To Die For by Amy Plum

Author:Amy Plum
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: young adult, supernatural romance, lgbt, paris, romance
Publisher: Amy Plum
Published: 2021-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

Downstairs in the armory, I duck into a changing room to put on my fighting gear. When I come out, Ambrose is sorting through the weapons racks.

“This one’s perfect for your skill level,” he says, and hands a sword to someone standing behind him.

He steps aside, and there’s Siaka. My heart does a double-flip in my chest, and for a few seconds I forget to breathe.

Siaka looks up and a cautious smile spreads across his face. “Hey, Louis. Thanks for inviting me to work out with you and Ambrose. After a full week of sitting on my butt in front of a computer screen, this is exactly what I needed.”

“Um,” I say, glancing at Ambrose. His mischievous smile and raised eyebrow tell me everything I need to know. Because I sure didn’t invite Siaka. After our last prickly encounter, I wouldn’t have dared. “No problem. It’s good to see you again.”

“Choose your weapon. Siaka’s on sword, I’m on battle-axe, obviously,” Ambrose says.

“Sword’s good for me,” I reply, as if it doesn’t make a difference. But I choose the sword I know I’ll handle best while Ambrose puts some battle-worthy music on the sound system.

The three-way skirmishes I’ve had with Gaspard and Ambrose were physically difficult. Both are masters of the art and clearly held back in speed and force to allow me to keep up. Even then, they pushed me to my limit.

This is different. Ambrose and Gaspard are kindred—Ambrose like an older brother, and Gaspard an eccentric uncle. But Siaka... He’s way outside my comfort zone. I’m super self-conscious that I’m doing badly—very badly. My reactions are slow and I’m hesitant to hit him hard. “This isn’t working,” I say after a few minutes.

“It’s probably me,” Siaka says. “It’s been a month since I worked out with a weapon.”

“No,” I say, “You’re really good. I didn’t know you trained.”

His face lights up. “Yeah, Gaspard’s been training me for two years now. I don’t know about good, but I’m better.”

“No, seriously. Respect,” I say. “The problem is totally me. My rhythm’s off.” And with good reason, I think as I try not to stare at the defined muscles under Siaka’s close-fitting T-shirt.

In a swift set of movements, Ambrose tosses his axe onto its pegs, takes the swords from us, and replaces them with long wooden sticks.

“We’re switching to quarterstaffs,” he says. “You guys aren’t used to fighting each other. You’re holding back. These’ll do the trick. Hit each other as hard as you want, and all you’ll get is a bruise. Or, maybe a broken arm,” he says, pausing to consider the potential extent of quarterstaff damage. “Let’s focus on hitting and blocking, but not smashing.”

We start again.

This time I get into the rhythm—hitting, blocking, sweeping low to trip my opponent, jumping when Ambrose or Siaka does the same. We start slow, then accelerate. Swinging, swooping, blocking...our staffs form arcs and lines until I can almost see an intricate net of invisible forms carved out of the armory air.

I

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