She thought back to the last time she had donned such a bruise—her fight with Joshua Bleak. It had taken six months of intensive training before Sloan had felt ready to challenge him again, and her body during that time had been a giant walking bruise. Yet, it had been worth it, just for the moment when she had shoved him, publically challenging him to give it his best shot. And he had. He had broken two of her fingers, sprained her ankle and torn muscles throughout her body.
But she had won.
Because for all the pain he had once again put her through—she had put him in the Infirmary with three broken bones and a concussion. Jared had asked her what she had been thinking by challenging Bleak again. “I’m letting them all know they can’t hurt us.”
He had kissed her bruises, had beamed with pride. “That’s why you’re my girl.”
Sloan washed her face softly, thinking about what she would say to Paul. He had been in the Infirmary since their fight, but she knew he would be at the table this morning. Ultimately, she decided she wasn’t going to apologize, whether she had lost her temper or not. She would try to use their altercation as a way to motivate him and the rest of 27.
Sloan walked to the pod and waited for the doors to open. She would tell him that he did a good job of finally defending himself. The doors opened and revealed three young girls sitting on the white seat. She stepped inside and, promptly, the girls stood and saluted. When she sat, they sat.
“Morning, girls.” She watched as they eyed her face, fearful and speculative.
The small brunette leaned past her friends to see Sloan better. “You’re Jared Dawson’s girlfriend, right?”
“I’m Lieutenant Radcliffe,” she answered sternly. In Sloan’s world, she had only ever wanted one thing—Jared. To be with the best, you had to be the best. So she became that. But somewhere along the way her natural abilities and excessive training had made her more than “Jared Dawson’s girlfriend”—they had made her elite, they had made her the pinnacle of Academy excellence. They made me what I am.
She studied the girl’s reprimanded demeanor and felt a touch of compassion. She could remember being that age, when all that mattered was the want to fall in love with the boy who had a perfect smile. When nothing that really mattered seemed to matter at all.
She offered the girl a small smile. “Yes, I am betrothed to Captain Dawson.”
The girl beamed back. “You are so lucky.”
The redheaded girl beside her nodded, leaning into her friend. “He’s so perfect . . . him and your captain, Jenna.”
“Who’s that? Brett Crews-Tyler?” Sloan guessed, pulled into their girlish chitchat. Brett was a friend of Jared’s and it was common knowledge that he was handsome.
“No—I mean yeah, him too—but we’re talking about Captain Daniels.” The girl smiled.
Elijah.
Sloan practically fell out of her seat—she hadn’t heard his name since the fight and she had been trying to keep it that way.
But why wouldn’t they think that? she thought. He is handsome. Not like Jared, but still, definitely handsome.
Shaking the thought from her head, Sloan stood, knowing they neared the dining hall. “Well, ladies, hopefully you’ll get betrothed to one who can fight. It’s not all looks . . .”
The young cadet—Jenna—stood excitedly. “He can fight! He’s my captain and he never loses.”
Well, tell that to Jared—reigning Academy champion. . .
She smiled at the girl. It was normal to idolize your captain, the way 27 did with Jared. Let them have their heroes . . . their crushes. Sloan didn’t think she had ever idolized Jared, though. She hadn’t formed some childhood crush on him; they hadn’t had a trivial exchange of uncertain feelings. She had, for as long as she could remember, a definitive understanding—an unwavering certainty—that Jared was the one true love of her life. More than body connected them, more than just shared thoughts or attraction. He breathed and air filled her lungs.
The pod came to a slow stop. “Well, I hope you girls find a great match when your Calling comes around.” The doors opened and she let them rush past her into the dining hall. She watched them rush past Table 82, where Elijah Daniels sat eating breakfast. She quickly diverted her eyes up to the clock—7 a.m. on the dot. She took a deep breath and made her way to the food-processing row, where she grabbed a tray and took her place in line.
She eyed her fingers, deciding which to touch to the machine. The chrome box at the front of the meal line was a blood processor. Each morning you would offer your finger for a prick of blood. The results were rapidly processed and informed the kitchen of your vitamin and nutritional requirements, and based off that, they provided a standard meal to balance your diet.
She opted for the left middle and winced at the familiar pinch. The machine freed her hand and she waited for her results to process. She watched the head cook, John, review her printed docket.
“Low in iron, Lieutenant Radcliffe,” he called to her. She shrugged indifferently as he ripped aluminum foil off a plate of food. He placed it on her tray, the docket on the side.
She moved down the line but halted as the boy before her stood, staring at her face. “That looks awful.”
