Page 37 of Heimlock

“Why, what?”

“Why did you want to stop by? What’s the purpose of being here? Girls don’t just show up wanting to have the dung beat out of them. So why?”

Heat flushes my cheeks. Gritting my teeth, I snap, “I’ve had the dung beaten out of me enough. I want to have the skills to return the favor.”

Richor’s brow raises. “Remember that response when the men undoubtedly make things difficult. Most of them have almost two hundred pounds on you. At minimum. I have Gargoyles over four hundred pounds. Most are at least a foot taller than you. So—” He leans forward. “—You’ll excuse me for assuming you’ll have your ass handed over on wings and claws before you raise a fist of fire.”

“Teach me how to make that not happen.”

Richor grinds his jaw, truly looking at me for the first time. I know he sees pastel orange hair, a soft, curvy build, delicate fiery wings, and light orange fingertips ready to wield fire.

All in all, it doesn’t make an overly impressive presentation.

“Please,” I ask quietly, softening my posture and expression. Not to manipulate, but to show how earnest I am about this.

Coach leans back again. “You’ll train every day.”

“Tell me what time.”

“You’ll probably hurt yourself.”

“I’m a quick healer.”

“Some of the men will be cruel because of how you look.”

“Most of them are too ugly to be talking.”

Coach lifts his chin, then says, “Tomorrow. Six a.m.”

“Thank you.” I stand, limbs shaky from the adrenaline rush that the entire interaction gave.

My hand’s on the doorknob when he says, “What’s your name?”

“Kyrielle, but people call me Kyri.”

Coach grins; I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to seeing those rows of teeth. “Well, Kyrielle, I think we can find you a spot here.”

Elation has me grinning. “Really?” I glance out the window. “Do any women attend?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I’d like there to be. Maybe you can help with that.”

“Maybe.” The prospect is thrilling.

Coach clears his throat. “If I can recommend something?”

“What’s that?”

He starts rifling through some paperwork. “Avoid sleeping with any of the men. Or keep it quiet if you do.” He glances up. “It’s not a rule — you aren’t an employee, but I doubt I need to expand further as to why?”

Because men can’t help themselves. “No, I get it.” I clench my jaw in determination. “I won’t put this opportunity at risk for some mediocre dick.”

A smile flickers across his thin lips, revealing a row of fangs. “Welcome to Brawling Battle Gym.”

15

My phone buzzes on my nightstand, but I ignore it. Kyrielle can’t seem to let it go. There’s no drive inside me demanding to open up to her. Clearly, she’s trying to mend the toothpick bridge connecting us.

A month ago, it might’ve worked. Until my father’s hand was on my body again, there very well could’ve been hope.