Chapter 256

Luca sits down and we all lean forward as Rafe and Jackson take their folded notes and quickly open them, glancing through the contents. I lean over Jackson’s arm, trying to read it myself, but he laughs and pulls it out of my sight. “Confidential, Clark.”

“Oh, you’re going to tell me anyway!”

“Maybe,” he mutters. “If you’re nice to me.”

“I’m always nice to you!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Rafe says, taking a deep breath and putting his own note down, looking over at Jacks. “Is yours the same as mine? Notification that the Games are being moved up? And that we’re…”

“Co-captains,” Jackson replies, putting down his own letter, a little smile on his face. I look around at all of the boys’ faces, trying to gauge the impact of this news.

“W-what does this mean?” I ask quietly, anxious.

“Don’t get worked up about it, Ari,” Rafe says, turning his eyes to me. “It’s…faster than they’d usually run the Games, probably because of the war. It just means that Jackson and I have minor adjustments to our schedules so that we can begin to plan our strategy. We get a weekly study hall to meet and come up with our plan, look through Cadet profiles, organize our draft list.”

“Draft list?” I ask, screwing up my nose, looking around at everyone else, kind of baffled that they’re all taking this in stride like it’s completely normal conversation.

“The order in which they’ll pick their team,” Luca says, grinning over at me. “Which Cadet they’ll pick first, which last. Who is a priority, who isn’t. I, obviously…will go very quickly.” Jokingly smug, he gestures to himself with a confident wave of his hand.

I laugh, taking the bait and leaning forward to grin at him. “Only after me, Grant. I’ve got the only sniper rifle on the field.”

“You first?” Jesse asks, leaning forward to look at me, appalled. “Ari, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I am…a duke. It would be incredibly rude, as well as foolish, to not pick me first. Especially considering that I’m not the size of a small labrador and can actually throw a punch -”

I gasp, appalled and offended. “Jesse!” I shout, snatching up a mini muffin and throwing it at him. “I’m – I’m way bigger than a labrador!”

“You even threw the smallest muffin,” Jesse exclaims, swatting it out of the air, “can you even lift a larger one –“

“Ari’s first,” Jackson says, his voice booming out, rich and authoritative. He laughs a little, grinning at Jesse’s appalled face, and then over at Rafe for confirmation.

Rafe just sighs, folding his arms over his chest and looking me up and down. “We’ll see,” he says, dubious. “At how good you get with that rifle. And then…we’ll see.”

I smile again, starting in on my plate of food eagerly, newly determined to make sure that I do get as good as I need to be – but also newly assured that I will.

Don’t worry, Jackson murmurs directly into my mind. You’re first, both because you will be a good shot by then and because I’m not letting you out of my sight in another battle scenario. Then he, too, concentrates on his food with gusto – and I lean a little closer to my big tough mate, loving him just a little bit more.

The next two weeks fly, mostly because I’m too busy to notice the time passing.

Every morning I get up early with Jackson and we head out to my sniping blind, where I diligently practice, working to improve my accuracy. Every three or four days the Captain sends me a note, letting me know that he’s reviewed my targets and what changes he thinks I can make to my strategy and my form that will help me improve. When I start to be able to hit the bull’s eye with accuracy, he sends instructions that I’m to make a line of bullets all the way down the target. When I can do that laying down, sitting, and standing, I arrive at the blind the next day to find the target moved back.

He also sends along a book on modern rifles and shooting strategy which I sigh and add to my growing list of reading material. But I don’t complain – not at all – because I’m very eager to keep going. Not only because I want the top spot in the Games draft, but also because I’m determined to become the best sniper I can be in case we do have to go to war.

Every day after Jacks and I climb down from the blind it’s a grueling run with Jesse and Rafe, showers, breakfast, and then all hell breaks loose. My schedule is a strange mismatch of activities as I study my ass off in every spare hour, as Faiza teaches me further particulars of picking pockets and how to blend into rooms, as Neumann teaches me how to identify and mix toxic materials, and as Alvez teaches me…well, nothing. But he does go on and on about magical theory, boring us all nearly to death. Luckily for me, he’s been focusing his attention on Tony for now and hasn’t contacted me for any private sessions, which Tony says are boring and annoying. I’m grateful to Tony, honestly, for taking that bullet for right now – even though I’m sure mine is coming soon.

