The past
The clearing in the otherwise dense woodland was eerily still, dusk settling swiftly as the sun began to disappear behind Altari Mountain. The sound of the two males struggling for breath was louder than the faint buzz and hum of the wildlife keeping hidden in the trees around them.
Caleb watched as Mishka raised himself up onto his hands and knees and spat out a mixture of blood and saliva, cursing quietly to himself. A livid mark slashed across his cheek and his normally pristine white shirt was dirty and torn in several places. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, but even that effort was making his limbs shake. He had been turned only days ago, the poison was still flooding his veins. It would be making him itch, making him sick, as the strength of the vampires manifested itself.
He was impressed as Mishka clenched his teeth against the pain, and somehow pushed himself back to his feet. With a deep steadying breath, he readjusted his grip on the tonfas, and took up his fighting stance again, the challenge to Caleb crystal clear in his slate grey eyes.
What the fuck keeps him going? thought Caleb. Is it pride? Anger? Fear? Caleb had long since re-evaluated his opinion of the delinquent teenager. His original assumption was that the notorious trouble maker fought only for pleasure, and he had wrongly predicted that his main problem would be to ensure that Mishka did not get bored or back out before Caleb could refine and mould his violent temperament into something useful. After witnessing first hand Mishka’s insane resolve, determination, and point blank refusal to quit, he was forced to admit there was more to the teen than met the eye.
Still waters run deep, Caleb mused, at a loss to understanding him.
Mishka looked up through his black fringe and Caleb could see the faint trace of satisfaction that flickered in his pale face when he realised his mentor was still sitting on the ground, several meters away. Caleb’s breathing was laboured too, and a bruise had appeared along his jaw where one of Mishka’s tonfas had actually connected.
Despite his dishevelled appearance however, from his tousled blond hair, his loose fitting t-shirt, his elaborate tattoos that decorated his arms, chest and neck, and which didn’t quite suit him, to his old and battered favourite pair of trainers, the young boss of the Annasiki family was thoroughly in control. Each blow that landed on Mishka’s slender frame was precisely calculated and perfectly delivered, enough to keep him off balance and at arm’s length but not enough to end the fight.
Caleb had a reputation for being kind and gentle and fun when he was around his friends and family. He also had a reputation for being utterly merciless if the situation called for it. At that precise moment he was unsure which side of him was called for. He was meant to be training Mishka, not breaking him, but despite how much or how hard the feral, dangerous boy fought, Mishka wasn’t improving quickly enough.
Caleb studied him and smiled, knowing full well that Mishka hated that, but unable to help himself. “Ten out of ten for effort,” he said, rubbing gingerly at his bruised face. “You’re getting better.”
“But I still can’t win,” Mishka finished for him.
Caleb paused. “No,” he said. “Not yet.” He sat back on his hands and sighed. He had known this would be a difficult task when he had accepted the duty from Nikolai, Captain of The Guardians, but he had no idea of how difficult. The kid was quite simply breathtaking. His strength, stamina, speed were second to none, his movements fluid like a dancers, and yet at the final crucial moment he became predictable, easy to read.
“Why these stupid things?” Mishka muttered, throwing the tonfas to one side.
“No blood,” replied Caleb. “Too much blood will make you...
