Sweet Venom
Page 45

He laughs softly, and my heart melts.
“It’s gonna look worse before it gets better.”
“Great,” I whisper.
“I like it.” His mouth quirks into a dimpled smile. “Makes you look tough.”
His pale eyes are so close, I can see the fringe of light brown around the pupil. I’m surrounded by the faint, after-practice remains of his cologne—
A door slams down the hall and I jump back. The movement jars my muscles, and a dull ache radiates through my body.
Thane appears in the living room, a scowl on his face. One brow lifts. He asks Milo, “Homework?”
“Right,” Milo says cheerfully.
As they settle in at the dining table to do their assignments, I sink back into the soft couch. I could use a long soak in a hot bath—the tub in the master bath is humongous and has been calling to me ever since we moved in. But for right now, I’m content to sit here, with two of my favorite boys just a few feet away, and daydream about what might have happened if Thane took longer showers.
“Come on,” Gretchen shouts, standing over me like a hovering drill sergeant while I struggle with sit-up number forty-seven out of the fifty she has ordered me to do.
I manage to touch my elbows to my knees just before my stomach muscles give out completely. I slam back to the floor, my arms flopping out to the sides.
“Three more.” She leans down over me and grabs my hands, stuffing them back behind my head. “You can do it.”
“I can’t,” I pant. “I’m done.”
“You’re not done.” She moves around to my feet, kneels down, and braces my ankles. “You can’t give up if a Teumessian fox is chasing you down Market Street, and you can’t give up now.”
“Fine,” I huff.
Focusing all my energy on getting my elbows to my knees, I manage two more. My muscles are shaking and I can already imagine the cramps I’ll have later. The thought of doing one more is just inconceivable.
“Last one,” Gretchen cheers.
I flop my head back and forth, incapable of arguing out loud.
“If you make it,” she says, “I’ll tell you what I learned about Milo today.”
What? With a surge of hidden strength, I force my torso up, barely reach my knees, and then fall back with a thud.
“What?” I gasp. “What about Milo?”
“Nothing.” Gretchen jumps to her feet. “I just thought that might motivate you.”
Oh, unfair. “If my body wasn’t all wet-noodly right now, I’d throw something at you.”
Gretchen laughs, a big, full laugh that I don’t think she lets out very often. I smile and am relieved to discover that my cheek muscles don’t ache. That’s something.
“Here,” Gretchen says, extending a hand to help me up. “Let’s go refuel.”
I let her haul me to my feet, barely contributing anything to the effort. Just as I’m fully upright, I catch a foul smell. Like the stink of melting tires.
“Ugh,” Gretchen says.
“You smell it too, huh?”
“The burned rubber?” When I nod, she says, “It’s a satyr.”
“A satyr?” I repeat.
“Basically a man with a horse’s tail and donkey ears.” She rolls her head, like she’s working kinks out of her neck. “They’re not usually the mean and nasty type, but sometimes they’re tricky.”
I follow her as she stomps out of the training room and shrugs into her leather jacket. Monster-hunting time.
“Oh.” I’m a little relieved that my grueling physical training is over for the day, but sad that I’m going to lose out on some time with Gretchen. We’re still getting to know each other, and I like hanging out with her.
I grab my backpack off the floor. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
“Why?” She spins back to face me. “You’re coming with.”
I can’t help grinning. “Really?”
Then it hits me. I’m going on my first real monster hunt. My stomach turns. And doesn’t stop turning. The whole way from Gretchen’s loft to the strip of beachfront condos where the smell is originating, I feel like I’m going to be sick. Gretchen’s driving doesn’t help, either.
“Here,” she says, pulling up onto the sidewalk in front of a narrow walkway between two of the buildings. “Put these on.”
She hands me what looks like a pair of wide leather bracelets, only they don’t feel like leather. “What are they?”
“Kevlar wrist cuffs,” she answers without explanation. She nods at the walkway. “The satyr’s just at the other side of this building.”
Getting attacked by cobra lady—a basilisk hybrid, Gretchen calls her—was bad enough, but at least it came as a surprise. I didn’t know what was coming, so I didn’t worry myself into a state of freak-out beforehand.
Now I’ve had the whole drive to play out scenarios in my head. None of them end well.
“I don’t think I can do this,” I tell Gretchen. “I’m—I haven’t had enough training.”
“You’ve had more than I did when I took down my first beast.”
“But you’re you,” I exclaim. “You’re strong and brave and I’m . . . not.”
Gretchen lifts her sunglasses and looks me in the eye. “I know you’re scared,” she says, “but there’s nothing to worry about.”