“Want one to match?” Her threat hurried him off. She sighed, shaking her shoulders loose. She grabbed her coffee and took a deep breath. She needed to stay calm before joining the table. She glanced down at her tray, scanning the docket. It described her through a list of attributes—Height: 5’9”; Weight: 56 kg; a series of facts, nutritional information, dietary notes . . .
Everything I am can be summed up in this docket.
She balanced her tray on one hand and crumpled up the docket, making her way to 27. Paul was back, as she expected, his arm in a sling.
Sloan took her seat opposite Jared. He looked up at her and winked, drawing out a quick smile from her.
“Morning, everyone,” she ventured. Sloan did not pull off friendly very well, but they were her friends. They were the people she had been closest to her whole life.
“Morning.” A communal grumble.
Paul was silent. Sloan cut up her food, eyeing him up. His face was bruised but not as badly as her own. The sling was what really revealed the fact that he had taken a beating.
She took a deep breath—here goes nothing.
“Paul, I just wanted to say I am proud of you for the other day.” Everyone stopped, silenced. Erica dropped her fork.
Paul stared at her warily.
“I’m being serious. I know our fight escalated, but you finally defended yourself, so . . . well done.”
I can’t chew on the left side of my mouth because you bruised me so badly but sure, well done.
Everyone waited tensely—and then he smiled. “Thanks. The doctors say that even with laser treatments the healing will take a while.”
His friendly response cued everyone else to relax and she looked to Jared, who nodded approvingly.
“If Elijah Daniels hadn’t stepped in to save you who knows who would have won,” Paul added.
The tension returned instantly. Sloan didn’t understand why he was so antagonistic, but she didn’t have patience for it. “He didn’t save me.”
Paul offered her a condescending smile. “Sure.”
You avoid fighting me every chance you get and now you’re pretending you could’ve beaten me?
“He didn’t,” she insisted, rolling her fork around with her fingers, agitation swelling. “He just postponed the inevitable.”
Paul pushed his tray away. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means whether I was there or not she would have kicked your ass.” Elijah’s voice startled them all. Sloan looked up to see him standing at the end of their table, staring down across 27.
“Whatever,” Paul grumbled, shrinking back.
“Excuse me, Second Lieutenant?” Elijah asked softly.
“Nothing . . . Captain Daniels.”
Sloan realized she was still staring up at him. She shot her gaze to Jared and their eyes met briefly as he calmly sipped his coffee.
Elijah leaned on their table, his hand inches away from Sloan’s, staring down at Paul. “How about as soon as that shoulder heals up you fight someone your own size?”
He leaned over the table, smiling as he added, “In a Fight Night.”
Sloan flicked her gaze between Paul and Elijah. Paul had never gone in for a Fight Night—but she couldn’t remember ever seeing Elijah in one either. She looked to Jared—Fight Night was his domain.
Jared slowly put his coffee down, looking to Elijah. “Paul wouldn’t have beaten Sloan, and he wouldn’t beat you.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest, smiling up to Elijah confidently. “But if you’re looking to have someone knock you unconscious on Fight Night, you know I’m your guy.”
Elijah stood up straighter. “Is that a challenge, Dawson?” Jared rose and squared off with him. His imposing form was usually enough to back someone down, but Elijah matched his size.
“You bet it is.”
Sloan stared at the two of them, wondering what history they shared that she somehow didn’t know about. Everyone at the Academy was either in love with Jared or disliked him with envy, in which case they were usually too intimidated to say so.
Sloan readjusted in her seat. “Just relax, guys.” She smiled to Jared. “Fight Night is ages away.” She watched them cautiously.
Elijah smirked, eyeing Jared up. “Yeah, it’s ages away. Gives you plenty of time to train up, Dawson.”
Jared jolted in what appeared to be a move towards Elijah, and Sloan was on her feet in an instant, but he restrained himself, regaining his composure . . . somewhat. She saw his hands curled into fists, his whole body tense.
Elijah turned to her, smiling. “I’m sorry about your face, beautiful.” Before she could move he had touched her cheek.
She could feel Jared’s cold stare and she recoiled from him. “Do not touch me.”
Elijah shrugged, turning from her, fixating his stare on Jared. “See you Fight Night, Dawson.” He offered a challenging smile as he turned on his heel and left them.
She looked to Jared. He was furious; staring at her like what had transpired had somehow been her fault.
He grabbed his tray and walked off. She followed suit, storming after him. They tossed their trays and she barely managed to get into the same pod as him. As the doors slid shut behind them, they turned on one another.
“What’s the story with Daniels, Jared?” she demanded. This wasn’t all some coincidence. First he intervened in her fight, made the comments he did, and now this morning . . .
