The Assassin and the Soldier Page 4

  “You might be right,” Callan sniffed apathetically. “So what? I want to win as much as you do. Well, perhaps almost as much. Now remove yourself from that bed, or you’ll wish you had.”

  Kaelia bristled and narrowed her eyes. “Are you threatening me?” she demanded.

  “Maybe,” Callan goaded her, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

  “I don’t like being threatened.” Uneasily, Kaelia’s eyes flicked to the tracking band around her wrist as she recalled the way Emmanuel had screamed yesterday as he’d been viciously shocked.

  “I won’t use it,” Callan said quickly, and for some reason, Kaelia almost believed him. “I won’t need to. I can overpower you by my own devices.”

  Kaelia laughed mirthlessly, doing her best to cover up her apprehension over the tracking band. Of course, she’d been trained to withstand the pain of electric shocks. But still, it was intimidating, knowing what he could do with a simple button on his phone…

  “You think so?” she provoked him anyway, smiling beguilingly.

  “Ha!” Callan scoffed. “You’re a 110-pound little girl. I’m 180 pounds of solid muscle.”

  “I disarmed you yesterday,” Kaelia reminded him. “Twice.”

  “You caught me off-guard the first time,” Callan reminded her. “The second time, you cheated. If it had been a real sword…”

  “But it wasn’t a real sword,” Kaelia interrupted. “You should have stated those were the rules if you wanted me to pretend it was.”

  “I thought that part was obvious enough it didn’t need stating.” Callan glanced at his watch, frowning.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Kaelia quipped facetiously. “Am I taking up too much of your time? Do you have somewhere more important to be?”

  “I’ve been up since four this morning,” he growled.

  “What time is it now?”

  “After ten.”

  Kaelia winced. Had she really slept so late? “Oh,” she said absently. “I had an appointment with the hair stylist at nine. Guess I missed it.” She must have slept right through the blinking and beeping of the band.

  “Too bad,” Callan grunted. “You could use it.”

  His words stung. Did she really look so hideous? Well, what did she care anyway, she wasn’t entering a beauty competition.

  “Has anyone ever told you what a charmer you are?” she drawled at him sarcastically.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a brat?” he shot back.

  She rolled her eyes, playing the part. What she wanted to roll was his head across the floor. She could take him, if she wanted, no matter how strong he was. But, no. No, no, no. No more showing off. If Callan thought she was cheating by using a wooden bokken as a staff instead of a sword, it was a wonder what he would think if he knew the truth about her. Not that he would ever find out anyway. Very few people in the world knew about her, where she came from, how she was made, and most of those who did were already dead. At least, she was pretty sure they were anyway.

  Turning away from him, Kaelia flounced from the bed, her short nightgown barely coming to the bottom of her hips as she trailed across the floor of the bedroom. “I’ll train with you,” she accommodated him lightly. “After I have breakfast.”

  “Fine,” Callan agreed. “But get dressed first.”

  “I’ll get dressed when I feel like it,” Kaelia spoke with her back to him as she made her way to the dining area.

  Another array of platters had been laid out; there were sausages and bacon, toast and rolls, scrambled eggs and cut-up fruit in every color of the rainbow. Kaelia wondered what happened to all the food the staff carried away, untouched. Wasted it, most likely. The idea made her angry, thinking about all the starving people in the prison camps. But she still couldn’t eat much… yet. She poured herself some cornflakes, filling the bowl to the brim with milk, and then carried her breakfast to the balcony to eat with the view.

  “Care to join me?” she called to Callan, who was still skulking around her bedroom. A moment later, he appeared in front of her, squinting in the sun. She propped her legs up on the patio table and balanced her bowl on her bare thighs. Callan looked away, embarrassed. Kaelia smiled as she spooned cereal into her mouth, pleased with herself.

  “Why do you have all your windows open?” Callan asked her while she chewed. “Your suite is like a sauna. The hotel has central air, you know.”

  “I like the warmth,” she replied. It made her feel safe, this constant reminder that the freezing cold depths of Krakian were far, far away.

