The Last Corvus (completed)

Ch. 31 Isadora

Chapter 31

Isadora

It's been nearly three hours since Janet found me huddled beneath the blankets, trying to force the gory details of my dream out of my mind.

Demetrius and I stand, me nearly out of breath, him composed as usual, in the cavernous main room of the warehouse. He looks at me and with a pitiless look, says, "maneuver thirteen," and points to the training dummy in the middle of the room.

I walk towards it, my muscles bunching instinctively, knowing what to do even if I can't remember a single moment of training. Well, that's not entirely true. I remember vague bits, strangely only when Demetrius touched me. What's stranger still is that for some reason every time he did touch me... my body reacted as if he were the Linden from my dream. The way he would gently press here to move my arm just so or there to position my leg correctly. Or especially when he'd press between my shoulder blades to make me stand straighter, making my nerves sizzle all the way to the tips of my toes.

It's been grueling work just to fight off my body's want to kiss him (him being Demetrius and not Linden like my body wishes). But luckily my muscles have been paying attention and I let them release, the fluid motion making me smile at my new abilities.

Starting from the standing position, I twirl myself around, and, keeping my left foot on the ground, execute it perfectly, my muscles instantly knowing what to do. My foot lashes out and hits the dummy with more force than even Demetrius could muster. Catching under its chin with my heel, I actually sever its disturbingly human-esque head.

My skirts settle around me as I stand straight again and I wonder at the fact that Janet somehow persuaded me to wear this; the ankle-lengthed and long, flowy sleeved black dress, cinched in with a light grey corset that stretches from the top of my hips to just under my underwire. Her explanation? That if I could fight in this, I would be able to fight in just about anything; and that the whalebone helps to deflect knife thrusts to the internal organs.

The corset didn't restrain my breathing nearly as much as I thought it would. When I was on the track team I'd discovered that instead of taking deep, long breaths while running I only had to take quick, shallow breaths to obtain the same (if not greater) speed as the others on the team, without getting dizzy.

I don't know if that was due to my being a half-vampire (I now know my speed was), but whatever the reason, I thank it now.

He whistles at me in approval and goes to retrieve the head from next to the bay doors. Bringing it back, he tries to straighten the metal rod serving as its spine and sighs when the head doesn't reattach strait. It now slightly resembles a quizzical owl, head slightly bent to the left. Its chin and cheek are dented into the eye socket, making the jelly eye slightly squeeze out. Revolting.

"Let's take a break, get you something to eat," he pushes the slightly mangled dummy to the wall with the others. How I hadn't noticed them or any of the other training equipment when we were in here yesterday I'll never know. "I'll give you a tour of our facilities and then show you to the mess hall," he stops right before he reaches the door and looks over his shoulder, smiling, "and you can call me Dimca, if you'd like."

Dimca? What was that, a nickname for Demetrius? I vaguely remember eastern Europeans had strange nicknames, but Dimca? That's almost stranger than Dick for Richard.

No, actually, it is.

Following him down the hall, we pass Janet's sitting and bedrooms and climb a spindly metal spiral staircase, the top of which opens into what appears to be barracks. Bunk beds line the walls with dressers between them, not completely un-homey, even if it is devoid of personal effects. As we walk the center aisle I realize not all of the bunks are empty, Demetrius's team from yesterday lounges on their bunks. Some men read, some chat while playing cards, most are asleep.

One bunk in particular catches my attention; it's occupant's shoes still on his feet rather than at the end of his bed like everyone else's. Dragging my gaze from his feet, I realize it's Hank. Instantly unnerved by his gaze following me, I give him a small smile and try not to cringe at his sneer. He guffaws (unnecessarily loudly, in my opinion), getting the attention of everyone else in the room, including Demetrius.