He sat down, crossing his arms angrily. “You couldn’t possibly understand . . . Like I said, just stay away from him.”
“What are you keeping from me? You and I have never had anything to do with Daniels and now he’s showing up everywhere, telling me he wouldn’t have let my face get knocked in if I were his betrothed, challenging you to a Fight Night . . .” Her voice trailed off under his hardened stare.
“What did he say to you?”
Sloan sat down slowly . . . She hadn’t told him that Elijah had spoken to her in the corridor after the fight with Paul. “Nothing really. He was just being a jerk, saying if I were his he wouldn’t let me get hurt . . .”
He shook his head at her. “Well, now who’s keeping secrets?”
Sloan scoffed. Really?
“You’re acting like a child, Jare.”
“Am I? Or are you, running around speaking to Daniels behind my back, acting like a slut?”
Her hand cracked across his face. She had reacted without thinking. A fiery outline of her fingers appeared on his cheek. He raised his own hand slowly, touching the mark she had left. Sloan inched closer to him. She had never hit Jared outside of training.
He’s never given you a reason to, she thought, still reeling from his words.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“No, I am. I’m so sorry. I would never call you that.” He shook his head, ashamed. “Forgive me. Please.” His voice was fragile, showing how much pain he was in, and not because she had hit him. Her slap didn’t hurt him, not the way his words had hurt her.
He cradled his head in his hands and Sloan wrapped her arms around his wide body, pulling him to her. He leaned into her, desperate for the contact they both longed for when they were near one another. They had always possessed an indescribable ability to impact one another with their mere touch—they could calm each another, incite one another, fill the other with passion or anger. They had always existed as if they had shared the same body.
He shook his head against her softly. “The way Daniels looks at you . . . it’s like he doesn’t realize you belong to me.”
And she did belong to him, just as he belonged to her. She kissed his shoulder and held his face, the mark already fading. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her hungrily, his want for her igniting her constant desire for him. The pod doors opened and they tumbled into their living quarters. She tore buttons off his shirt and he dug his fingers into her back, lowering her to the floor. She kissed his neck and he ran his hands over her hair. Jared rolled her onto her back, pinning her underneath him.
This is us, she thought. This is how we are meant to be.
“You’re the reason I breathe, Sloan.” She loved hearing those words, so much so that she couldn’t admit that under the weight of Jared, she sometimes struggled to catch her own breath.
The next Fight Night was announced the following day. It would be in four weeks’ time and would involve nominated pairings of junior boys and girls and senior boys and girls. In addition, Fight Night champions were guaranteed a fight if they wanted it. But any student could enter nominated pairings, as long as the Order approved the match.
“Please don’t nominate yourself,” Sloan urged Jared as they walked down to the outdoor circuit field.
He locked an arm around her waist. “What are you worried about? When was the last time I lost?”
The fact was, Jared had never lost at Fight Night; he was the reigning male champion. That wasn’t the point, though. The point was that Jared had nothing to prove, nothing to request in Winnings, no reason to enter. Fight Night was like gambling. If you wanted something—anything—you could request it as your Winnings in a Fight Night. If you won, you won, and if you lost, the Winnings request of your opponent was granted. It wasn’t just about winning a prize or a boon, though. Because while some students self-nominated, there were others who were called upon to participate in order to demonstrate their physical ability for the Order.
But Jared had all he could need; he was the Order’s favorite student, the Academy’s greatest male soldier. Sloan didn’t understand why he would enter. Just because of Elijah?
“Jare, you have no reason to do this . . . you could get hurt.” Despite how much they worried over one another’s safety, they had an unspoken understanding that they would never back away from a challenge, never show weakness when an opportunity to show strength arose.
Then why am I asking him to back out of this?
Jared let go of her as they stepped onto the field. “Sloan, drop it.”
She stared up at him, frustrated. He had never lost a fight, so what about this was bothering her so much? If he could just tell me what was going on with Elijah. . .
She sighed heavily before acquiescing. “Fine. Where are you training?”
He gestured to the far end of the field. “Archery with the juniors. You?”
She hadn’t worked on her knife skills in a while. “I will be with West in weapons training.”
“Alright, when I’m done I will bring 27 to you and we can work them together.” He smiled, running a hand through his short dark hair. Something about the ease of his movement distracted her from her anxiety . . . his tan skin glistened under the sun, his blue eyes watched her, his easy smile formed—he was perfect; he was the best thing she had ever seen in every sense of the word.
She nodded. “Alright.”
“Say hi to the major for me,” he said, smiling. Of course she would say hi to West for him. The major and Jared were close, bonding over what had happened years ago with Carson West . . . but they never spoke about that. She began to set off when she heard him call her name.
