My Second Chance Mate is a Barbarian (Sera and Fenris) novel Chapter 42

Sera

I spat a mouthful of dirt onto the packed earth. The taste of copper and dry soil coated my tongue. I stayed on my hands and knees for three seconds, forcing oxygen back into my lungs, before I pushed myself up.

My legs shook. My ribs throbbed with a sharp, localized heat every time I inhaled.

The last three days of training had broken me down to my base components. But a few things had changed. My coordination was sharper. My feet moved to the correct positions without me having to look down and check them. And I could see Yvara’s attacks before they landed.

That was the result of Yvara’s constant, brutal repetition. I didn't look at her hands anymore. I didn't look at her face. I kept my eyes locked on her shoulders and her hips. I saw the slight dip of her left shoulder right before she threw a hook. I saw the shift in her waist right before she kicked.

I saw it happen. My brain registered the movement.

But seeing it wasn't the same as dodging it. Most of the time, my body was just too slow. The gap between my brain recognizing the strike and my feet moving me out of the way was half a second too wide. The attacks landed faster than I could evade them. And Yvara didn't reward my progress by easing up. Every time I blocked a hit, every time I showed I could handle the impact, she hit me harder the next time.

Yvara circled me now, her boots silent on the dirt. I raised my arms, keeping my elbows tucked tight against my ribs. I waited for her shoulder to dip.

She dropped her arms instead.

"Stand down," Yvara said.

I kept my guard up. I didn't trust her. Yesterday she had told me to stand down and then swept my legs the second I lowered my hands.

Yvara let out a short, harsh breath. "I said stand down, Sera. We are done hitting each other for today."

I slowly lowered my arms. My shoulders burned with the effort. "What are we doing then?"

"You are too slow," Yvara said. She walked toward me, stopping two feet away. "You see the strikes. Your eyes are finally working. But you have the reaction time of a dead cow. Taya is going to hit you tomorrow. She is going to hit you a lot."

I clenched my jaw. "I know."

"Because you are an Omega, your natural healing is a joke," Yvara continued. She looked me up and down. "A warrior takes a hit, the muscle knits back together passively in minutes. You take a hit, you bruise, and you stay bruised for days. You won't last sixty seconds in a ring with Taya if you can't heal fast enough to take the next blow."

I stared at her. "I can't change my biology. I heal how I heal."

Yvara snorted. She crossed her arms. "You heal passively. You rely on your body to do the work in the background. That is lazy. Even a ten-year-old pup in Ironmaw knows how to force a heal. This isn't a skill we leave just to the warriors or the men. It is basic survival."

"No one taught me that," I said. "In the South, Princesses aren't taught combat skills. We aren't expected to fight."

"You are in the North now," Yvara said flatly. "And you are fighting tomorrow. So you will learn it right now."

She reached down to her boot. Her hand came up holding a small, wicked-looking hunting knife. The blade was dark steel, sharpened to a razor edge.

I took a step back. "What are you doing with that?"

"Give me your arm," she demanded.

I shook my head. "No."

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