13. A Deep Cut

13

A Deep Cut

FLOR

T he heavily scarred shifter glowered down at me, as if I'd kept a secret. I supposed I had; I hadn't stormed across the training grounds any time in the past few weeks to tell him I already knew how to fight. But I hadn't wanted the pack here to think I was trying for special treatment, that just because I'd saved Margarette didn't mean I thought I was special. I'd enjoyed the training, even if it was too easy. It had given me a chance to meet more shifters, to observe the pack's structure.

But Sergeant seemed super worked up that no one had told him about Del. It did sort of stink. If Del was this guy's friend, I would've thought someone here would've mentioned it to him, even if Sergeant gave off a talk to me and die vibe. These Northern shifters must not be as gossipy as the ones at Southern.

"Of course you knew him," he muttered before I could answer. "I should have recognized your style, those forms. He trained you, didn't he? For how long?"

"Since I was a little girl," I replied, feeling awkward with so many eyes on me. "He raised me. He taught me everything he could."

Sergeant's brow furrowed. "Why the hell did you say you had no training? You lied to me."

My jaw dropped. I was a lot of things, and a liar was one of them, when my life depended on it. I'd been accused of plenty I hadn't done. Being a whore, for one. But his accusation stung me deeper than it should have, coming from a man who felt like some sort of family.

"She's had no formal training," Brand muttered when I didn't answer fast enough. "Del had lost his rank."

Sergeant began to pace back and forth, almost like his wolf was rising again. "Well, someone here lost their mind. We've wasted weeks conditioning her, when she came through Del's training? Why didn't someone say something before?" He stopped and directed the last question at me.

I shrugged. "Beats me. Lots of the Enforcers knew about it. Glen and his mom knew, and Patrick, too. I just figured it was the same rules here as at Southern. Formal training was all that counted there—not lessons after the dishes were done."

"Right, enough talk." Sergeant shook his head, as if severely disappointed. "I wanted to see you fight, and now I'm not worried about who I'll match you against. If Del trained you for years, there won't be more than a few shifters who can safely spar against you, not when I want to see everything you've got. Curtis, you can go." He dismissed the young shifter and motioned to Brand. "You, get in the ring with her. Don't hold back."

A thrill of alarm ran through me. "Um, I've never actually fought with a real?—"

Sergeant cut me off. "No more talking." Brand opened his mouth to say something, but Sergeant barked, " Now, boy, not yesterday!"

In under a minute, we were inside the large dirt ring, the assembled shifters crowding around to watch. They gathered in a loose circle, the ranked shifters in their uniforms standing in front of the unranked. Vanessa and the ranked girls who'd been chasing after Glen were all lined up in the front row, their expressions ranging from curiosity to disgust to grade A hatred.

A shiver ran up my spine, as I noted the excited gleam in the eyes of some of the male shifters who'd lost their rank hunting me. They wanted to watch me lose.

Screw that. I eyed Brand. He was huge, the short-sleeved black t-shirt and painted-on sweats not hiding much of what was underneath. I'd seen him training with some of the older Enforcers over the past weeks, though, and I knew he was good. I'd have to feel him out, find a weakness. He had to have one.

His muscles flexed as he took a fighting stance, his arms and legs honed, every inch of skin that showed gleaming bronze like a gladiator from the textbooks in school.

Okay, he might not have a weakness. I might have to be sneaky.

"First blood wins," Sergeant announced.

Ugh. I'd hoped we were pulling our strokes. I didn't want to bleed, even though I knew I'd heal faster now that I'd shifted. I sure didn't want to cut Brand, who I genuinely liked.

Maybe more than liked.

The small sword in my hand sang as I moved it through the air, waiting for Brand to make the first move. I'd only ever seen him fight in real battle, and that had been against multiple opponents. To be fair, I hadn't stopped to watch, since I'd been too busy taking care of Van.

Finally, Brand stepped closer, beginning the fight with a series of predictable, slow parries. I lifted one eyebrow. "Really? You know I'm pissed off; don't make it worse. Help me work out some of this aggression."

His eyes glinted, and he picked up the tempo of his attacks. Soon we were both moving quickly, dancing around the ring.

For a giant man, Brand moved like a dream, almost floated. His sword was longer than mine, but I was used to mop-sparring against Del, who hadn't been much smaller. Brand was stronger, though, and his hits were punishing. I made sure to let the blows he meted out hit my blade at an angle to deflect the power behind them, but even then, I found myself growing tired.

"This isn't the damn ballet, Brand," Sergeant yelled from the edge of the circle over the sound of our swords clashing. "Fight her, or I will, and I'll cut her deep enough that it won't heal for a week."

Brand's eyes blazed at Sergeant's threat, but he stepped closer, coming at me with a barrage of quick, sharp blows.

Shit. I had to end this, had to figure out a way to get past those freakishly long arms and into his guard. All I needed to do was slice him the tiniest bit.