“Sloan, keep an eye on that bruise. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
She smiled, nodding to him as he turned away.
She set off towards the opposite end of the field. She tried to silence her thoughts but she couldn’t help but still feel bothered by Jared entering Fight Night. Was she afraid of him getting hurt?
No, but you know he’ll rip Elijah to shreds . . . The thought surprised her. Why should she care if Daniels got hurt? She didn’t even know him and he had brought this on himself.
If I just knew why they had it in for each other. Sloan wracked her mind, trying to think of anything that may have spurred this hostility between the two captains. What had she missed?
Why won’t Jared just tell me? Because he hasn’t been the same since Carson—he hasn’t trusted anyone.
It was the truth and she knew that . . . What happened that day with Carson had changed Jared—it had been the day that defined him, and they never talked about it.
Should he talk about it—could he? He expects me to move on from Tandy’s death but. . .
Sloan shook her head. She couldn’t think about that now. She needed to train, to regroup and focus. Thinking about Tandy or Carson wouldn’t help right now; she needed to find out what was really going on between Jared and Elijah.
She continued across the green, keeping a safe distance as she worked around training units. The field was divided into various areas of practice. Archers shot at rows of moving simulated targets against a backdrop of a chrome wall. In the simulator rings, students could test weaponry against artificial opponents—combat rings where holographic weapons could be used by the less skilled, real weapons for the more advanced.
Sloan sidestepped a group of juniors training in judo and just about knocked into General Stone, who was leading their session. She hadn’t spoken to him since breaking Paul’s shoulder, which marked one of the longest periods of silence between the two. Stone was not only her general and premier trainer, he was her mentor . . . He had overseen her development since her arrival at the Academy; he was the person who had shaped her into the soldier she was.
She stood next to him quietly, rocking on her heels until she thought of something to say. She wrapped her arms around herself and glanced up to him. “You have yourself a nice little army, sir.”
One of Sloan’s earliest memories of Stone had been when he oversaw a sparring session between her and Jared. “Hurt him before he hurts you,” he had advised. She had seen the opportunity to pin him and had let it pass, throwing the fight. “You lost,” Stone had chided. But Jared had smiled at her, holding her with his beautiful blue eyes.
“No, I didn’t.”
Stone kept his eyes trained on the students. “They are doing okay. The brunette is in for her first junior Fight Night.”
“Fight Night . . . of course she is.” Sloan sighed heavily.
“Since when was the reigning female champ not a fan of Fight Night?” It was true; Sloan had a streak of success equal to Jared’s. They usually entered Fight Night to request leave from the Academy, to go camping and have time alone.
“Since Jared took it upon himself to kill Elijah Daniels,” she answered candidly. She could say anything to Stone. She trusted the man with her life and he had shown time and time again that she could come to him for anything.
He glanced down at her, drawing a slow breath.
Does he already know about their intended fight? Does he know why they have it in for each other?
“You need to let them figure this one out for themselves, Radcliffe, whether you like it or not. I am sorry you’re caught up in the middle of it, though.”
So, he does know. Sloan quickly leaped back as a girl was flipped onto the ground before her. “Sir, maybe you could change his mind?”
“I would never ask one of my own to shy away from a fight,” he began, looking at her with his warm grey eyes. “But even if I did, neither of those boys will back out of this one.”
She studied his familiar face. He knew more than he was letting on. “If you knew why they were doing this, would you tell me?”
He huffed, turning from her. “Just get to your training, Lieutenant.”
Sloan hated knowing something was being kept from her. She nodded slowly, knowing he had no more to say to her, and carried on down the field. She thought about her trust in Jared. She could trust him with her life, but was aware that full disclosure—perfect honesty—was not something she could always expect. The moment in the pod had reaffirmed that knowledge. The summer before last, after Carson, was when Sloan had noticed Jared’s change. He had taken her hiking in the woods; they had scaled a rock cliff that hung treacherously over the lake. Despite her reservations he had convinced her to jump, and only once she had did he choose to tell her that students had previously died attempting the same leap.
“Why would you have me risk it then?”
He had held her tightly, keeping her near him on the shore. “Because whatever the circumstances are, you’re safe when you’re with me.”
She had pulled away from him. “You could have told me before I jumped.”
But all he had done was smile at her knowingly. “You wouldn’t have done it if you knew the risks.”
She had shaken her head at him. “I’m safer when I know the truth.”
He had let his smile fade, pulling her closer. “That’s the whole point—when you’re with me, you’re safe regardless of what you know.”
From that day on Sloan was keenly aware that she might never know the dangers involved when Jared asked for her trust.
