Read Online Crimson Groves by Ashley Robertson - Free Book Online

positioned his hands in front of his chest and motioned for me to come get him. Anger surged up in me. My head was burning hot, boiling and fierce. My mouth was so dry I had trouble swallowing. My hands balled up, forming tight fists. Shivers cold as ice raced up and down my arms, while the rest of my body felt like it was inside an inferno. All I could imagine in my mind was punching Bronx square in the face. Concentrate! Concentrate! Don’t be too angry and screw up again. We’d been practicing for nearly two weeks and I hadn’t yet hit him, with the exception of that first night, but we technically weren’t practicing then. That event, however, was playing a huge role in my quest to learn how to fight better. I was so thankful that Bronx had agreed to train me. He wouldn’t be thankful once I learned.
    I looked him up and down like a rubber band expanding, releasing, expanding, releasing. Then our eyes locked, deep blue flames sucking me into them. But I wouldn’t look away. I couldn’t. I needed to see his next move, predict what direction he would move to avoid my fist. He was mixing it up every time, dodging to the right, to the left, stepping backward, and even jumping completely over me to thwart my efforts. It was impossible to foresee what he would do now. I concentrated harder, straining, pushing myself further, and focusing beyond his eyes, digging inside his mind. I was in. Guarded walls all around me, but I was in. I could see and feel him. Waves of anger taunted me to attack like the serpent had Eve in the Garden. But I wasn’t quite ready, needed to push a little more. I fought to resist the anger; it was one of the toughest emotions to control, but I needed to control it to succeed. I thrust all my energy forward, breaking through his barriers. My anger eased up, slowly steadying me, preparing me for the attack. I was ready. It was showtime.
    I snarled, guttural growls vibrating up my throat, spilling out of my mouth. My eyes narrowed—I could feel the fire burning in them—but I could see clearly. My fangs were exposed, threatening, challenging, saliva dripping from their tips like a rabid animal. Bronx’s smile widened, a glimpse of fang showing through his lips. That was only making me angrier. I flashed forward and then back, hoping I could psyche him out. It worked. He lunged to the right, started to duck down, but I expected that move and was waiting for him. I flashed forward, right fist soaring toward his face as I lowered my body just enough to upper cut him in the face. My fist smashed into his cheekbone, crushing it, then slid up the rest of his head. Blood squirted everywhere; the sound of breaking bones merged with his violent shrieking. He fell backwards, smacking the ground with the back of his head. I jumped back, ready for him to charge me, but he didn’t. He pushed up slowly and looked at me, smiling, proud.
    “Well done, Abigail.” He licked his lips with delight. The wound was closing; the bleeding stopped.
    I did it! I did it! I jumped up, clapping my hands together. My excitement was almost intoxicating.
    Another week went by, training, fighting, and kicking Bronx’s butt. Of course I took plenty of beatings too. But I was getting stronger, more precise, more focused, and hungry to keep learning. Even though Bronx looks just a little older than me, early thirties maybe, he’s actually much older—a hundred thirty years to be exact. Unfortunately that means he’ll always be stronger than me, no matter how hard I train or how good I fight. So I have to be smarter than him, know his next move before he makes it. One day I just might catch him off guard.
    Depression would sometimes find me, clinging to me, reminding me of those I’d never see again. It’s funny how you think you don’t need anyone. I’d found out the hard way that that just isn’t really true. I’d also get down on myself for not acquiring one of those special powers yet. I mean, if I had to be a