Page 42 of The Blood Rites

He doesn’t bother with pleasantries. He just stops a few metres away from our tight circle, arms folded, watching. Callen’s face tightens into a sneer and Marissa immediately drops her hands, the gold flicker of her shield dying the moment he arrives.

“This looks productive,” Kael says lazily.

His gaze drifts over the fading shield in front of Marissa before settling on me. “I thought the Lightborn kept their Offerings helpless.”

He looks right at me, and the corners of his mouth curl in a wicked half-smile. “Or are my sources incorrect?”

“Just doing what we can,” I say.

I bite the smirk back before he can see it.

Kael steps closer and begins circling me like a wolf. “Still pretending to be powerless?”

His gaze moves over me once, slow and unreadable. “That sounds exhausting.”

Marissa bristles, stepping in front of me like she could do anything against this Shadowborn with her slight frame. “Leave him alone,” she says. “The Blessed themselves said he had no Mana. I heard them.”

Kael ignores her, eyes still set on me. “Blessed are liars in every Dominion.”

His mouth twists faintly. “Power attracts rot.”

Marissa crosses her arms, and I mirror her in solidarity.

“Come on, little rabbit,” Kael says, that slow smile spreading once again. “Let’s go. Feet and fists. If you’re going to survive out there, you need to know how to fight.”

Dread slithers through my stomach. “No,” I say. “And I told you not to call me that.”

“It wasn't a request,” Kael says, already stripping off the top layer of his uniform, revealing dark tattoos winding over old scars. I forget what he was saying.

“Stop it,” Marissa snaps. “He doesn’t want—”

“He’s a big boy,” Kael cuts in. “I’ve seen him swing a sword. Let’s see what else he can do.”

Callen places a hand on my shoulder. “You don’t have to do—”

I shake him off. “It’s fine.”

My skin has already turned to ice. Refusing would make me look weak. Accepting will probably humiliate me.

I step forward anyway.

Kael grins, bending a finger to beckon me into the centre of the Dome. The rest of the Offerings seem to sense blood and drift closer, forming a loose ring. Mercifully, it is only the Waterborn and a couple from each of Earth and Air that are in attendance. The Fireborn and Kael’s Shadowborn are nowhere to be seen.

I meet him in the centre. The height and weight advantage he has over me becomes painfully obvious, and I can tell just by the way he bounces on his feet that I’m in trouble here. His movements are loose and controlled, nothing wasted. His arms hang loose at his sides, tension already tightening through his forearms. My eyes roam downwards against my will. Mortifying.

We square off, and I raise my hands, habitually adopting the fighting stance that was drilled into me at the barracks. Kael watches, amused. “Ready?”

Not waiting for an answer, he lunges. I sidestep his advance, barely, and his hand grabs the fabric at my wrist, yanking me off-balance. He lets go before I topple, laughing as I try to right my footing.

“Almost,” he says. “Try again.”

I do try. This time, I manage to dodge him, feigning a dash before slipping by on his left and swinging at his ribs with my right fist. He blocks it with ease, catching my arm and twisting it behind my back. Pain sparks up my shoulder, but I grit my teeth, refusing to cry out. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

He releases me again, with infuriating ease, like a cat playing with a mouse.

“Not bad.”

A faint smile touches his mouth. “Again.”