As Sloan approached Major West’s training session, she noticed a large circle of students had formed. She pushed her way in and saw a girl viciously attacking a bare-chested young man. The girl swung at him, a training blade tightly clenched in her fist. Sloan watched him deflect and couldn’t help but think how similar his body was to Jared’s. His abs contracted as he twisted his broad chest, sweat matted with grass over his taut shoulders. She followed the deep line of his spine up to his dark locks of hair, watching him spiral around . . .
It was Elijah Daniels.
Sloan felt embarrassment warm over her and immediately concentrated on his female opponent. The girl moved well, her fiery red hair flying around her wildly. She wasn’t bad—definitely skilled—but Sloan couldn’t help notice that she was short, which meant short arms and legs, which meant she had to risk getting physically nearer her opponent if she wanted to do any damage. In this spar it wasn’t as big a deal because they both fought with holographic training blades so the only real injury risked would be bruising from the hilt—which, Sloan knew, was a very real possibility.
As the girl made forceful jabs towards Elijah, Sloan saw his moment to pin her and end the fight. When he aimlessly sidestepped instead, though, Sloan realized he was taking it easy. She glanced past them, spotting Major West. He clapped, calling the spar to an end. Elijah and the girl stopped their fight and Sloan watched as the girl hugged him affectionately.
Is she his betrothed?
West entered the circle, smiling. “If you two expect to do well in Fight Night then you need to up your game—Elijah, you passed on a moment to end the spar and, Maya, a different opponent would have used your error to their advantage.”
“Yes, sir,” the two answered in unison.
Sloan was sick of hearing about Fight Night. This girl who now clung to Elijah’s side would be vying for Sloan’s champion title?
“These two will be fighting the reigning champions?” Sloan asked, stepping into the circle. She felt like grandstanding, defensive of her championship, defensive of her relationship, angry about Fight Night and whatever Elijah Daniels was planning.
West approached her, a warm smile crossing his face. “Haven’t seen you here for a few weeks, Lieutenant Radcliffe. You’ve been missed in the ring. You could be of some real assistance to the other seniors.” These sorts of compliments were common for students like her and Jared, but it didn’t stop her from standing a bit taller upon hearing them. Jared was the best and received constant worship from everyone for it; she was the best and her peers hated her for it . . . She relished commendation from her mentors.
I am what they made me to be—I earned this.
“Thank you. I’ve been concentrating on hand-to-hand for a while, but I’m happy to be back.”
He nodded. “How’s Dawson?”
“He’s good. He says hi, and that he’s coming by later.” She offered him a small smile, and a thought crossed her mind. Could West talk Jared out of Fight Night?
“Sloan, meet Second Lieutenant Maya Woods and Captain Elijah Daniels,” he introduced, gesturing to the girl standing beside Elijah. Sloan took a step towards them, regarding Maya’s small frame and uncertain expression. She would know Sloan by reputation—the champion whose title she was competing for.
Sloan narrowed in on the girl. “So you’re the senior girl coming up against me in Fight Night?”
Sloan hadn’t intended to self-nominate in this quarter’s fight . . . but something about the uneasy expression on Elijah’s face, the look of fear in his eyes, made her do it. He seemed to care about this girl—he knew she was no match for Sloan.
West glanced down at her. “I didn’t know you were self-nominating, Radcliffe.”
Sloan shrugged. “I would have to beat the winner regardless to maintain my title; might as well skip the waiting.”
Sloan looked from Elijah to Maya. “How long have you two been training together?”
Maya crossed her arms over her chest. “Six weeks.” She answered with such a sense of pride that Sloan nearly laughed. Six weeks of training and you think you can take me?
Sloan shook her head, containing a smile, and pulled her shirt off, revealing her training garments. They were all standard issue; she wore the same black sports bra and cargo pants as Maya. The material was made of bound synthetic fibers, forming a body armor that couldn’t be torn, burnt or slashed.
The surrounding students regarded Sloan with excitement, a flurry of whispers, realizing she was about to spar.
She stretched her arms out, limbering up. “Well, after six whole weeks, you should be ready to give me a go.”
West took a step between them. “Give it a rest, Radcliffe. Maya just finished sparring.”
But Maya stepped forward angrily, a determined look in her eye. “No, I can take her.”
Sloan shrugged to West; if Maya was willing to fight, then Sloan was happy to give her a preview of how Fight Night would go. Sloan had a way of mentally categorizing students in the Academy—those who knew she had earned her mantle of champion and those who thought her reputation was an extension of Jared’s success. Maya obviously fell in the latter . . . Well, that’s about to change.
