BLOODED

Episode One: Leap of Faith

I've had better days.

The instigator of my current demise steps back to re-center herself, dominating the training mat with that cold, clear confidence I envy so much. Sergeant Velvet Firethorn outmatches me in more ways than rank - something she takes every opportunity to reaffirm. But from where I stand, or have just landed a little harder than I want to admit, it's only a matter of time before I figure out how to best her.

Velvet's lanky limbs instinctively form a modified horse stance, an autonomic defensive posture hard-wired into her nervous system by discipline and experience. With one hand Velvet sweeps shaggy, white-blonde bangs from her eyes and waves me forward with the other. "You're gonna have to come at me harder than that, Cadet."

That last elbow jab to my nose had knocked me off balance, but it was the fall that really hurt. Ignoring the sticky trickle congealing on my upper lip, I scramble back to my feet, hoping it isn't obvious how much I'm struggling. Not that Velvet doesn't regularly kick my butt during close-combat drills, but today is particularly ugly. I am not at all on my game.

"Ok, ready." I'm lying. I can't quite catch my breath, but I am riding an adrenaline rush that has me so amped I can't quit. "Let's go again."

"Yeah?" Velvet flashes a crooked smirk, mocking me with her expertise and the spunk that comes from knowing her own strengths. Nearly half an hour now and my whole body is dripping with sweat. She isn't even glistening. "So bring it, already."

Where Velvet is all long and lean, I am compact and curvy. She has reach and overview to her advantage. I am learning to use that against her, but not fast enough. I'm going down again, no doubt about that, but I am not about to make it easy for her.

I need time to rethink my strategy, so I begin a slow, sidling circle to my right hoping to stall long enough to come up for a fresh approach. I've used all the holds I know. Velvet is already anticipating my moves and every scenario I envision ends with me on my ass again, or worse.

Somewhere below gut level stirs the uneasy realization that once again, I am stuck in an analysis loop. I overthink things. It's what I do. Often enough, I catch details that other people miss. But sometimes it's just a self-defeating trap, and right now I can't seem to escape it. Then I remember - sometimes a girl just has to give in to blind instinct and roll with the hits. It won't be pretty, but she might just get out alive.

Following the impulses as they come, I fake right and then lunge left, rushing Velvet's stand with a sliding tackle. My foot clips her ankle and she drops, but not backward as I expected. Velvet launches her weight forward and lands on me in a classic pelvis straddle, pinning me to the mat with a forearm choke I can't break. In a matter of seconds I feel myself losing consciousness, but she won't let up. Not even a little.

"Girl, please." The harder I struggle, the more pressure Velvet applies to my throat. Her eyes are steel-edged this time. She's not playing. "This can end one of two ways. Either you submit while you're still conscious, or you pass out. Either way, I win."

For a moment, I consider resisting until I pass out. At least that way I can claim I never gave in. A jolt of panic-fueled energy instantly obliterates that thought and I feel the fight instinct surge through the lack-of-oxygen haze. With what breath I have left, I attempt a double ankle-grab sweep by wrapping my legs around her waist to leverage my weight. Suddenly, I am the alpha. Somehow I manage to flip the hold, and I don't know which of us is more surprised. Velvet is stunned, but only for a moment. Before I can get a good hold, Velvet bucks and pulls a reverse sweep. Just as suddenly I am the beta again, but this time, she is grinning down at me.