Greymoor Academy: I Accidentally Bonded With Four Lycan Royals! novel Chapter 82

Chapter 82: 82. Duel III

Maisie

I moved first.

It was Mercer’s idea. Tessa was faster. Tessa was stronger. Tessa had her full Lycan abilities under her belt, all honed to perfection. Tessa could fight for hours and not get tired.

I didn’t have that luxury. I was already exhausted. I had barely taken one bite all day. I’d been fighting all day. If I was going to come out on top, I had to overwhelm Tessa in the first few minutes, before I ran out of steam.

The problem was, Quinlan was right.

Not only was Tessa taking me seriously, I hadn’t taken into account the fact that fighting against a shifted Lycan was like fighting a golem.

When my right leg lashed out against her side, she absorbed the first blow like she was made of stone and took a step back in retreat. My foot that had connected with her ribcage was hurting.

I restrategized. And found that she was adapting, reading my eyes and my movements.

You think with your face.

No. It wasn’t just that. When I went for her vulnerable spots, I realized she was mirroring me. The crook of her elbow and mine were identical. When my fist smashed into her throat, hers slammed into mine.

And goddess, it hurt.

My blows landed twice, because she knew to expect them. Hers landed six times, even if I could read her.

She lifted her left leg in the same moment I lifted mine.

And it was in that moment it dawned on me that she wasn’t mirroring me. We were moving through the same fluid moments because we had been taught by the same person.

Mercer.

But in this case, what I didn’t have to breach the gap, she had in abundance. She was a far better student than me.

Her lips tipped into a wicked smile as we studied each other. "Mercer’s a brutal teacher, isn’t he? Almost as cruel as when he fucks.

I was cycling through every movement in my head while she rattled on and on, trying to get a rise out of me.

"I know exactly how each of them likes it. How they groan. How they knot. How they look when they come," she continued.

I fought the urge to give into the irritation building in my gut as we went at each other. I abandoned what I’d learned since it was useless against her, and managed a blow to her face and two to her stomach.

She’d landed far more than I could count. I was still losing.

"It may not seem like it, but Jericho’s the sweetest. You expect him to be a brute between the sheets. Don’t get me wrong. In the right mood, he fucks like something dragged straight out of hell. But he’ll kiss you first. Softly. Slowly. Sweetly."

Her eyes shined with knowledge. "He’ll kiss you until you start to want it. Until you start to beg for it. Until you’ve parted your legs for him like a slut."

Dark eyes ran down my body as I struggled for breath. She hadn’t even broken a sweat. "You wouldn’t last thirty seconds with him, not to speak of the others. I doubt you’d even know what to do with men like them."

My face felt hot. I knew I shouldn’t let her get into my head, but vehemence began clawing at my chest. "Experience mustn’t be as important a prerequisite as you think it is, considering they still didn’t pick you."

She came at me.

It was three strikes in rapid sequence, each one flowing into the next without pause and I blocked the first, took the second on my forearm, and missed the third entirely.

It caught me across the face.

The world went sideways and I hit the floor. She followed me and I rolled to avoid getting stomped and kicked in the ribs.

She was angry and it made her erratic.

Her strikes widened. Her breathing changed from controlled to shallow. She was aiming now with her claws and I knew if she got them in me, I was dead.

So, I lured her in, pretending to stumble back, and when she moved in immediately, I kicked her directly in the solar plexus with all of my strength.

Tessa staggered, and I took the moment to launch myself at her wildly. I slammed my fist into her temple and her left eye in quick succession.

Shocked murmurs erupted over the gathering when she fell.

A part of me hoped she would stay down but she dragged herself forward, blood trickling down her eyes.

She blinked it away and glared up at me with those black eyes.

Her eyes screamed murder.

The next time I threw a punch she grabbed my arm and pulled me in close. My breath hitched. She raked her claws across my cheek, down to my collarbone like she was trying to tear off my face.

Pain burned down my skin and I cried out, jerking my arm out of her grasp and cycled backward in rapid retreat.

Somewhere distant, I heard the Queen’s sharp command. "Hold them down. You will not interfere. She must yield herself."

Yield.

It should’ve been easy to say the words. When she drove her claws into my stomach, opening furrows that burned like fire, the words, "I yield," sat on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn’t get them out.

I don’t want to die.

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