Sloan remembered watching Jared in his first senior Fight Night; he had easily dominated the spar, and then, for good measure, he had ensured his opponent ended up in the Infirmary. Sloan had asked him why he had taken it so far. “Make an example of one to teach all the others a lesson about challenging us.”
Example time.
West shook his head at Maya. “Woods, you aren’t ready to take Sloan. She is your senior champion—you need more training.”
“I said I could do it. Let me fight her,” Maya growled, her fists tensing at her sides. It almost amused Sloan, the way this girl assumed her own abilities rivaled Sloan’s.
West nodded slowly—he knew how this would go, but there was no convincing Maya otherwise. “Fine. Daniels, step out.”
Elijah slowly moved to the fringe of the circle, waiting on the periphery. Close enough to rescue your girl if you need to, Sloan thought, shaking her head at him.
West tossed her a training blade and cued the girls to take position. It didn’t surprise Sloan that he threw her only one knife despite Maya having two—she didn’t need two to win this fight.
Sloan took her stance: knife in her left hand, horizontal in front of her torso; right hand remaining open, but tense, by her face. Maya took position: arms crossing over her torso to create an X in front of her chest, knives in both hands.
West circled the girls slowly. Sloan took a deep breath . . . this was her in her element. The wind ran a cool calm over her body; she rolled her shoulders back and closed her eyes, allowing her instincts to take over.
“Fight!” West’s voice was a starting pistol.
Sloan opened her eyes, immediately tucking the blade into her waistband, bringing her arms up just as Maya lunged. Maya stabbed at her chaotically with an anger that seemed personal—they hate you for your strength, for your success.
Sloan used the girl’s inexperience to her advantage. She threw her right hand up underneath Maya’s extended bicep, grabbed the girl’s wrist and locked her arm back. Maya’s trapped hand opened reflexively, dropping the blade. Sloan kicked the weapon away, releasing the girl. She took a step back, out of Maya’s reach.
“Stop lunging, refocus,” she advised the girl. But her words fell on deaf ears—Maya didn’t want her advice.
Maya leaped at her wildly, one knife still in hand, and Sloan easily sidestepped.
“Listen to her, Woods, she’s trying to teach you!” West’s voice called out.
Maya seemed to be completely enraged, ignoring anything said to her. She moved quickly—she was fast, but Sloan was faster. More importantly, she simply had more skill and experience. Once more, Sloan got ahold of Maya’s wrist, twisting it outward until freeing the second knife. She pulled Maya into a hold, grabbed her own knife and brought the holographic blade to Maya’s throat.
The spar was over.
“Forty-five seconds, Woods . . . Lieutenant Radcliffe has beaten you in forty-five seconds,” West admonished, stepping into the circle.
Sloan released her hold on the girl. “Maya, you have good speed but you need to—”
Before Sloan could finish speaking, Maya made a sudden move, swinging around and clipping Sloan in the jaw. Sloan backed up, cursing the pain. Maya spun wildly, driving her knee into Sloan’s abdomen. Sloan managed to deflect in time, preventing getting winded. Maya, in her rookie abilities, showed panic. She lunged for a knife by Sloan’s feet.
I was trying to teach you . . . Sloan shook her head. She was sick of being treated like this. She rubbed her jaw as Maya scurried on the grass for a weapon, although what she was going to do with a fake knife was beyond Sloan. It didn’t matter; she was on Maya in a second, swiftly striking the side of the girl’s face, anticlimactically ending the fight. Maya rolled onto her back, holding her face, her lip bleeding. Sloan shot an angry look to Elijah—he was visibly worried.
This is what happens when you challenge us.
Elijah wanted to take Jared’s title; he wanted this girl to take Sloan’s. Well, now he knew how that would go. Sloan stepped back, frustrated. She relished the opportunity to show exactly why she was the best—but she hadn’t lost her temper, she hadn’t truly gone after Woods; in fact, she had tried to give her advice. And a foul shot was the thanks she got for her leniency and kindness.
“Cheap shot, Woods. The spar was over.” West sighed, helping Maya to her feet. He ordered the girl to the Infirmary and turned his back to the group to face Sloan.
“You alright?”
Sloan shrugged. “Of course I am, sir.”
“Don’t take it personally, Radcliffe. You know how the other students see you and Jared,” he advised.
Sloan wanted to say, Yeah, they love him and hate me, but she remained silent. Didn’t they know that living with such responsibility was awful? That being the best made her a target, it made her a key player in a war that she could die in.
West turned from her, clapping to regain the attention of the group. “Okay, all of you pair up. Sloan, seeing as you broke Daniel’s partner, you pair with him.”
