What Sleeps in Shadows

Chapter Eight

"Yield."

Raven's back slammed into the mats under her, the wind escaping her lungs in a forced rush. Stars filled the corners of her eyes, and she looked up at Damian, feeling the dull edge of a practice sword against her throat. Sometimes she felt like she was so bad at combat. The monks in Azarath had never taught her how to use her powers for offense, and trying to gain the upper hand in any fight was proving to be difficult.

Damian lifted an eyebrow at her, waiting for her response, but she kept quiet, instead looking for another opportunity. Both of their chests were heaving, and sweat pooled down the curves and planes of his neck and chest, soaking his shirt. Raven caught his stare and then felt her eyes drift lower as shame blossomed deep in her stomach. Embarrassingly, she found she liked the way wet cotton clung to his collar and chest - there was no hiding any part of him from her.

Gods. Raven closed her eyes for a second, trying to pull back in her emotions before they got out of control. She was such a mess, and this was so not the time to be thinking about that. Her eyes snapped opened again and she looked back into Damian's waiting expression. They had both lost track of how long they had been at this, but some of the other students had already pulled out their phones, bored with what was happening. She needed to end this, preferably with her dignity in tact.

Raven shifted again, taking a millimeter away from the dull-edged sword at her throat. There was a way out of this, there just had to be. Damian shifted his weight to follow her movements, and for a fraction of a fraction of a second, he was unsteady.

There.

Seizing her opportunity as quick as she could, Raven's powers snapped out and wrapped around his back ankle, pushing him off balance. He stumbled backward, the cold steel of his practice blade nicking her jaw. Raven ignored the snap of pain and propelled herself up to her feet with her incantation, surging forward as magic snapped around her fingertips. There was the crackle of electricity in the air and she threw a spell at him.

Damnit. Still too slow.

"Tch." Damian seemed to know what she was doing and caught his footing quicker than she expected. He righted himself, flipped his sword in a movement too fast to catch, and dodged her attack as it dissipated against a magicked wall behind him. Damian didn't even flinch. This was so not fair. Raven spun towards him to try and unleash another attack, feeling him push forward again, but Damian was already pressed beside her, pinning her arm against her side. The back edge of his sword was wedged underneath her breast, pressed against her ribcage with the tip pointed dangerously close to her heart. If the blade had been live, she would have been dead.

Raven stood there, her jaw locking into place in annoyance, and stared into his face. At least he was sweating and gasping like her, so the match was almost fair. They stood there in silence for a moment, and Raven watched the late afternoon light filter in through the windows at the ceiling, catch flecks of gold in his eyes. His eyes were too pretty, and it was completely distracting. Her heart started to pound and heat poured into the space just below her navel, filling the rest of her body with a slow, low burn. Damian leaned closer to her, wedging the sword tighter against her chest. His pupils widened and he took a deep breath through his nose, his jaw ticking as his right hand tensed under the ace wrap he used to hide his brand.

Oh. Right. He knew what she was feeling.

"Yield, Raven."

Raven slowly raised her free arm and tapped her upper thigh in defeat. Damian stepped back, his expression dark and unreadable. The emotions inside him were a mess, a mixture of what she was feeling and something else, and Raven felt a bit like she was caught in the undertow of a wave, being pulled further and further down with him. He stared at her for a long moment, his breathing slowing, before turning on his heel and practically storming off the mats.