Page 113 of A Silence So Divine

When I nod my head, a large part of me wishes I didn’t.

I stand dumbly as Sylvie makes her way to the other side of the sparring mat. She raises her hands over her head, stretching side to side and rolling her shoulders back. Satisfied with her loose limbs, she levels me in her stare.

“You ready?”

No.

My chin dips infinitesimally, and without a moment of hesitation, she charges at me. Forgetting the purpose of the training, I back up in a panic and trip over my feet. Unable to catch myself, I land on my bottom. My tail bone throbs.

Sylvie throws her arms up. “You’ve got to be shitting me. What’s the point of this if you’re going to run away?”

Even if my hands weren’t bound behind my back, I wouldn't have a valid excuse. I shrug in embarrassment as an apology.

For the next fifteen minutes, the sessions end in very much the same manner. I trip and fall, I run and hide behind Cecil, I drop to my knees and cower. Sylvie’s face gets more and more red, and I absently worry for her blood pressure.

“You’re wasting my fucking time,” she growls, taking her place across from me.

Don’t run. Stand your ground. Open your mouth and—

Air whooshes out of my lungs as Sylvie slams into me. Before, she would quickly step towards me, giving me time to prepare. Now, by the time I register her moving, I’m already on the ground.

An ache spreads through my hip from where I land on my side, but that’s just the beginning. Her body weight rolls over mine until I’m pinned on my front, cheek pressed to the mat. The smell of rubber and sweat fills my nose, and all I can see is the row of RVs in the distance.

Failing to protect myself, I wait for Sylvie's weight to disappear and for her to demand I get back on my feet.

But it doesn’t come.

Suddenly, white hot pain shoots from my wrist all the way up into my skull. Nails dig into my flesh as Sylvie uses her strength to bend my wrist at an unnatural angle. I gasp loudly and begin to wriggle wildly beneath her.

Thundering footsteps near.

“If you get any closer, I’ll break it.” Sylvie’s voice has lost its feminine quality. In its place is something feral. Something deadly.

“What thefuck!? Get off of her!” Cecil sounds about as panicked as I feel. I can’t see Creed, but I can’t imagine he’s faring any better.

The pain worsens and I see stars, my next inhale strangled. Bucking my hips, each movement only adds more pressure to my trapped arm. Any second I’m expecting the snap of bone.

“Not until she makes me!” There’s a hint of desperation in Sylvie’s voice, anger beginning to waver into something akin to fear.

Her weight shifts, and I can feel the brush of her hair along the back of my neck. “Where’s that Gift of yours, huh?” She pushes impossibly further, and I stop breathing altogether. “Veda told me about your mother, you know. Sacrificing herself for you. What a waste.”

A sob is trapped somewhere in my lungs—somewhere I can’t reach. A pressure builds, but in the back of my mind, there’s hesitation. I don’t want to hurt her. Even through the anger, through the agony, I don’t want to.

“I’m not fucking around! Let her go!” Cecil’s order falls on deaf ears. Black shrouds the edges of my vision. My molars grind until my jaw pops.

“Utterly. Fucking. Useless.” Her lips lower to the shell of my ear until I can feel the warm humidity of her breath. “Don’t worry, birdy. I’ll keep his bed warm once you’re gone.” A pleased hum escapes her. “Hell, maybe even both of them. I’m not usually into softies, but I’ll bet Creed is good with his hands—”

Energy consumes my consciousness and bursts out in the form of a brief, guttural shriek. Without the air to force the sound up and out, the wail is short lived. But it’s enough. The weight against my back disappears.

Oxygen floods my lungs. Tucking my knees beneath me, I press my forehead to the mat. Unaware of my surroundings, all I’m able to focus on is the throb in my wrist that ebbs with each passing second. There’s a shuffle of fabric beside me, and I don’t have to look to know who it is.

Creed makes quick work of the leather, freeing my hands from the binds. Ever so gently, he helps me sit up and cups my face in his palms. Bringing my uninjured hand up, I close my fingers around his wrist and give it a squeeze. He leans forward until our foreheads touch. I close my eyes and allow his presence to calm my frayed nerves.

That proves difficult, with the threats being thrown around behind me.

“I could fucking kill you,” Cecil’s words are heavy with promise.

As Sylvie replies, she sounds breathless. “Yeah, but you won’t.”