The Cadre of Embers

Chapter 10

 Althea awoke the next morning earlier than normal. Since she'd arrived at the institution, her night terrors had severely dwindled. She assumed this was due to the safety she felt here. But after yesterday, her slumber had not been so kind to her. However, in her thoughts now was Jasper. Her mind had been filled with the encounter they'd shared the night before. The way his soft lips covered hers in a gentle caress.

She was dressed and ready in her training garbs before the clock chimed six. Although she wanted to see Jasper at breakfast, Althea had decided to just grab something light from the cooks in the kitchen and arrive early to her training spot. To her surprise Arsalan was already there. She watched from a few yards away as his body flowed in a way she'd never seen anyone move. Each manoeuvre looked like the sequence of a dance, but it was obvious the movements were a part of a fighting ritual. Suddenly he paused mid-step, the muscles in his back flexing. She swallowed as she studied the hard pads of solid mass beneath his tan tunic.

With a whoosh, he hurled his dagger at her.

Out of complete instinct she curled into herself, both physically and mentally, and she could feel the buzzing that accompanied her adrenaline. When she didn't feel any impact, she moved her arms from around her head and watched the dagger, mere inches from her face, hovering mid air. She had stopped it before it reached her, she realised. Her heart still beat rapidly but she couldn't help the grin that spread across her face.

"Good work," a voice gave her a start to her side. Arsalan grabbed the hovering dagger and sheathed it once more. He certainly did have a flare for the dramatic. First he had threatened to violate her, now he had attempted to butcher her in order to gain results. She willingly let go of her hold on time and Arsalan seemingly teleported in front of her now.

Althea crossed her arms over her chest, scowling. She was really beginning to despise this guy.

He studied her body language, then the expression on her face and laughed. The bastard actually laughed at her. She could feel her face, ears and neck heat as anger simmered within her.

"Do you have to be such a brute?" She meant for the words to come out with more intimidation, but her voice was softer than she would have liked, and the last word came out as more of a tremor. But he did wipe the smug smile from his lips, still looking at her.

"You think me to be a brute," he asked, tossing the dagger back into his pack by the tree. She rolled her eyes. Could he really not see why she may think that after all he'd done to her in the short time she'd spent with him?

"Well let's see, in the first ten minutes after we met, you groped me, and now you nearly beheaded me with your dagger." Her nails squeezed into each arm as she gripped herself tighter. She felt like she could implode with how smug he still looked.

"In my defence, you did sneak up on me," he retorted. Snuck up on him? She would have said something had he not tried to kill her before she could.

"Who else would have been coming out here? One of the other cadre members? Luckily it wasn't one of them, or you'd now be a wanted killer," Althea exclaimed, holding her hands in the air above her head. God he was infuriating.

"No, I knew it was you. I wanted to see if you would use your ability in a life or death situation..." he trailed off, smirking, "I, of course, would have grabbed it if you hadn't summoned your ability, but you're learning quickly."

His whole demeanour reeked of pride and arrogance. She rolled her eyes. How would she tolerate him through these lessons? She already wanted to strangle him!

His icy blue eyes glimmered with satisfaction at her silence. It was only now that she noticed the inky skin visible just above the collar of his shirt. Her eyes scanned the length of his tunic sleeve down to his wrists, noticing the dark ink there too. She'd heard of the ink marks on people before, but never had she seen them on someone. She found her mind lingering at the idea of what might be sketched on him under the shirt.