“Major West, I would rather—” Sloan protested but West shot her a silencing look.
“You play by my rules here, Radcliffe. Now pair up with Daniels,” he ordered. Sloan glanced to the other end of the field; she could just make out Jared near the archery center.
He’s not going to like this.
“That was unnecessary.” Elijah’s voice spun her around. He was standing just inches away from her, causing her to step back.
“And her cheap shot wasn’t? I was trying to train her. You having her think she’s good enough to take me is your problem. She’s nowhere near capable of taking my championship.”
Elijah rolled his eyes at her arrogance. “You and Dawson are so obsessed with being the best.”
Sloan scoffed. “Coming from the guy who is trying to organize taking our championships from us. That’s rich, Daniels.”
He shook his head, but remained silent. Can’t argue with that truth, can you?
“Is she your betrothed? Is that what this is about—you two want to take over from Jared and me?” Sloan pressed.
“Get over yourself. Not everything is about you and Jared.”
Sloan glared at him. “How else would we see this? You challenging Jared, training your betrothed to challenge me.”
“She’s not my betrothed—I don’t have a betrothed,” he admitted angrily. He obviously regretted the words, looking away from her quickly.
“That’s not possible.” She shook her head. “You’re of age.” And yet, Sloan realized, she had never seen him at a Betrothal Calling. The Calling happened shortly after their sixteenth birthdays, before the entire Academy, but she couldn’t remember ever seeing Elijah take part.
Why do I even care?
He shrugged his shoulders. “I just don’t.” Another part of the enigma that was Elijah Daniels. Whatever. Betrothed or not, Sloan was certain he had feelings for Maya. Why else would he watch their spar with such concern?
Which gives me the leverage I need. . .
“If you back out of Fight Night, I won’t annihilate Maya Woods in front of the entire Academy when she comes after my championship.”
Elijah eyed her up bemusedly. “Afraid I’m going to hurt your blue-eyed boy?”
“Not in the slightest. Jared is a champion, and so am I. Not you and definitely not Maya Woods. You two should back out before someone gets hurt. Before Maya gets hurt. You know the girl is no match for me.”
“Well, that will be her problem.”
Is he calling my bluff—or does he really not care?
Elijah took a step near her. “If you aren’t worried about Jared then why are you so afraid?”
Elijah infuriated her. He seemed to be completely oblivious to the threat Jared posed him. Every opponent Jared had ever faced in Fight Night had lost, had been hurt, had wound up suffering in the Infirmary. Every. Single. One. It was all she could do to just forget her whole protest and let Jared destroy this guy. And yet she couldn’t help but try to stop it from happening. Why? Why can’t I just let him fight?
Because Jared might kill him. . .
The thought ran across her mind again, and it agitated her. Why did she care what Jared did to him? Elijah Daniels was obviously a jerk. But Sloan had witnessed Jared destroy contenders whom he had no personal feelings towards. She didn’t know what he was capable of doing to someone he had an agenda against.
She crossed her arms over her chest, huffing loudly. “Because I know you two have some outside issue that you’re trying to bring into the ring—that’s dangerous.”
Sloan avoided looking directly at Elijah’s eyes. She studied his neck . . . and then feared what Jared might do when he got his hands on it.
Elijah laughed.
Now he’s laughing at me. . .
“You still don’t know why Dawson hates me? Of course you don’t; you didn’t even realize why I’m not—” But his voice trailed off in a chuckle as he turned from her. She grabbed his bare arm, spinning him back.
“All I know is that you’re causing a problem in my relationship—now just back out of the damn Fight Night.”
Elijah pulled free of her grip. “Oh, yeah? How do you know it’s me causing the problem? How do you know it’s not your one true love doing all of this? Maybe you two aren’t even meant—” he began, but stopped himself. She glared at him, daring him to finish that sentence.
West appeared at their side, interrupting their argument. “Radcliffe, Daniels, do we have a problem?”
“No, sir,” they answered in curt unison.
West studied the two of them, nodding slowly. “Then get training.”
“We just need some real blades, Major,” Sloan announced. Elijah wanted to fight a champion so badly? I’ll show him what that entails.
West nodded approvingly and pulled two steel blades from his bag, taking Sloan’s holographic training weapon. She slipped the knife into her waistband, eyeing Elijah for any sign of hesitation. He showed none.
“Keep your guard up,” West advised unnecessarily before leaving them. Sloan walked away from the other students, finding freer space on the green. Elijah followed, taking a formal stance. They locked eyes.
“On your ready.” He smiled, his voice cool and calm.
She rolled her eyes at him. “On your ready, Daniels.”