Only a very small bit , a voice inside warned. Not a deep cut. For some reason, Glen's wound, and Luke's, flashed through my mind.

What if…

My hand holding the sword trembled.

Suddenly, I was afraid to cut him. Those feelings that flooded through me when we touched, that sense of safety and home—it wasn't like what I felt with the other guys, but it was close. Would he be hurt in the way Luke and Glen had been?

Wouldn't Brand have said something if he thought he was my mate? I'd confided in him, since he'd never acted like that mattered to him. Had he ever denied it? I parried mindlessly while I fought to remember. No, he'd never explicitly said he wasn't my mate. He'd never acted like it… but Brand was quiet. Thoughtful. Unassuming.

Respectful and patient. Strong and perfect.

Mother. Fucker.

That's why I was afraid. What if I was his weakness, like Luke and Glen? If I cut Brand, I could hurt him, maybe kill him. I might be one of the only shifters alive who could do that.

I never wanted to hurt Brand. I wanted to kiss him. No, I needed to. Of all the guys, Brand was the only one I would consider mating with, if I hadn't vowed never to do it.He was perfect enough to make me consider breaking that promise.

The thought shocked me, and my eyes went fuzzy, my heart racing as an image of me lying on top of Brand, naked, flashed through my mind.

A vision, almost.

I heard the gasp from the crowd before I felt the pain. A stinging burn that zapped like a bolt of white-hot fire from my shoulder down my arm.

Flor, you stupid girl. Del would be disappointed as hell. While I was caught in the vision, I'd dropped my sword. Now, an arc of blood gushed out from a deep cut that stretched across my upper arm to my shoulder, pulsing, bright.

Someone in the crowd laughed. Vanessa, probably.

I collapsed, Brand's arms around me before I hit the ground. He was covered in my blood, too. "Hey, Bearman. Ya got me good, huh?"

The shifters around me were shouting, Sergeant yelling orders, someone screaming to find Margarette, and the much closer but softer noise of Brand… crying?

No. Sobbing, like he'd lost everything.

"No, no," he rasped, his voice cracking as he held the wound closed, his fingers instantly slippery from the blood. "Please, I didn't mean to, I wasn't trying, I knew better… What have I fucking done? I knew . I should have said something. Flor, I can't lose you."

Margarette's voice intruded. "She was supposed to be fighting Curtis! Whose idea was this?"

"What's the issue?" Sergeant demanded. "She's shifted before. Hold it tight, boy—it'll knit."

It wasn't knitting; I could tell from the lethargy slowly stealing over me, from Brand's face, from Margarette's screams, from the pounding pulse and flow of blood leaving my body.

Sergeant shouted, "She's a shifter! Why isn't she healing? "

Brand's eyes were haunted. "She's my true mate," he whispered. "Flor, I didn't mean to. I knew you didn't want me, but I would never…"

"By the moon…" Sergeant's voice was growing fuzzy, distant. "I never would have put you in the ring, with or without a weapon. Margarette, you said she was Glen's… Shit. " Then his face was directly in front of mine. I felt a searing pain as someone tried to hold my arm together, or tear it open, I wasn't sure. "Flor, can you shift while Brand holds you? It might help."

I shook my head the tiniest bit. "I don't know. I've never shifted on my own." I concentrated, but I had no idea what I was doing. All I could feel was pain. My wolf was silent.

"Brand, if you're her mate, you can force her to shift. You can call out her wolf."

Brand let out a strange, choked howl. "We're not… We've never… completed the bond."

Sergeant's eyes went wide, darting around. "Everyone clear out. Now! " He murmured to Brand, "Keep your hand directly on it. That'll help a bit."

I couldn't see everyone else leaving, but I could hear them. Heard their murmurs of shock and confusion.

Suddenly, no one was there but me, Brand, and Sergeant. It's better this way, I thought, my brain going slightly hazy. I didn't want too many of them around when I died. I wished for a second that Glen and Finnick were here.

At least I had Brand. "Kiss me."

He shook his head.

I tried to smile, even though his denial hurt. "Asshole. A dying girl can't even… get a kiss. Guess I am pretty gross." Bloody, thin, ugly, compared to the girls at Northern.

"You're gorgeous," Brand ground out. "You're perfect in every way."

"Then why… won't you kiss me?"

Sergeant was doing something painful to my arm, and I tried to twist free. "Hold still," he commanded. I might have been able to match his dominance the week before, but I sure as hell couldn't now. My body went utterly still, obeying on a cellular level. The blood even seemed to flow more slowly.

I glanced at the mess of red that I could see on my upper arm. He was taping it. Literally holding my wound together with… duct tape? I snorted.

"What is it?" Brand's eyes moved wildly over my face.

"It's just… so Southern," I managed to croak out. "We use duct tape for everything."

Sergeant let out a snort as well. "There. That'll hold until you can…"

I blinked, waiting. "Until what?" I managed to say.

His brow furrowed. "Until you can mate, of course."

Wait, what?