  “Maybe I should wear my bathing suit the next time I come in here,” he spoke again, nearly conversationally.

  “You can wear whatever you like,” Kaelia spoke superiorly, as if granting him permission.

  “I see you don’t have a problem with that.”

  Kaelia cocked her head as she shoveled down more cereal. “Have you never seen a woman’s bare legs before?”

  “I could see more than that, if I wanted.”

  “Well, you obviously don’t find me attractive, so what does it matter?”

  Callan clamped his mouth shut, and Kaelia chomped slowly and methodically on her cereal as she studied him. She hated to admit it, but he looked glorious in the mid-morning sun, the rays reflecting through his curly hair and off his skin, making it shine like pewter-y bronze. In the bright light, she could make out every curve of his muscles; the boulder-like shoulders and bulging biceps, his abs rippling like tiny ocean waves under his black T-shirt. Suddenly, she found herself wondering if she’d get to see him with his shirt off, like if they had to train in the water, or something. The idea was appealing.

  Her eyes wandered up, to finally, his eyes. She startled at his eyes, though hoped he didn’t notice. They glimmered in the morning light just like a mirror, and reflected back both the emerald of the flora and the cerulean sky. A turquoise color, almost, a shade one often didn’t see on a person. Kaelia quickly looked away, perturbed.

  She took two more bites of cereal before setting the half-empty bowl on the table and standing up. She strode to the bedroom and began opening drawers, wondering what to wear. It had been a while since she’d actually had to think about what to wear.

  “Is that it?” Callan called from behind, following her. “Is that all you’re eating?”

  “I wear too little, I eat too little,” Kaelia mocked him musingly. “Do I do anything to your satisfaction, Mr. Merone?”

  “You should have some protein,” he went on, ignoring her jabs. “To build up muscle.”

  “Mmm,” Kaelia murmured, fingering the buttery soft silks and linens in her drawers, her eyes attracted to all the light pastels, like a creamy sunset bleeding into the sky. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen so many lovely clothes.

  “There’s eggs here, and bacon,” Callan went on, managing to annoy her despite his good looks. “A bowl of cereal isn’t going to sustain…”

  “If I eat one more bite of food, I’ll retch my guts up all over the floor,” she interrupted him callously. “I spent the last three years in Krakian, remember? No one was serving eggs and bacon there.”

  Good. He was blushing. It served him right. Snatching a tunic and shorts from her drawers, Kaelia marched to the bathroom to change. The shirt hung loosely over her small frame, but it flowed beautifully, and felt like a sigh against her skin. Kaelia took a comb and began aggressively raking it through her hair, wishing she’d kept that appointment with the stylist. Her ends were ragged, and she knew she needed a trim. She splashed some water on her face, and brushed her teeth. Last night, she’d had nearly an hour-long shower, shaving not only her legs for the first time in three years, but the soft mound of her pussy. Afterwards, she’d felt sexy, tickling her fingers across her newly bare skin, imagining that they might have belonged to someone else.

  “Don’t forget, we’re training outside today,” Callan called from the other side of the door, which she had left slightly ajar.

 
“So?” Kaelia called back, now twirling and turning in front of the mirror, trying to do her best to admire herself. Really, she didn’t think she looked that bad. After all, she carried no lasting scars, she still had all her teeth, and most of them were even pretty white.

  “So, you’ll need protection from the sun. Wear the sunscreen lotion from the bathroom, and a hat.”

  “I don’t need sunscreen lotion,” Kaelia emerged from the bathroom feeling clean and refreshed. She was excited to go outside today. Besides lounging on the balcony, it would be her first time out since the short walk from the chopper to the luxury car that had been waiting to pick her up when she first arrived on the island. That all seemed so long ago now. Had it really only been three days? “I never burn.”

  Callan eyed her dubiously. “You’re as white as a ghost,” he deemed necessary to point out. “You just spent the last three years underground in a cave. That may have been true in the past, but I wouldn’t count yourself so lucky anymore.”

