Read Online Bone Crossed by Patricia Briggs - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Patricia Briggs
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much as Zee did.
Drama over, Adam went back to the sidelines, loosening his tie and pulling his suit jacket off as a concession to the heat. Sensei had us do three hundred side kicks (Lee was called from his position of disgrace to participate) first to the left, then to the right. We all counted them off in Japanese—though I suspected if a native speaker had dropped in, they might’ve had difficulty understanding what we were saying.
The first hundred were easy, muscles warm and limber from earlier calisthenics; the second ... not so much. Somewhere about 220, I lost myself in the burning ache until it was almost a shock when we stopped and switched sides. Wandering through the ranks of students (there were twelve of us tonight) Sensei adjusted people’s form as he saw necessary.
You could tell those of us who were more serious because our two hundredth kicks looked just like our first. Students less diligent lost height and form as exhaustion took its toll. There were still some students in good form on the three hundredth kick—but not me.
AFTER CLASS, PEOPLE WERE TOO BUSY TRYING NOT TO stare at the werewolf—all the while getting in a good look—to pay any attention to me. I changed in the bathroom and took my time, out of courtesy, so that they would all have time to change in the anteroom in front of the dojo before I came out.
Sensei was waiting for me when I emerged.
“Good job, Mercy,” he told me with an emphasis that told me he wasn’t talking about Lee. It was odd that the words he had for me were the same ones, in a different language, that the woman in the taco wagon had used, meant the same way.
“If it hadn’t been for this”—I tilted my head to indicate the dojo—“I would have died that night instead of my attacker.” I gave him a formal bow, two fists down. “Thank you for your teaching, Sensei.”
He returned my bow, and we both ignored the suspicious watering of eyes.
Adam was waiting near the front door carefully examining his fingernails. He had chosen to be amused by all the people staring at him, which was a good thing. He had a temper. Sweat darkened his Egyptian-cotton shirt, so it clung to the round lines of his shoulders and arms, announcing to anyone that he was a hard body.
I took a deep breath to cool my jets and introduced him around. Only Lee met his eyes for longer than a moment, and at first I thought Adam was going to lose it. He gave Lee a scary smile. I was afraid of what he—either he—was going to say, so I grabbed Adam’s arm and tugged him out the door.
If he’d wanted to, Adam could have shaken me off, but he went along with it. I hadn’t brought my car because the dojo was just a short hike across cheatgrass and down the railroad tracks from my shop. Adam’s SUV wasn’t there either.
“Did you drive a different car?” I asked in the parking lot.
“No, I had Carlos drop me off after work so I could walk back with you to your shop.” Carlos was one of his wolves, one of three or four who worked for him at his security business, but not one I knew well. “I remember you told me you liked to cool down on the walk back.”
I’d told him that several years earlier. He’d been waiting for me at my shop with a warning ... I looked down at the asphalt and turned my head so he wouldn’t see my smile.
It had been after I first hauled the old parts car out of my pole barn and stuck it in the middle of the field so Adam couldn’t help but see it out of his window. He’d been dispensing orders left and right and, knowing werewolves as I had, I hadn’t dared to defy him outright. Instead, knowing how organized and neat Adam was, I’d tortured him with the battered old Rabbit.
He’d stopped by the garage and found my car but not me. He’d never said, but I thought he must have trailed me to the dojo—and instead of complaining about the junkmobile, he’d dressed me down about wandering around the Tri-Cities by myself at night.
Drama over, Adam went back to the sidelines, loosening his tie and pulling his suit jacket off as a concession to the heat. Sensei had us do three hundred side kicks (Lee was called from his position of disgrace to participate) first to the left, then to the right. We all counted them off in Japanese—though I suspected if a native speaker had dropped in, they might’ve had difficulty understanding what we were saying.
The first hundred were easy, muscles warm and limber from earlier calisthenics; the second ... not so much. Somewhere about 220, I lost myself in the burning ache until it was almost a shock when we stopped and switched sides. Wandering through the ranks of students (there were twelve of us tonight) Sensei adjusted people’s form as he saw necessary.
You could tell those of us who were more serious because our two hundredth kicks looked just like our first. Students less diligent lost height and form as exhaustion took its toll. There were still some students in good form on the three hundredth kick—but not me.
AFTER CLASS, PEOPLE WERE TOO BUSY TRYING NOT TO stare at the werewolf—all the while getting in a good look—to pay any attention to me. I changed in the bathroom and took my time, out of courtesy, so that they would all have time to change in the anteroom in front of the dojo before I came out.
Sensei was waiting for me when I emerged.
“Good job, Mercy,” he told me with an emphasis that told me he wasn’t talking about Lee. It was odd that the words he had for me were the same ones, in a different language, that the woman in the taco wagon had used, meant the same way.
“If it hadn’t been for this”—I tilted my head to indicate the dojo—“I would have died that night instead of my attacker.” I gave him a formal bow, two fists down. “Thank you for your teaching, Sensei.”
He returned my bow, and we both ignored the suspicious watering of eyes.
Adam was waiting near the front door carefully examining his fingernails. He had chosen to be amused by all the people staring at him, which was a good thing. He had a temper. Sweat darkened his Egyptian-cotton shirt, so it clung to the round lines of his shoulders and arms, announcing to anyone that he was a hard body.
I took a deep breath to cool my jets and introduced him around. Only Lee met his eyes for longer than a moment, and at first I thought Adam was going to lose it. He gave Lee a scary smile. I was afraid of what he—either he—was going to say, so I grabbed Adam’s arm and tugged him out the door.
If he’d wanted to, Adam could have shaken me off, but he went along with it. I hadn’t brought my car because the dojo was just a short hike across cheatgrass and down the railroad tracks from my shop. Adam’s SUV wasn’t there either.
“Did you drive a different car?” I asked in the parking lot.
“No, I had Carlos drop me off after work so I could walk back with you to your shop.” Carlos was one of his wolves, one of three or four who worked for him at his security business, but not one I knew well. “I remember you told me you liked to cool down on the walk back.”
I’d told him that several years earlier. He’d been waiting for me at my shop with a warning ... I looked down at the asphalt and turned my head so he wouldn’t see my smile.
It had been after I first hauled the old parts car out of my pole barn and stuck it in the middle of the field so Adam couldn’t help but see it out of his window. He’d been dispensing orders left and right and, knowing werewolves as I had, I hadn’t dared to defy him outright. Instead, knowing how organized and neat Adam was, I’d tortured him with the battered old Rabbit.
He’d stopped by the garage and found my car but not me. He’d never said, but I thought he must have trailed me to the dojo—and instead of complaining about the junkmobile, he’d dressed me down about wandering around the Tri-Cities by myself at night.
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