The Winged [HIATUS]

Chapter Seventeen

“An adventure may be worn as a muddy spot or it may be worn as a proud insignia. It is the woman wearing it who makes it the one thing or the other.” -Norma Shearer

[ C H A P T E R   S E V E N T E E N ]

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“Eugh!”

I cry out in pain as Logan grabs my right arm and twists it up behind my back. Gritting my teeth, I drive my left elbow into her ribs and spin around, tearing my wrist from her grasp and sweeping her legs out from under her with a well-timed kick. She lands on her hands and shoves the ground away from her body, springing out of my range. After circling each other for several seconds, I dart forward and box her nose. Blood dribbles down her face. Hissing, she latches onto my arm and throws me off balance. She’s behind me before I can recover, driving her foot into my spine. I fall face-first in the grass.

“Had enough yet?” Logan teases, watching with amusement as I slowly – and deliberately – pick myself up and brush the dirt off my sweats.

I spit on the ground, easily slipping back into a fighting stance. It’s been a total of three weeks since we arrived at Logan’s Training Camp. Every waking hour is spent on developing our skills: shooting, edged weaponry, hand-to-hand combat, tracking, stealth, you name it. I remember that sarcastic comment I made to Tempest on the first day we met about me being a ninja. I honestly feel like a real ninja at this point. Seriously: If there was a showdown between me and, say, a rabid bear, I would turn that bear into a doormat.

It is late afternoon; the month has changed from May to June. Logan’s been sparring with us all day, nonstop. When one of us is too tired to fight, she calls the other one in and beats the hell out of them instead. Neither of us has actually won yet, but we’re not allowed to use our powers (or wings) and it’s highly unlikely that we’ll be able to get the drop on Logan without them. My hair is drenched with perspiration. Meanwhile, Logan’s olive skin glistens with a nearly imperceptible sheen of sweat, showing only subtle signs of exertion. I envy her.

“Ready?” she calls.

I nod once, swinging my hands up to guard my face. She takes one step forward and regards my determination with a chuckle before diving in. I dig in my heels and wait for her to reach me. The moment I see her muscles tensing to strike, I stoop down and dart between her legs. I take advantage of her confusion and jump on her back, forcing her to the ground. Before she can react I am looping my sturdy arms around her neck. Then I squeeze.

Logan taps the grass after futile attempts to pry me off. “I’ll let you win this one,” she croaks, after I’ve released her. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting you to weasel in a piggy-back ride.”

“Thank God!” is my exasperated response. “Can I sleep now?”

“But it’s still light out,” Logan protests.

“Yes, and I stayed up until two in the morning learning about poisonous plants,” I say drily. “I’m out.”

“Well… fine,” she concedes, taking a large swig of some energy drink I don’t recognize. “Pull up a lawn chair and take a nap out here.”

“But-”

“Shut up and take it before I change my mind. Tempest, get your ass over here so I can kick it.”

Tempest gulps and steps forward. The two circle each other for some time, their eyes searching for weaknesses in the other’s guard. Tempest attempts a roundhouse kick and misses, dodging a right hook aimed at her face. They begin circling again.