"Pretty sure that's not what daddy issues means," I ventured as we split off, and Rebecca headed for the center ring while I veered off toward the locker room. There were a few people in the massive warehouse-turned-gym with us, but mostly, it was quiet.
"Fine, then he's just your regular ol' asshole with control problems," she called back at me, right as the doors opened and Mikhail came into the room. He looked first at Bex and then over at me with a slight scowl on his face, shaking his head and moving over to a pair of men in the far corner.
I ignored him.
He might know we were talking about him, but I could give two craps less. Mikhail did have issues, and he knew it. And maybe he really did like to think of himself as some sort of father figure? That didn’t bode well for the sexual attraction I felt towards him, but I guess it probably made sense based on the age gap.
Shaking my head in an attempt to clear the sordid thoughts, I hurried into the locker room and quickly changed into my workout clothes. Once I was in my spandex shorts and sports bra, I paused with my tank top in hand. It was a hot day—sort of—so it wouldn't be too shocking to leave the tank top off …
Without giving myself another chance to change my mind, I stuffed the shirt back in my bag, made sure Ziff was snuggled up safely in the mound of clothes, then hurried back out to where Bex waited impatiently, bouncing up and down on her toes and shooting glares toward our boss.
Mikhail, for his part, was still chatting with the guys in the corner, but his gaze was locked on me like a tractor beam.
Against my better judgement, a shiver ran through me and I thanked the Fox Father that my bra was padded enough to hide my rock-hard nipples.
"Showing a bit of skin today, huh?" Bex teased as I came close and narrowed my eyes at her.
"It's a hot day," I defended my outfit choice, "and I intend to get a good workout from you."
Bex arched a brow at me and grinned. "Hot? It's November. We'll be lucky if it doesn't start snowing again."
"Drop it," I snarled quietly, hoping Mikhail wasn't listening in on our conversation. Then again, he was a vampire, so chances are, he was. "Are we sparring today or what? Because I have a whole lot of shit to deal with and I really think kicking your ass is going to help."
She snickered, but the distraction worked and she flexed her knuckles. She'd already taped her hands up, and tossed me the roll to do my own. At a training center for supernatural assassins, we didn't use gloves or pads or any of that wimpy human shit, but we did need to tape our knuckles. In an enclosed space like this, split skin could cause chaos if there were vamps around. Tape simply kept the smell of fresh blood contained until our natural healing could seal it back up. Not saying that prevented all the accidents that’d happened here, but it helped.
I'd barely started winding the sticky black tape around my left hand when a heavy grip clamped over my wrist, halting my motions.
"Gloves," Mikhail ordered, his deep blue eyes flashing with danger as if warning me not to argue. He knew me better than that, though.
"No way," I sneered back at him. "I'm not human, Mik, I'll be just fine. Bex and I spar all the time; we know our limits."
"Have you sparred without your magic before?" he challenged me, his voice low and quiet but I knew Bex had heard by the small gasp she let escape. For a vampire, she was seriously shit at her poker face.
"I'll be fine," I repeated, trying—and failing—to yank my wrist out of his iron grip. In fact, it only served to tighten his hold, and I bit my lip to stifle a whimper of pain. I’d be damned if he’d get that out of me.
"Prove it," he whispered, releasing my wrist without warning.
I gasped at the sudden lack of pressure and held my hand to my chest defensively. "How?"
Mik nodded to the wrist I was protecting. "If those bruises disappear in the next thirty seconds, I'll leave you be."
I tried to glare at him—because I had no comeback for this—but it was fucking impossible to hold his gaze for too long. Vampires, and old ones like Mik in particular, could grab and roll someone's mind with a mere second’s glance. Only the strongest supernaturals could keep their thoughts closed to a vampire of Mikhail's strength, and I was not running the risk of him seeing inside my head or hypnotizing me.
Instead, I just scowled at his perfectly tailored coat lapels. Mik made a good show of pretending he felt temperature like humans by dressing appropriately for the weather. Often, though, he'd forget to adjust when he came indoors. Which was probably why he was still in a charcoal black, woolen coat while I stood there in my bra.
"Show me," he ordered, after what must have been thirty seconds. I heaved a sigh, then held out my wrist, defeated. There was no need for me to look and see that his fingerprints were still showing clear against my creamy white skin. I could feel them.
Fucking Japanese heritage. If I was bronze-tanned like Chris, maybe the bruises wouldn't have been so damn obvious? Then again, I was pretty sure his tan came in a bottle because it had a little shimmer to it ...
"Gloves and pads," Mikhail repeated, "or you go home."
Scowling, I stared at the floor and snatched my bruised arm back from his grip. This time, he let me go with almost gentle fingers.
"What do you say?" he murmured, expecting me to respond with the respect his position demanded. My anger was burning hot, though, and there was no way in foxfire that I'd be thanking him for his concern. Fucker.
There was a pregnant pause between us as I continued to stare at the mat beneath our feet, my jaw and fists clenched tight. Thankfully, I'd retracted my tails and ears already—because Bex was not above yanking them in a fight—otherwise they'd be a dead giveaway for my anger.
"Fine," Mikhail growled, "if you want to act like a child, then you'll be treated like one. Full body pads, or you're banned from The Shack until you get your magic back." He snapped the word Shack off his tongue, like it was the foulest curse imaginable.
"What?!" I exclaimed in horror, shock breaking through my stubborn fury. "No! Fuck you, Mik, I’m not a goddamn child!”
The ancient head of the assassins’ guild seized me by the upper arm with the speed of a striking cobra, yanking me close so he could speak into my ear.
"You'll do as you're damn well told, Thea, or you'll be punished accordingly." His words were hissed so close to my ear that his lips brushed my skin and I was helpless to suppress a shudder. Given the situation, I'm pretty sure it would have come across as fear, thank the Fox Father. Mikhail released me and gave me a no bullshit glare before stalking out of the training center.
I very nearly went after him and kicked him in the nuts; I had a problem with authority.
Yup, Mikhail Ravena was a fucking dickhead.
"Shit, girl," Bex breathed when the door to The Shack slammed shut behind our boss. "Guess you better get some pads on."
"Hell no," I snapped. "He can't just tell me what to do like I'm some sort of …" I failed to find the right word and just waved my hand in disgust.
"Like some sort of employee? Uh, yeah babe, he can. Worse, even. This isn't really a job you can just quit if the boss pisses you off, ya know?" She gave me a pitying look that made me grind my teeth so hard they almost cracked. "Just … wear the pads, Thea. I need this job, and my life."
"You're undead, Bex," I corrected her, but did as I was told, following her over to the sweaty-smelling equipment cupboard and strapping on the bulky pads. "This is such bullshit," I grumbled, waddling back to the mats.
My friend, for all her merits, really sucked at hiding her emotions, so it was pretty damn clear she was holding back laughter at seeing me head-to-toe in pads. I felt like a damn sumo wrestler, but I'd be fucked if I didn't still kick her ass.
"Let's do this," I encouraged. "If you think I'll be slower because of this, then you're messing with the wrong kitsune."