“What?” My eyes slammed open.
Antonio’s eyes were mere slits of gold. “Do as you’re told.” A blatant command.
With a clenched jaw, I exhaled heavily, shutting my eyes again.
“Now, as I said, use your other senses. Feel Ezra behind you. His heat. His breath. His strength. Every place his body’s pressed against yours.” He went silent, obviously waiting for me to do this.
“This is weird,” I muttered, voicing my opinion, only gradually following his orders.
With a roll of my shoulders, I studied how they moved up and down Ezra’s frame, where our bare skin rubbed; a light sweat was misting him, same as me. Inhaling deeply, I smelled his dark, heady flavor, a scent uniquely his own. I felt Ezra’s heat as ordered. Focused on it. His resonating warmth, not difficult to perceive, was a furnace of undeniable flames. His solid legs, their sweltering scorch pressed against the sensitive backs of mine. His lean hips, resting just above the small of my back. The sultry blaze of his pecs, brushing the flesh on my shoulder blades, and his rippled abdomen pressed against my back. His curved muscles, his arms lethal and aligned with mine, so much larger that their balminess enveloped mine completely.
Inexplicably, I found myself relaxing. The tension fell away. I nodded. “I’m there.”
“Good,” Antonio said softly. “Keep your eyes closed and follow his body. Follow his heat, his arms and legs, even his breathing. Don’t second-guess yourself, or you’ll get hit. Just move with him. Memorize how fluid his movements are, exactly how he’s moving. Learn it. Anchor it to your own reactions.” Antonio hummed softly. “Ezra, you’ll counter my attack, using only defensive, evasive actions. Do not use your Vampire speed. Only react at normal pacing.”
“Alright,” Ezra murmured leisurely, not arguing.
“I’m ready,” I whispered, breathing in time with Ezra’s steady, deep inhales.
The raging warmth shifted as the heat of Ezra’s right leg pulled away. I followed it with my right foot uncannily. Still keeping my other senses open, I heard a swift, soft drag against the mat from below, and felt the sizzling warmth of Ezra’s chest press harder against my back. I went with it, ducking but keeping the heat close, not going too far. A whoosh of air from above.
So it went.
I followed the heat and the lines of his massive body. It wasn’t tough. I found it unusually easy, my movements becoming even more fluid as we pivoted and arched backward, more whooshes of air flying past us, exterior scents and heat rushing by. Our arms and legs moved in sync as we lunged, hands on the ground in a push-up position, his body heat still over me as a large whistle of air sprung above us. A second later, we were moving our legs, squatting and then twisting to stand. Crinkling on the mat sounded to the side. Another twirl, ducking with it, and external heat missed us. We stopped.
“Good,” Antonio crooned, sounding pleased. I realized I was panting a little from the rapid movements. It had to have been faster than I had thought, but it was still so simple. “Lily, you can open your eyes.”
I blinked, my other senses altering from being oversensitive to being natural as I regained my eyesight, and saw Antonio grinning, standing back a few feet and tapping his thumbs on his legs while Pearl, Jack, and King Venclaire stared wide-eyed. My own grin was instant. “I did it!”
Antonio chuckled, nodding, but glanced over my head, stating, “Train her this way, but make sure she has the movements memorized before you spar normally again.”
Ezra’s warm palms landed gently on my shoulders. “We can handle that.” I felt him peer down and I twisted a smidge, gazing up at him, still grinning like an idiot. He chuckled, his teeth blindingly white against his mocha skin. “You didn’t completely suck.”
Antonio sighed profoundly, walking away.
Only grinning wider, I stared into amused, spring green eyes. “Neither did you. I was following your lead.”
Rushing into the study, I heard King Kincaid and Antonio both sigh. I was never on time to these meetings after my morning bouts with Ezra. Always sweating disgustingly, I had to shower afterward. As it was, I wasn’t sure my socks matched. Luckily, you couldn’t see them under my own black cargos, and I was afraid to double-check to see if I had put on my red t-shirt with the black lettering, Shifters Eat Meat, inside out. That would be a shame because the back read, The Common Meat; the meaning was clear. I’d had it specially made on a shopping trip with Elly. I wasn’t in love with Commoners right now.
King Kincaid’s eyes narrowed on said shirt as I hustled to the wooden oval table in the center of his study, and he asked, “Is there anything written on the back?”
Flopping on my chair between Jack and Pearl, my expression innocent, I replied, “Can’t see it if it does.” Guess I had it on right.
Jack choked, having seen the writing, and quickly took a sip of his water, most glancing at him before he mumbled, “A little tickle, nothing serious.”
“Germ?” I asked, feeling ornery. He had asked me once.
Pearl snorted, but cleared her throat quickly, guiltless golden eyes following.
Not so virtuous, Jack leaned toward me, resting his arm over my shoulders, his mouth a few inches from mine. “If I’ve got a germ, you’ll have it by nightfall.”
“Oh, Jack,” I feigned sorrow, talking in a high, girly voice. “That is so sweet, but…our hair clashes. It’ll never work out.” And, really, red and blue? All we needed to add was a weak Shifter and it would be bizarrely patriotic.
Lips twitching, Jack’s mouth parted to say something I guessed was truly ornery by the gleam in his brown eyes, but Antonio cleared his throat, giving us a firm glance. Fine. We were in the presence of the Kings. We settled back on our seats and did what we had to.
We learned that the Com police investigation against us, or more like against King Venclaire, Jack, Ezra, and King Fergus, was officially over. They had been under surveillance since the night of the attack but, since no bodies had been found — a quick glance to King Fergus’s green hair told me they were probably buried deep in the earth — the investigation had been put to rest.
We also learned that there were no new leads into which Com group had instigated the planned attacks. All evidence showed it was a small faction — they were all small — and it was near impossible to point a finger at any one particular Com extremist cluster. King Kincaid hadn’t been at Hell’s Gate in time to capture any of the mob members that had infiltrated the club. They had struck hard, fast, killing not only Dominic, but sixteen other Mysticals, and then fled.