Free The Fallen 03 - Warrior by Kristina Douglas Page A

grunted.
    “Because we’re running out of time.” He had no intention of elaborating. Even after five years, he didn’t entirely trust Metatron. There was something not quite right about him.
    “I’ll do it,” Asbel offered, and Michael froze. Not that he had anything against Asbel, but the angel was unmated, and Michael wasn’t in the mood to trust anyone around Victoria Bellona. Though Metatron was unmated as well. It was Asbel’s tendency to appear out of nowhere that got on his last nerve.
    “Metatron,” he said in a flat voice, and the big man nodded.
    At least this way he could keep an eye on him. The last to fall had done so reluctantly, after being brought to the brink of death in battle with Azazel. Putting him together with the girl would keep two problems contained.
    Metatron shrugged, indifferent. He was a good soldier. He followed orders without question, was lethal with lance and sword, and didn’t give a shit whether he lived or died, which made him willing to take chances. “Your Honor,” he addressed his new charge in a deep, ironic voice.
    “Just Tory,” she said to Metatron, moving off withhim without a backward glance. Which Michael found annoying, though he wasn’t sure why. He turned his back as well, concentrating on loosening up, then checking in with each member of his small, dedicated force before he allowed himself to glance back at her.
    She moved well, he thought critically, watching as she ducked and parried Metatron’s carefully restrained blows. She had an innate grace, an understanding of combat that couldn’t be taught, which was something. He shouldn’t be surprised by that—she was, after all, the goddess of war. She also made stupid mistakes, which annoyed him. Annoyed him enough that finally he could stand no more, and he crossed the room in a few long strides, taking the practice sword from Metatron.
    “No, no,” he said impatiently. “You’re reacting too quickly. Your form is good, relaxed, but you keep jumping in a moment too soon. Hold yourself like this. . . .” He put his hands on her shoulders, adjusting her position, then used his foot to nudge hers into a wider stance. And then froze, with his leg between hers, his hands clasping her shoulders.
    He released her abruptly, backing away, mentally shaking himself. What was wrong with him? “Practice waiting a moment longer rather than rushing. It gives you more control. Wait for your opponent to come to you.”
    “And what if he doesn’t?” she said quietly. “What if he keeps retreating?”
    With any other woman, he might think she was talking about something else entirely. But Victoria Bellona had no carnal interest in him, no carnal interest in anybody. Which was a relief, since he was suddenly having a difficult time controlling his wayward urges.
    “Then you find someone else willing to battle.” He turned his back on her and her far-too-perceptive green eyes.
    “Or go back to your rooms and let the warriors do their job,” Metatron said in his deep, disapproving voice. He was a sexist to the core and had very little use for women.
    The girl was looking pretty, weak, and helpless, and Michael knew a moment’s doubt. He was trying to keep his distance from her, but he was fairly certain she was neither weak nor helpless.
    She looked up at the giant warrior. “Metatron,” she said meditatively. “You guys are very strange. We’ve got a Ninja Turtle and a Transformer. What’s next, Wolverine and the Power Rangers?”
    Metatron looked at her with profound dislike. “She is too flippant,” he said. “This is a waste of my time.”
    “Let me try once more,” she begged in a deceptively sweet voice.
    Metatron nodded, the fool. He was an excellent soldier, but he had a tendency to underestimate his opponents. And Victoria Bellona was most definitely an opponent.
    A few seconds later the ground shuddered as Metatron went down in as neat a move as Michael could remember seeing. So she had some