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Oh, he had fought. He had trained beneath the best the Breeds had to offer for years. Stygian knew it; he knew Seth was more than a match for Dawn, but he thought Seth would let her win. Let her beat on him out of pity and love.
Stygian had another think coming.
He would never strike her. He would never hurt her. But there were other ways to bring her down.
He was only barely aware of Stygian retreating to the opposite exit as he and Dawn began to circle each other, to prepare for the strengths and weaknesses they would detect in each other.
As they did, Seth felt his mind settle. The turmoil that had been rising inside it in the past few days hardened to resolve.
“The next time you need to fight, you won’t go to another man,” he promised her.
She growled. “The next time I need to fight, you’ll run with your tail tucked between your legs.”
Seth chuckled, seeing her response to the amusement. Her eyes narrowed and the rumbling growls in her chest grew more warning, harder, more dangerous.
And the battle began.
She was damned good. Seth hadn’t realized how good she was, how strong, how coordinated. She twisted and turned and fought to kick, scratch, wound.
And he laughed at her. He forced himself to laugh at her. He dragged the sound from his chest and wondered if she knew how much it tore at his soul to do it. He pushed her, chided her, assured her she couldn’t win.
He blocked most of the moves, took the ones he couldn’t block, and each time he got his hands on her he restrained her. He held her against his chest, or pushed her into the padded wall. He held her for long seconds.
“Fight me, Dawn.” Holding her broke his heart; hearing those feral screams tore at his soul.
He released her, jumped back and ducked as she kicked off from the wall and flew over his head.
She executed another of those feline twists and landed in a crouch.
“Is this how you deal with it?” He finally struck, as realization slapped him as hard as one of her fists did and she flew by him again. “Is this what you do, Dawn? You fight because you can’t cry?”
She froze, crouched, a black shadow, her face paper white, her eyes flames of agony, the whites red, the need to drain that fury and that pain welling just beyond them.
God, the tears that were trapped inside her.
“You fight to get rid of the pain. You hurt yourself, you let others bruise you, and you deliver as much pain as you can, don’t you, Dawn?” he whispered into the silence of the room, watching her, knowing he would see a shift of muscle before she moved. And he would feel it, he would know it was coming.
He watched the eyes, locked on his, the pupils dilated until her gaze was nearly black as sweat poured from her hair and her face.
“Does it take the pain away?” He shifted to the side, moving slowly, almost casually. “Does it make the memories subside?”
She flinched and everything inside his soul was torn to shreds. Because he knew that was exactly what she did.
“You don’t know—”
&
nbsp; “What I’m talking about?” He finished for her.
“You don’t.” She struck.
The words weren’t out of her mouth before she moved. Seth barely avoided her claws or those lethal feet before he hooked his arm around her waist and slammed her into the mat beneath them.
Feral, inflamed, her scream echoed through the training room and through his soul as he held her down.
“Is this what fighting others won’t give you?” he yelled over the snarls. “Is this it, Dawn? They won’t force you to remember? Because you can’t let it go yourself.”
And he knew it was the truth. Callan had put out the order years ago. When sparring, Dawn was not to be held down, no matter the circumstance, for more than a three-second count. There were no excuses allowed; ignoring that order called the wrath of their pride leader down, and none of the Breeds in Sanctuary wanted to tangle with Callan.
