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Authors: J.L. Gribble
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problem.”
“I want to call Tristan before it gets too late,” Victory said, turning the key in the ignition, “and I’ll see whether I can get Toria or Kane to call Max for me. Ugh, it’s going to be an early day tomorrow.”
She caught Lena’s small smile, then pulled back into the street. At this point, she just wanted to go home and gather her family for a much-needed conference. Now that she had firsthand evidence of Fabbri’s behavior, she wanted to compare notes with Toria and get Mikelos and Asaron’s thoughts on the situation.
Perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise when the werepanthers had rallied years ago. No time to think then, just to act. She and Asaron had grabbed their swords and headed for the trees to stop the major wave of fighters. Mikelos, Toria, and Kane had held the house and defeated the ringleader who hunted for Victory’s blood. Then, the enemy had been clear. Now, things were much more muddled.
The buildings of downtown Limani faded into dark trees, the gradual change from city limits to surrounding countryside marked by a lone sign indicating JARIMIS UNIVERSITY—3 MILES. Every time she and Mikelos considered downsizing to a smaller house within the city, this drive reminded her of why she could never leave the manor. Her traditional title might have been the Master of the City of Vampires, but it was all of Limani that was hers.
“Come on, kid.” Fosca circled Toria’s prone body. “What have they been teaching you in that fancy school of yours?” The middle-aged woman was a traveling mercenary based out of Limani. She had accepted Max’s request to work with Toria with uncontained glee.
Being called “kid” stung. Toria began to regret her rash quip concerning their respective ages at their first bows. The bruises now decorating Toria’s body from the flat of Fosca’s practice blade drove home her mistake. If Maximillian Asher had been surprised at the unexpected appearance of two of his more errant Guildmembers when they’d asked to borrow wheels from the Mercenary Guildhall’s garage, he hadn’t shown it. Instead, he had extracted a promise from them to return as soon as possible for training. When they had arrived as promised, he’d set them to spar with a few older members hanging out at the Hall on this lazy summer afternoon. Max never let her spar with Kane, claiming they got enough practice together and that he didn’t want them to get too complacent.
“I’m majoring in Chemistry.” She wished herself safe in a lab right now. Pain shot through each limb, and she staggered back to her feet once again. It was true—she was more out of practice than she liked to admit.
“And you think you’re gonna be a warrior?” Fosca snorted and launched back into the attack.
“I. Already. Am.” Toria retorted with each parry, defending herself. But two blows later, Fosca knocked Toria’s feet out from under her once again. “Ouch.” That had wrenched her ankle something fierce.
“Sure you are.” Fosca knelt next to her. “When I was your age, I was earning a living with my sword. Not playing grown-up.” She gripped Toria’s wrist and helped haul her to her feet once again. Then, without bothering with a formal end to the bout, Fosca turned on a dime and sauntered across the training floor toward the locker room.
Okay, so she was out of shape. She’d spent the last semester juggling four classes and an independent study. Some things slipped to the wayside, such as her daily practice spars with Kane, who had also been dealing with his own overloaded schedule. When they had sparred, it had been at the college’s athletic center. Neither had been to the Hall in almost two months.
Toria started her cool-down stretches, replaying the disastrous sparring match in her mind. She and Kane had work to do. If trouble was coming for Limani, they needed to be ready.
Though Victory had been teaching Toria the art of the blade since she could barely walk, and
“I want to call Tristan before it gets too late,” Victory said, turning the key in the ignition, “and I’ll see whether I can get Toria or Kane to call Max for me. Ugh, it’s going to be an early day tomorrow.”
She caught Lena’s small smile, then pulled back into the street. At this point, she just wanted to go home and gather her family for a much-needed conference. Now that she had firsthand evidence of Fabbri’s behavior, she wanted to compare notes with Toria and get Mikelos and Asaron’s thoughts on the situation.
Perhaps it had been a blessing in disguise when the werepanthers had rallied years ago. No time to think then, just to act. She and Asaron had grabbed their swords and headed for the trees to stop the major wave of fighters. Mikelos, Toria, and Kane had held the house and defeated the ringleader who hunted for Victory’s blood. Then, the enemy had been clear. Now, things were much more muddled.
The buildings of downtown Limani faded into dark trees, the gradual change from city limits to surrounding countryside marked by a lone sign indicating JARIMIS UNIVERSITY—3 MILES. Every time she and Mikelos considered downsizing to a smaller house within the city, this drive reminded her of why she could never leave the manor. Her traditional title might have been the Master of the City of Vampires, but it was all of Limani that was hers.
“Come on, kid.” Fosca circled Toria’s prone body. “What have they been teaching you in that fancy school of yours?” The middle-aged woman was a traveling mercenary based out of Limani. She had accepted Max’s request to work with Toria with uncontained glee.
Being called “kid” stung. Toria began to regret her rash quip concerning their respective ages at their first bows. The bruises now decorating Toria’s body from the flat of Fosca’s practice blade drove home her mistake. If Maximillian Asher had been surprised at the unexpected appearance of two of his more errant Guildmembers when they’d asked to borrow wheels from the Mercenary Guildhall’s garage, he hadn’t shown it. Instead, he had extracted a promise from them to return as soon as possible for training. When they had arrived as promised, he’d set them to spar with a few older members hanging out at the Hall on this lazy summer afternoon. Max never let her spar with Kane, claiming they got enough practice together and that he didn’t want them to get too complacent.
“I’m majoring in Chemistry.” She wished herself safe in a lab right now. Pain shot through each limb, and she staggered back to her feet once again. It was true—she was more out of practice than she liked to admit.
“And you think you’re gonna be a warrior?” Fosca snorted and launched back into the attack.
“I. Already. Am.” Toria retorted with each parry, defending herself. But two blows later, Fosca knocked Toria’s feet out from under her once again. “Ouch.” That had wrenched her ankle something fierce.
“Sure you are.” Fosca knelt next to her. “When I was your age, I was earning a living with my sword. Not playing grown-up.” She gripped Toria’s wrist and helped haul her to her feet once again. Then, without bothering with a formal end to the bout, Fosca turned on a dime and sauntered across the training floor toward the locker room.
Okay, so she was out of shape. She’d spent the last semester juggling four classes and an independent study. Some things slipped to the wayside, such as her daily practice spars with Kane, who had also been dealing with his own overloaded schedule. When they had sparred, it had been at the college’s athletic center. Neither had been to the Hall in almost two months.
Toria started her cool-down stretches, replaying the disastrous sparring match in her mind. She and Kane had work to do. If trouble was coming for Limani, they needed to be ready.
Though Victory had been teaching Toria the art of the blade since she could barely walk, and
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