Foretold (St. Bastian Institute 1)

I glanced awkwardly at Peter, but his attention was dead ahead. He’d already started warming up, stretching his long arms up above his head. I quietly did the same, wanting to fill the silence with conversation but not really having any common ground to discuss. Finally, I went with, “So, did you have a good New Year’s Eve?”

He cast a glance my way, answering with a simple. “It was okay.”

“The fireworks were really beautiful.”

“They were,” Peter agreed, then frowned, his eyes coming to mine. “I’m sorry about my dad. He had too much to drink, and he can get a little confrontational when he’s drunk.”

I nodded, not knowing what to say. It wasn’t like Peter Senior confronting my dad was any real threat. It was the equivalent of a Chihuahua puppy trying to intimidate a full-grown Rottweiler. What I really wanted to ask was if he held the same sentiments as his father. It didn’t seem like he did, especially since he’d just apologised on his dad’s behalf. I was still hesitant to hear the answer, though. What if he turned around and said, Yes, I hate the Cristescus and all that you stand for. I wasn’t sure if my heart could take it.

Finally, I went with, “I get it. No need to apologise.”

Peter fell silent, and I focused on finishing my warm-up. Next came the truly awkward part. In order to spar with Peter, I would have to touch him. The very idea sent my nerve endings into overdrive.

“So,” I said as I faced him, “you can go first if you like.”

“Do you normally offer your opponents the opportunity to hit first?” Peter asked with a hint of humour.

“No, but we’re just practicing.”

“It’s ridiculous, anyway,” he scoffed.

“What is?”

“Having to be in this class. If I want to take someone down, I have a whole host of spells at my disposal.”

“Right, but what about in an emergency situation? What if your magic is being blocked somehow? I’m sure you’d appreciate knowing how to defend yourself the old-fashioned way then.”

He gave a non-committal grunt.

“At the very least, this class will keep you fit,” I went on. Peter wasn’t overly muscular. He was more wiry and slightly lanky.

“Running keeps me as fit as I need to be.”

“Oh, you run? In the city?”

“Yes, very early in the morning.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Peter frowned. “Why would you?”

Because I’m obsessed with you, and I hoard nuggets of information about you like secret treasures.

“I suppose I wouldn’t,” I cleared my throat. “So, um, let’s get started. Attack me.”

He took a step toward me, then paused, his eyes momentarily running down my body, causing my every pore to come alive with awareness. When his gaze rose to mine, I could’ve sworn I saw a faint touch of red heat his cheeks. It was gone in an instant.

He seemed hesitant to begin, so I drew my arms behind my back. “Look, I’ll make it easy for you. Let’s pretend we’re in a situation where my hands have been tied behind my back. I’ve somehow escaped from a cell I was being held in, and you were standing guard. I decide to run at you full steam ahead. How would you take me down?”

Peter scratched the side of his head. “I didn’t realise we needed to come up with fantasy scenarios.”

“Better think fast. I’m coming for you,” I said and ran at him.

His eyes flashed with panic, and his hands came out to stop me, but I was like a bull who just saw red. He flailed as I knocked him off his feet and landed on top of him on the mat. I was too busy laughing at his ineptitude to notice that my chest was flush with his. When I did notice, my humour died. I blushed as I regained my composure before grabbing both his wrists. I used my dhampir strength to deftly flip him over, straddle his hips, and pin his arms behind his back.

Something came over me as I bent to say, “I believe you were the one who was supposed to pin me.”

His jaw ticked. “If I were permitted to use my magic right now, I’d have you pinned down in seconds.”

A tremor went through me at the husky note in his voice. The hum of magical power that I sensed he was working hard to restrain. Was he as turned on as I was? No, probably not. Man, I was such a pervert.

With that thought, I jumped to my feet, putting some distance between us. Peter still lay on the ground.

“Aren’t you going to get up?” I asked, wondering why he was still lying there.

“Yep, just give me a second,” he replied, sounding strained and a little embarrassed.

Oh … wait, did he … was he actually …?

“Are you …” I trailed off, unable to finish the question.