He eyed her up and then suddenly took a step towards her. Sloan immediately stepped into him, spinning around to bring her left leg up towards his head. He blocked just in time—he was fast. He grabbed her leg, throwing it down, and pulled her towards him with a rough tug. He wrenched her back up against his hot chest.
He tucked his head into her, his mouth over her neck, his arm crossing her chest. “We fit pretty well, Radcliffe.”
She grabbed at his forearm with one hand, reaching back for his head with the other, and with all her force she threw her body up into the air and slammed down to the ground, landing on her knees. Elijah flew over her, rolling into the grass. She jumped to her feet, barely up before him. They squared off.
They stood, in stance, with loosely clenched fists. He struck at her with lightning speed, but her anticipation of his movement gave her the opportunity to block. She landed a solid hit to his face, and then a kick to his inner thigh. His knee gave in and she struck him as he struggled for balance. He pivoted on his knee, turning out from her as he got to his feet.
She went for another hit but he got ahold of her forearm and spun her around, planning on putting her in an arm lock. She grabbed onto his hand with her own, spiraling around him to turn his intended lock on himself. In an instant he was free of her grip.
He spun, aiming a kick at her head. She ducked, crouching low as she returned the favor—landing a swift kick in his abdomen. He backed up and they both retook their stances.
“Nice move,” he approved.
“Jared taught me that,” she answered wickedly.
He was good. He was very good. Sweat dripped down her body, and her abs rippled with tension. She would need to connect a very strong hit in order to win.
She feigned going for a roundhouse kick, swapped legs and then aimed to land a forward kick to his diaphragm. He moved too quickly. He grabbed her extended calf and pulled her forward until her thigh was up against his ribs, her calf locked around his lower back. He spun her and landed on the ground, lying directly on top of her, in between her legs, his face hovering just above her own.
Realizing the intimacy of their position, she grabbed his throat and squeezed with all the force she could muster from her confined position. He grabbed her hand and slammed it back over her head. Finding the other hand, he did the same, heaving up to hold her arms away from her. His arching back pushed his abs against her own; his wide hips pinned her legs down. She was stuck.
He stared down at her with intense green eyes, looking at her as though he had never seen her before. He was taking her all in. Consuming her. His full lips fell slightly apart and his breath was heavy against her face. The beads of sweat trickling down his chest mixed in with her own, and his grip on her hands loosened enough to let her break free, but she didn’t . . . and she couldn’t help but really look at him.
His face was undeniably near perfect, but it was the way they had fought that had stunned her. They had been so in sync. He further loosened his grip on her hands, but still she didn’t move. Hurt him, she urged herself, but his stare was paralyzing. She needed to look away; she willed herself to look away. Finally a movement in her periphery drew her glance. Jared was there.
Jared!
She wriggled underneath Elijah. “Get off of me.”
“Pretend like that’s really what you want,” he whispered, just loud enough for her to hear.
She wrenched her right arm free and swiftly brought it between them, hitting him in the face with her elbow. He rolled off her. She couldn’t imagine how this looked to everyone else. Or rather, she could imagine it only too well. Elijah was on his feet in an instant.
Had he pinned her on purpose? Had he seen Jared coming? She didn’t care. She leaped to her feet and turned on him. With unbridled rage she swung. She clipped him on the jaw, and it surprised him.
Their fight wasn’t over.
He spun, aiming a kick at her. She blocked and landed a strike to his neck. He buckled and she kneed his chin. She struck at his face and he stumbled from her. He regained his stance, anger replacing surprise. He leaped at her, striking viciously. She blocked, parried; he grabbed her arm and with surprising might threw her to the ground. She rolled back in a somersault, getting to her knees, ready to lunge—but Jared was now fighting in her stead.
He had stepped in and he and Elijah were going full force. Elijah lunged and Jared deflected, striking at him mercilessly. Elijah countered, hitting Jared in the jaw, and Jared turned out, clipping Elijah with a backhand.
Sloan got to her feet slowly, watching in horror as the two viciously brawled—Elijah was too tired for this fight. Jared was entering the spar fresh and angry. He kicked Elijah’s knee in and came behind him, locking his forearm around Elijah’s neck.
“Come near her again and I will end you,” he growled to Elijah.
“ENOUGH!” West’s voice boomed over them.
Jared let Elijah go, immediately walking away.
West stepped towards Jared but Jared didn’t stop for him, instead he shot a glare at Sloan, his blue eyes on fire.
“Dawson,” West called but still Jared didn’t stop. He left them all standing there.
West looked from Elijah to Sloan, shaking his head. “What the hell happened, Radcliffe?”
I wish I knew.