Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 65167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Your form is beautiful,” she assures me. “But do not become complacent, Hannah.” Alara waves her hand and before me is a gray form made of smoke.
The figure lunges at me, and in a flash I’ve landed on my ass on the hard ground.
“What the fuck, Alara?”
“I told you not to get complacent. This phantom opponent can’t feel pain, and he can anticipate every move you make.” She waves her arm again, and the phantom disappears. “Are you ready?”
Alara moves across the dark chamber, and her voice echoes off the ancient rock. She has no intention of offering me any warning.
Just as well. I won’t get any warning if I’m jumped.
I square my shoulders, every muscle primed for the challenge ahead.
Alara gestures, and the phantom appears once more, this time with eyes red as my stepfather’s. Wrath rises inside me, and I lunge forward, feet skidding on the gritty floor. I slice my fist through the air, toward my ghostly opponent. But the smoky silhouette moves with lethal grace.
“A living being can’t move like that,” I say, panting. “This is—”
Alara interrupts me. “You haven’t encountered every living being, Hannah. This will train you to fight—and win—against anyone. Any two or any three.”
“I didn’t do so badly against the three in the alley,” I grumble, but before I can grouse anymore, the phantom strikes a blow to the side of my head.
I land on my ass once more, this time seeing stars.
I stand, squaring my shoulders once more. No conjured enemy will defeat me. Not this one, not any one, and certainly not anything I’ll encounter in the world.
I curl my fingers, drawing the phantom toward me. “Bring it on, bitch.”
44
The phantom rushes me. Its blows are swift, relentless—a storm of violence that would take out anyone less determined, less desperate to protect her unborn child.
I evade one, two, three attacks, only to lose my footing in the onslaught and fall hard onto my back. Pain races up my spine, but I grit my teeth and roll away before the phantom can land another hit.
I return to my feet again, sweat dripping from every pore.
I’m not done. Not yet.
“You’ll get a good fight out of me,” I growl.
The phantom paces around me. Though it has no face, still it grins—a malicious sneer that I feel slithering over me.
The next attack comes faster than a flash. I sidestep a punch aimed at my gut and retaliate with an uppercut that passes harmlessly through its smoky body. The phantom counters with a fast shot to my midsection.
I double over, winded, but steel myself against the pain. With a roar, I spring back up and aim a flurry of blows at the phantom. It dances out of reach. My frustration mounts as it lands another sharp jab to my side.
“How am I supposed to fight this damned thing?” I demand, my breath coming in rapid pants. “It can hit me with the force of a thousand punches, but any move I make slices through thin air!”
Alara’s violet eyes flash with determination. “You’re relying too much on your physical skills, Hannah. Remember that your mind is your weapon too.”
I gulp in air as I clutch my side. I glance at the phantom as it waits quietly for the next round. Alara is right. I’ve been treating this like a traditional fight. Despite my physical training and martial skills, this isn’t a match where brawn will win. No amount of brute force will harm this smoke figure.
Taking a deep breath, I straighten and face my spectral opponent once more. This time, though, something in me shifts. I change my stance from defensive to offensive. I extend my arm in front of me, palm open and fingers splayed apart.
“Remember what you’re fighting for,” Alara’s voice echoes.
I close my eyes and think of the small life growing inside me. My child. My future. The hope of our world. Warmth spreads throughout my body, and I imagine it radiating from my hand toward the phantom.
When I open my eyes, the phantom is standing still, eyeing my outstretched hand. I concentrate on the heat in my hand, willing it to surge forward as a shockwave, as a physical force. I focus on my love for the child inside me, my love for his father, and I transform the emotion into pure energy. I imagine it coalescing in my hand, becoming a bright and radiant beacon of power.
And then I release it.
The phantom barely has time to react as the wave of energy crashes into it. It emits a sound—something between a howl and a screech that echoes throughout the chamber as the smoke creature reels back from the impact. Its form flickers and wavers like a flame in a strong wind, but it doesn’t dissipate.
I’ve tapped into something deep within me, a wellspring of power that feels infinite in its depth. It sings in my veins, thrums through my body like a second heartbeat.