  “I have good genes,” Kaelia said, smiling arrogantly. “Three years in a cave isn’t going to change my gene pool.”

  Nonetheless, Callan disappeared into the bathroom, and when he returned, he threw the bottle of lotion at her. She caught it, scowling. “Wear the lotion,” he ordered. “Or we’ll train inside today.”

  Kaelia bit the bottom of her lip, glaring at him. “I don’t give in to power trips,” she told him, and she tossed the bottle back.

  “And I don’t give in to brats.” He advanced towards her where she was standing with her back against the door, this time pushing the bottle back into her hands. “Put it on.”

  Kaelia’s temper flared as she placed her hand threateningly on the door handle behind her. “I don’t need your permission to go outside,” she reminded him. With the tracking band around her wrist, it allowed her to move freely around the resort—as long as she stayed inside the perimeter. “And I don’t need you to train me. I could lay you out on the floor right now if I wanted. Then maybe you’d get off my back.”

  “If you think you’re being cute, you’re not,” Callan informed her.

  “Then I suppose you won’t think this is very cute either.” Kaelia gave him the finger over her shoulder as she turned and opened the door, but Callan was on her so fast, she didn’t even know how he could have done it. He slammed the door in her face, almost taking off her nose. “Hey!” She jumped back, enraged. “Let me out!”

  She tried to open the door again, throwing her shoulder into it, pulling hard, but Callan held it shut with ease, as if he were merely leaning against it to relax. Kaelia was mystified, but she didn’t give up, pulling and tugging with all her might—and she never used all her might. How was he doing this? It was like he was like… her. Except he couldn’t be like her. She had been specially designed before she’d even been born, a superhuman, and the only others were long dead.

  “Let me out.” she repeated, seething, getting her foot up against the door jamb for some leverage.

  Callan feigned a yawn on the back of his hand. Asshole. “You want to give me the middle finger?” he asked, taunting. “See how many doors you’re going to be opening afterwards.”

  “Arrggg!” Kaelia gave one long, low, guttural cry, and then tore the metal door handle clean out of the thick, polished wood of the entryway door. She stumbled but bounced deftly back to her feet before throwing down the door handle that was still in her hand, incensed. “Now look what you did!”

  Callan was looking all right, his expression perplexed as he surveyed the damaged door. “How did you…” he started.

  “All right, buddy, let’s go.” Kaelia was through with holding herself back. “Ya’ know, I don’t even feel bad about how much I’m really going to enjoy this.”

  She flew at him, leaping through the air and somersaulting over his shoulder to drive an elbow down into the back of his neck. But he caught her around the arms, locking them with his and flipping her back around, holding her tightly to his chest. She hooked a foot around his ankle and tripped him, breaking free while also managing to smash an elbow across his face. When he came at her again, she jumped, one foot flying out behind and kicking both his legs out from under him. He collapsed to his knees, and Kaelia grabbed him around the back of the neck, intending to slam his face into the floor.

  But he reached back, quickly – too quickly, and grabbed her wrist, holding it in place despite her best efforts to wrench free. Kaelia must have been tired. To have someone like Callan hold onto her like that… well, let’s just say, it wasn’t typical, and she wasn’t exactly sure what was going on.

  “All right,” he panted, holding her back. “That was good. I’ll give you that. It was really good. Now who the hell are you?”

  Chapter 5

  Callan

  Callan stared up into Kaelia’s unusual, unblinking gray eyes as he clenched her thin wrist in his grasp. Her eyes were strange. Too strange, a color he’d never seen on another person before. And her wrist, it felt so delicate, yet somehow there was real power behind it, and she had just done… done this. But it was next to impossible for her to possess this kind of strength. Unless she was… but no, she couldn’t be like that, like him. Could she?

  “I told you I’d kick your ass,” she said, yanking her wrist back. Callan let her go and watched as she dusted herself off. “That was fun, wasn’t it? Well, fun for me anyway.” She smirked smugly, and Callan wanted to wipe that look off her face so badly it hurt, though he remained composed as he appraised her further.