I end each of my days with Blaze, who finally begins to teach me how to deliver a blow instead of just dodging them. Luca diligently comes along to all of Blaze’s lessons, sitting quietly and studying while I work with my instructor and, afterwards, allowing me to practice on him in his incredibly different style. It’s remarkably different, using the skills Blaze teaches me on a man nearly double my size and weight, but also very, very helpful. This, after all, will be my likely opponent if I ever get into a jam and need to use these skills – though Faiza has warned me to keep them as secret as I can. Apparently, my creampuff image will dissolve immediately if people sense that I can punch their lights out.

Tonight, Luca helps me practice an advance. He’s been instructed to block my blows but not deliver any of his own – just as I’ve been practicing with Blaze. My entire goal is to land a single blow anywhere on Luca’s body that’s not his hands and arms.

Unfortunately, Luca is crazy good. I snarl, frustrated, as my attempt fails for the eighth time.

“You’re cheating,” I scowl, crossing my arms as Luca grins at me.

“You want me to go easy on you?” he taunts, clearly pleased.

I sigh and shake my head, because obviously I don’t want that. “Come on,” I say, nodding back to the center of the room and heading in that direction. “Let’s start again.”

“You’re signaling your next blow too clearly,” Luca says, following me and setting up in his usual boxer’s stance. “I can see it coming from a mile away.”

“Yeah, well, my usual opponents aren’t going to be boxing champions, are they?”

“You never know,” he replies, his eyebrows going up. “Maybe you’ll meet that big guy from Atalaxia that I fought – he’s military too, after all. Then you’ll be glad I didn’t go easy on you.”

I snarl a little, still rankled by the fact that I can’t get anything by Luca and his long wingspan, his lightning-fast hands. “So, what do you recommend?”

“Keep your shoulders straight until the last second,” Luca says, the instruction coming easily to him after years in the gym. “Like you’ve got a wooden board across your back. Or, surprise me,” he shrugs. “Can’t block something if I’ve never seen it before.”

“What?” I ask, straightening up a little.

“Quit delaying,” Luca says, laughing a little, “let’s go!”

And then, defying instructions, Luca takes an aggressive step towards me, swinging his left fist. I gasp a little at the change in plans but then anger riles in me – not anger at Luca, who is just pushing me, but anger at myself for not mastering this yet. God, what’s taking me so long? Why can’t I land a single blow?

I fall back on my earlier training and duck quickly under Luca’s arm, dodging forward and aiming my own jab at his ribs. But Luca’s other hand is already there, swiping my hand away and leaving my body open for attack when he pulls his left hand back, aiming right for my face.

I dodge back, even though I know he wouldn’t put any force behind it – not really – but even that makes me snarl in frustration – because I should be better at this by now! This whole system is about training me to use my smaller body and my skills against a bigger opponent, so why –

My train of thought is interrupted as Luca comes again and I take another step back, again dodging his blow, but then something in me snaps into place as I realize that I’m playing Luca’s game – I’m giving him the ring, letting him set the rules as the boxer – letting him push me around like a little girl.

But we’re not boxing, are we?

And I’m not just any girl.

My wolf snarls with excitement in me as my teeth elongate into fangs and I take one more step back, falling into a crouch instead of my defensive stance. I am gratified for a single instant by the look of shock on Luca’s face as I quickly shift – faster than he can blink – and launch myself into the air, aiming right for his chest.

Luca’s eyes go wide as he stumbles back a step, but it’s too late – my snarl fills the room and my paws hit hard against his shoulders, knocking him to the floor, his arms sprawled out to the side. The breath heaves from his chest and I pin him down to the floor, my snarling jaws inches from his face.