my fighting fury was fired up by more than just a simple desire to do well. My feelings were out of control this morning, raw and intense after both the fight with my mother and what I'd witnessed with Lissa and Christian last night. Dimitri sat back and watched me, occasionally critiquing my technique and offering suggestions for new tactics.
"Your hair's in the way," he said at one point. "Not only are you blocking your peripheral vision, you're running the risk of letting your enemy get a handhold."
"If I'm actually in a fight, I'll wear it up." I grunted as I shoved the stake neatly up between the dummy's "ribs." I didn't know what these artificial bones were made of, but they were a bitch to work around. I thought about my mom again and added a little extra force to the jab. "I'm just wearing it down today, that's all."
"Rose," he said warningly. Ignoring him, I plunged again. His voice came more sharply the next time he spoke. "Rose. Stop."
I backed away from the dummy, surprised to find my breathing labored. I hadn't realized I was working that hard. My back hit the wall. With nowhere to go, I looked away from him, directing my eyes toward the ground.
"Look at me," he ordered.
"Dimitri-"
"Look at me."
No matter our close history, he was still my instructor. I couldn't refuse a direct order. Slowly, reluctantly, I turned toward him, still tilting my head slightly down so the hair hung over the sides of my face. Rising from his chair, he walked over and stood before me.
I avoided his eyes but saw his hand move forward to brush back my hair. Then it stopped. As did my breathing. Our short-lived attraction had been filled with questions and reservations, but one thing I'd known for sure: Dimitri had loved my hair. Maybe he still loved it. It was great hair, I'll admit. Long and silky and dark. He used to find excuses to touch it, and he'd counseled me against cutting it as so many female guardians did.
His hand hovered there, and the world stood still as I waited to see what he would do. After what seemed like an eternity, he let his hand gradually fall back to his side. Burning disappointment washed over me, yet at the same time, I'd learned something. He'd hesitated. He'd been afraid to touch me, which maybe-just maybe-meant he still wanted to. He'd had to hold himself back.
I slowly tipped my head back so that we made eye contact. Most of my hair fell back from my face-but not all. His hand trembled again, and I hoped again he'd reach forward. The hand steadied. My excitement dimmed.
"Does it hurt?" he asked. The scent of that aftershave, mingled with his sweat, washed over me. God, I wished he had touched me.
"No," I lied.
"It doesn't look so bad," he told me. "It'll heal."
"I hate her," I said, astonished at just how much venom those three words held. Even while suddenly turned on and wanting Dimitri, I still couldn't drop the grudge I held against my mother.
"No, you don't," he said gently.
"I do."
"You don't have time to hate anyone," he advised, his voice still kind. "Not in our profession. You should make peace with her."
Lissa had said exactly the same thing. Outrage joined my other emotions. That darkness within me started to unfurl. "Make peace with her? After she gave me a black eye on purpose! Why am I the only one who sees how crazy that is?"
"She absolutely did not do it on purpose," he said, voice hard. "No matter how much you resent her, you have to believe that. She wouldn't do that, and anyway, I saw her later that day. She was worried about you."
"Probably more worried someone will bring her up on child abuse charges," I grumbled.
"Don't you think this is the time of year for forgiveness?"
I sighed loudly. "This isn't a Christmas special! This is my life. In the real world, miracles and goodness just don't happen."
He was still eyeing my calmly. "In the real world, you can make your own miracles."
My frustration suddenly hit a breaking point, and I gave up trying to maintain my
"Your hair's in the way," he said at one point. "Not only are you blocking your peripheral vision, you're running the risk of letting your enemy get a handhold."
"If I'm actually in a fight, I'll wear it up." I grunted as I shoved the stake neatly up between the dummy's "ribs." I didn't know what these artificial bones were made of, but they were a bitch to work around. I thought about my mom again and added a little extra force to the jab. "I'm just wearing it down today, that's all."
"Rose," he said warningly. Ignoring him, I plunged again. His voice came more sharply the next time he spoke. "Rose. Stop."
I backed away from the dummy, surprised to find my breathing labored. I hadn't realized I was working that hard. My back hit the wall. With nowhere to go, I looked away from him, directing my eyes toward the ground.
"Look at me," he ordered.
"Dimitri-"
"Look at me."
No matter our close history, he was still my instructor. I couldn't refuse a direct order. Slowly, reluctantly, I turned toward him, still tilting my head slightly down so the hair hung over the sides of my face. Rising from his chair, he walked over and stood before me.
I avoided his eyes but saw his hand move forward to brush back my hair. Then it stopped. As did my breathing. Our short-lived attraction had been filled with questions and reservations, but one thing I'd known for sure: Dimitri had loved my hair. Maybe he still loved it. It was great hair, I'll admit. Long and silky and dark. He used to find excuses to touch it, and he'd counseled me against cutting it as so many female guardians did.
His hand hovered there, and the world stood still as I waited to see what he would do. After what seemed like an eternity, he let his hand gradually fall back to his side. Burning disappointment washed over me, yet at the same time, I'd learned something. He'd hesitated. He'd been afraid to touch me, which maybe-just maybe-meant he still wanted to. He'd had to hold himself back.
I slowly tipped my head back so that we made eye contact. Most of my hair fell back from my face-but not all. His hand trembled again, and I hoped again he'd reach forward. The hand steadied. My excitement dimmed.
"Does it hurt?" he asked. The scent of that aftershave, mingled with his sweat, washed over me. God, I wished he had touched me.
"No," I lied.
"It doesn't look so bad," he told me. "It'll heal."
"I hate her," I said, astonished at just how much venom those three words held. Even while suddenly turned on and wanting Dimitri, I still couldn't drop the grudge I held against my mother.
"No, you don't," he said gently.
"I do."
"You don't have time to hate anyone," he advised, his voice still kind. "Not in our profession. You should make peace with her."
Lissa had said exactly the same thing. Outrage joined my other emotions. That darkness within me started to unfurl. "Make peace with her? After she gave me a black eye on purpose! Why am I the only one who sees how crazy that is?"
"She absolutely did not do it on purpose," he said, voice hard. "No matter how much you resent her, you have to believe that. She wouldn't do that, and anyway, I saw her later that day. She was worried about you."
"Probably more worried someone will bring her up on child abuse charges," I grumbled.
"Don't you think this is the time of year for forgiveness?"
I sighed loudly. "This isn't a Christmas special! This is my life. In the real world, miracles and goodness just don't happen."
He was still eyeing my calmly. "In the real world, you can make your own miracles."
My frustration suddenly hit a breaking point, and I gave up trying to maintain my
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