Page 17 of Marked By His Touch
“They many, many newdevushkaarrive at the ranch,” Katerina says, her eyes scanning the room. “Veles. The Raven. Fight them,da?”
“Not until we figure out what they are up to,” I say, my voice firm.
“And how do we do that?” Katerina asks, her gaze sharp, a challenge in her tone.
“We’ll be smart about it,” I say. “I’ll help.”
A figure approaches in the doorway. It’s Zara. She makes eye contact with me, a knowing glint in her eyes, and winks.
“Zara,” I say, gesturing for her to approach. “I want to learn how to fight.”
Alexander’s jaw clenches, his voice a low growl, “You will do no such thing!” His eyes narrow, a storm brewing behind them, and I feel trapped, like a bird caught in a cage.
“I decide that, not you, Alexander,” I say, my voice steady, a quiet defiance that surprises even me. “It’s my life and my body.”
He holds my gaze, his eyes burning with intensity like a dragon spitting fire. “It will just encourage you to get in trouble,” he says.
“It’s not about getting in trouble,” I say, my voice rising, a wave of frustration washing over me. “It’s about being strong. I’m tired of being a freakin’ damsel in distress.” I point towards Zara, a bloody crack visible on her lip, a symbol of the strength I desperately crave.
“Ava,” Isaac says calmly, “Alexander is right. It’s too dangerous. It’s not a good idea.”
My anger boils over. “I’m not asking for your permission,Isaac.”
Alexander lets out a guttural sound. He slumps back in his chair, his anger like a storm cloud hanging low. The room feels like a tomb. I have to get out. I need air, and I need space.
“We’ll talk about this later,” Alexander grunts.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I say, my voice tight as I brush past Zara, my shoulder connecting with hers. I notice her staring at Alexander, but I brush it off.
“Ouch,” she says, a playful edge to her voice. “Good start, little Ava.”
I rush down the corridor, her mocking laughter echoing behind me.
That’ll be an excellent motivation to punch her in our first lesson. If she’ll agree to teach me—
I reach the entrance, my breath ragged with anger. I scan the walls and stand, desperately searching for an umbrella. Even if it’s raining, I need to get out. My tears threaten to spill, and my cheeks are flushed.Where the hell is there an umbrella around here?
I turn, my gaze drawn to a scene unfolding at the foot of the grand staircase.
Two girls stand facing each other, their energy crackling like static electricity. One has her lips painted a bold blood orange, her dress a flash of glitter, and she looks like she belongs in an eighties discotheque. Her face is pale and drawn, and she looks familiar to me.
Where have I seen her before?
She fidgets, her fingers nervously twisting the hem of her dress, her eyes darting around the room, seeking a way out.
The other girl, dressed in a plain T-shirt, her eyes filled with a weary exhaustion that seems to have etched itself onto her features, is trying to hold her back. Her shoulders are puffed, and her gaze is on the colorful woman trying to pass her.
I move closer.
The girl in the T-shirt pushes her back, “You’re not leaving!”
“Try me!” the girl in the dress hisses, getting in her face, tilting her head, and staring at the other woman.
“Why is she dressed like that?” I ask one of the women standing nearby. My voice is sharp. “She can’t leave, can she?”
The girl with the makeup, her smile a little too wide, her gaze a little too eager, answers. “I can hear you, you know!”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—” I stammer.