  She wasn’t wearing any make-up today, and she looked better for it. Her skin was so pale it was nearly translucent, with an ethereal bluish sheen to it, almost like pearls. He’d felt an inexplicable desire to protect her before by asking her to wear the sunscreen, and her opposition was nearly charming. Callan wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

  “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked her, the same thing the show host had asked her yesterday, though she hadn’t had a chance to answer.

  She cut her eyes at him, her irises so dark he could barely detect the pupil in the center, contrasting with her skin like spilled blood on new snow. “I’ve been training as a professional killer since I was eleven,” she informed him dryly. “I think it’s safe to say I learned a few things.”

  “Eleven,” he breathed, aghast. “My God.”

  She flipped her hair. “Oh, don’t look so horrified. I’m sick of the way you look at me. The way you all look at me.”

  “And how’s that?” Callan was curious in spite of himself.

  “Like I’m some evil, terrible thing,” she all but growled, glaring intensely down at him where he still crouched on the floor. “When the truth is, you fought in Amity’s legion. You killed people. Same as me.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Callan barked at her, glancing over his shoulder, though of course there was nobody there to hear her.

  “It’s true though!” she insisted, her voice rising stupidly. “You’re a killer, too! You just happened to fight for the winning side.”

  “I said shut it,” he ordered, reaching out to snatch her wrist again and jerking her towards him. She looked down at his hand as she doubled over, as if surprised to find it touching her. “Treasoner.”

  “Treasoner,” she mimicked him, her voice going deep and slightly slack-jawed. “As if I give a damn about treason,” she added in her normal, petulant tone.

  With a twist of her wrist, she pulled free of him once more, rubbing the place where his fingers had dug into her skin while giving him a puzzled, irritated stare. Why did she keep looking at him like that? As if it was so shocking to her to find someone who might be able to overpower her. She had given him the same look yesterday, when he had held her back during Emmanuel’s beating. Somehow, she seemed to have forgotten about that. It seemed she conveniently only liked to remember the times she bested him.

  Callan lumbered to his feet, rubbing the place on the back of his scalp where she’d grabbed him
, hoping he wouldn’t get another headache. She’d elbowed him in the eye, too, and Callan could feel a bruise forming. Great. Now how was he supposed to explain that to the other trainers?

  “You should give a damn,” he warned her. “If the wrong person hears you talking like that, they’ll…”

  “They’ll what?” she interrupted, her tone biting. “Throw me in the Krakian work prison? Use me every day, all day, as free labor until I drop dead of exhaustion? Starve me? Tase my whole body with electric shocks? Is that what they’ll do?”

  Callan winced, wishing she wouldn’t talk about such things. It did something strange to him. Made him feel… feel what exactly? Something for this criminal, this killer. She was wrong about him. His profession had been honorable. Yes, he fought for Amity, even killed people, but he did it for a good reason – for a better world, or so he hoped. She did what she did simply for a paycheck.

  Kaelia had her back to him, staring through the doors of the balcony, her body tensed up. Callan felt the urge to go to her, to put a hand on her shoulder to encourage her to relax, but of course he didn’t. He found himself wondering about her life, her story. Eleven. How had she… at eleven? Of course, it was the same age he had been when his own life changed, when he found himself alone in the world with hardly any idea on how to live in it. Sure, he could lay several grown men out on the floor as soon as look at them, but he didn’t know how to secure a meal for himself, or to find shelter. He had to learn.

  “You can go now,” she said after a while, her voice coming out in a bored drawl. “We’re through with training for today.”

  “We’re not through with training,” he scoffed, baffled by the nerve of her. “All the others are training outside today. We have to at least make an appearance.”

  She looked over her shoulder to glare at him moodily. “No, I don’t. That wasn’t in the contract. I don’t have to do anything but win this stupid competition, which I will, easily.”

  “Don’t be so cocky,” Callan took a few steps towards her, blustering. “You proved you could fight, that’s it. They’ll be more to the competition than fighting.”