Page 236 of Alchemised

Helena nodded.

“Be devious. When your opponent is stronger than you, it’s crucial to use that against them. They will underestimate you, and they’ll be angry if you manage to injure or evade them. There’s risk and advantage to that. If they’re angry, they will try harder to hurt you, but they’ll also stop thinking clearly; that’ll make their attacks predictable. In combat, there’s no difference between an angry person and a stupid one.”

He let her pick up her knife and pulled the other from his pocket, tossing it back to her.

He attacked her again. And again. And again. Winning every time. Despite that, he was in a bizarrely good mood. She couldn’t for the life of her figure out why, because usually he treated her mistakes like they were personal insults.

All she needed to do to “win” a round was to get stable contact once. Anywhere. One touch. Or else reach a wall with a few seconds before he caught her.

Both were impossible. Kaine could disarm her without effort, ripping the knives out of her hands, tripping her, dodging her blows, and sidestepping. Then she’d make a mistake, leave herself open for an instant, and that was all he needed. He wasn’t armed or using his resonance. He didn’t need to. He’d get her by one arm and twist it up behind her back or into some other helpless position, all while relentlessly criticising her, telling her all the ways she was doing things wrong, all the advantages her incompetence gave him.

Helena grew progressively more and more enraged, which he also noticed and seemed amused by.

“You should be using your resonance,” he said as he attacked her the twentieth time, knocking her off balance by dodging a blow.

With a quick sweep of his boot, he sent her to the floor. She tried to jump back to her feet, but he caught her by the ankle, dragging her along. When she tried to stab him, he managed to catch both her wrists in one hand.

He pinned her wrists over her head, forcing her knives to fall from her fingers, and then he proceeded to sit on her hips.

“If I were Blackthorne, I’d slit you open and eat your organs while your heart was still beating,” he said, leaning over her. His weight had her wrists so firmly pinned down, she could feel the tiles beneath all the fabric on the floor. His fingers ghosted across her stomach.

A shiver ran through her gut, heat rolling through her like a wave.

“You’re terrible at hand-to-hand combat. I thought your stance-work was awful, but you’re even worse at this,” he said, but his eyes were following his fingers.

“Well, I’ve never done this before,” Helena said mutinously as she tried to wriggle free. Her heart was pounding. “I thought we’d both be fighting with weapons.”

He laughed. “Why would I need a weapon? You can’t even beat me when I’m empty-handed.”

She frowned at him. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

He quirked an eyebrow and stood, extending a hand to help her up. “Do you prefer me angry?”

She ignored the question but watched him warily. He still seemed bizarrely cheerful, despite the endless criticisms and warnings about all the ways she could be killed.

It should have come as a relief—she’d grown so used to his anger—but instead she felt on the verge of a breakdown just looking at him. She was running out of time.

Even if she could manipulate him to some degree, by taking advantage of how contrary he was, it wouldn’t be reliable. That wouldn’t meet Ilva’s demands.

She picked up the knives. There was a throbbing pressure inside her skull. She’d barely slept since the solstice. She kept dreaming of him going mad, ripping himself apart like Basilius did but then consuming it all, eating himself endlessly like the dragon in the Ferron crest.

His voice broke her from her thoughts. “Don’t be afraid to use your elbows. When you’re fending off a close-range attack, elbows work well. You’re more likely to break something with your elbow than your fist.”

He lunged at her.

Rather than bolt, she moved towards him, sidestepping at the last minute. He pivoted, but she’d already gotten him in the leg with one of her knives. With a real knife, she would have severed a tendon and artery, enough to hobble him for a minute.

She tried to leap back for the next attack, but he used his remaining leg as leverage to tackle her, dragging her to the ground. She tried to roll but his weight trapped her. Helena kicked and snarled as she tried to fight free, but his grip was relentless, blocking her hand.

“If this were a real fight, I’d be very angry by now,” he said, his voice low as he slithered up her body, pinning her wrists to the floor, his torso moulded against hers. His mouth reached the base of her neck, breath running hot across her skin.

She kept twisting and bucking her hips to try to break free. Kaine abruptly let go of her, shoving himself off.

The muscle in his jaw rippled, and his eyes were dark as he stood up, breathing heavily, a low flush in his cheeks.

“If you’re ever pinned down like that, I would not recommend trying to escape that way,” he said in a tight voice, turning as if catching his breath.

Helena was so tired, she lay there on the floor a moment longer. “How should I do it?”