Jenna Black: Shadowspell

Why, oh why had I asked for self-defense lessons? Even my best moves would be useless against the kind of enemy the Faerie Queens would send to kill me. But after Finn had been brutally beaten by a bunch of Knights while I could do nothing to help him, I’d decided I wanted at least the illusion of usefulness. That’s why I’d started my lessons with Finn’s son, Keane, which I regretted on a regular basis.

Even when my breath finally started to come easier, I stayed lying on the floor, not looking forward to going another round. We were sparring in the living room of my safe house, the furniture pushed up against the walls to make room for the mats. We’d have had more space if we’d done our sparring out in the guardroom, but we’d also have had an audience—Finn. Keane would have been fine with that, but not me.

It wasn’t just that I didn’t want Finn to see me making a fool of myself, either. I had a big, whopping favor to ask of Keane, one I didn’t dare let anyone else hear. Now, if I could just find the nerve to actually ask …

“Are you going to take a nap, or are you going to get off your ass and get back to work?” Keane asked.

I glared up at him. My body ached from being repeatedly slammed into the mats, and my muscles were quivering with exhaustion. Keane was theoretically taking it easy on me, but you couldn’t tell it by the way I felt.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” I grumbled, pushing myself painfully up into a sitting position.

He snorted. “Not in fifteen minutes I don’t.”

Was that how long it had been since we’d started? It felt like at least an hour.

“Guess we need to work on your stamina on top of everything else.”

I knew he was only doing what he’d been hired to do, but I was sick and tired of his attitude. He treated me like I was some kind of idiot because I couldn’t fight like a trained warrior. Well, excuse me, but before I’d come to Avalon, brawling hadn’t been a big part of my life.

A hint of malice kindled in my chest. Once, just once, I wanted to get the upper hand on my obnoxious jerk of a teacher. And if I had to play dirty, well that was just tough.

I made as if to get up, groaning dramatically. I didn’t expect Keane to fall for it—usually, it’s like he knows what I’m going to do even before I do—but maybe after a few weeks of these lessons, he was starting to get complacent. I could see in his eyes that his attention had wandered, and I took advantage. Instead of getting up, I propelled myself forward, hitting Keane’s legs and knocking them out from under him.

He gave a startled yelp, and I had about half a second to feel a thrill of victory. In retrospect, I should have come at him from the side, so my momentum would have carried me out from under him as he fell. As it was, he landed flat on top of me, smashing my face into the mat as once again my breath whooshed out of my lungs. He was coordinated enough that he could have stopped his fall with his hands, but no, he let his whole weight come down on me, practically crushing me.

“Nice move,” he said, and he wasn’t even breathing hard. “You’ve really improved your situation.” To emphasize his point, he used his powerful legs to pin my arms to my sides, then held my ankles down.

I wriggled and squirmed—once I could breathe well enough to do even that—but there wasn’t much I could do when I was facedown on the mats with my arms and legs pinned. I could move my head, which Keane had taught me to use as a weapon, but I couldn’t reach him with it, so I couldn’t do any damage. I’d definitely lost this round.

“You can let go now,” I grumped. “I got the point.”

“Maybe I don’t feel like letting go just yet.” He sounded really amused. Glad he was having such a great time at my expense.

I let out a little growl of frustration. How could I possibly ask this asshole for help? With anything ? And yet, there was no one else I could think of who might be able to help me get to Kimber’s party without my dad’s permission.

It occurred to me that in the position he was in, Keane would be staring directly at my butt. I craned my head around to see if I was right, and sure enough …

My face heated with a blush I couldn’t help. Granted, I didn’t have that much for him to look at—my Fae heritage gave me a figure only slightly more feminine than that of a teenage boy—but it was still embarrassing. Worse, he met my eyes when I looked around, and he was grinning. I didn’t like the grin any more than I liked his usual scowls and smirks.

I wanted to say something witty and worldly, something to cut him down to size and make him regret that stupid grin. But everything I could imagine saying would only make things worse. I bit my tongue and closed my eyes, determined to wait him out. I’d take this time to rest up, and when he finally decided he was tired of ogling me, or whatever he was doing, I’d have a little more energy to fight back with.

I guess his mind-reading skills were back online, because the moment I relaxed under him, he let go and rolled off of me. Damn. So much for taking a rest. With a sigh of resignation, I forced myself to my feet once more.

We spent another half hour or so sparring. If you could call me repeatedly getting my butt kicked “sparring.” By the end of the session, I was ready to give up for good and leave the fighting to bodyguards. Who was I kidding, anyway? Buffy the Vampire Slayer might have been able to kick butt at the age of sixteen, but not me.

“Don’t look so glum,” Keane said as he began rolling up the mats. I probably should have helped him, but I was too tired and, well, glum. “You’re doing great.”

Obviously, he and I had a different definition of “great.” I plopped down heavily on the sofa, not minding that I had to climb over the coffee table to get to it. I’d move the furniture back into place later.

“I mean it, Dana,” Keane said, shoving the rolled-up mat aside and standing up. He pulled the coffee table out of the way, then sat beside me on the sofa.

It was a little too close for comfort, so I slid over to make more room for him. Being Fae, he was drop-dead gorgeous by birth. I couldn’t decide if his pseudo-Goth bad-boy look made him more or less so. I say pseudo-Goth because he didn’t quite have the look down. His hair was dyed jet black, his left ear was pierced about a gazillion times, his entire wardrobe appeared to be black, and he sometimes painted his fingernails black. Even so, there was something strangely … wholesome about his appearance. If the Jonas Brothers ever decided to go Goth, that’s what they’d look like.

I couldn’t help liking the packaging, but the personality beneath it grated on my nerves even at the best of times.

“You really get a kick out of humiliating me, don’t you?” I asked, then wished I’d kept my mouth shut. I should at least be pretending he didn’t get under my skin so badly.

I didn’t look at him, but I could hear him shrug. “You need to be motivated to fight hard, even when it’s only sparring. If you were a guy, I’d motivate you by hitting a lot harder. Would you like that better?”

I turned to glare at him. “Have I ever told you you’re a total asshole?”

He laughed. “I think you might have mentioned it a time or two.” His smile faded, his emerald green eyes losing their teasing twinkle. “I meant what I said. You’re doing great. I’ve been learning to fight almost from the time I could walk. You can’t expect to beat me. And if you could beat me, then you’d need a better teacher.”

Every time I convinced myself to despise Keane for good, there’d be one of these unexpected flashes of humanity that made me think maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. And I had to admit, I liked the fact that he didn’t treat me like either a weirdo or a fragile flower because I was the first and only Faeriewalker born in the last hundred years or so. Nor did he want to use me to further some political agenda. That made him comparatively uncomplicated, and that was why I was willing—in theory at least—to ask for his help.