Born of Defiance (23 page)

“We're always hungry, Felicia,” Brach said as he skipped toward the table.

Lorens snorted. “We're going broke on the food bill. Either of you know someone willing to pay a fair price for a healthy Andarion teen?”

Laughing, Felicia led them into the formal dining room that overlooked the city, where the catering company had already set everything up.

Talyn was grateful that she put her brother at the opposite end of the table and took a seat to his right. Times like this, he was acutely aware of just how socially awkward and reclusive he was. He seriously hated interacting with others.

The only thing that made this bearable was the sexy red dress Felicia wore. One that made him curse their company and wish for five minutes alone to take care of the heavy need in his groin.

“I still can't believe that I'm actually sitting here with
the
Iron Hammer. This is just…” Lorens swept his gaze over his sons before he chose what must be a more appropriate word. “Incredible. So Hammer, how's it looking for your next match? I was reading that it's with Death Warrant?”

A caterer brought out the first course. Talyn thanked the female server before he answered. “It is. While I respect Dalun's abilities, and in particular his right hook, I expect to mop the floor with him in three to four rounds.”

“Aren't you scared he might kill you?” Gavarian asked.

Talyn shook his head. “I couldn't do what I do, if I was.”

Brach's eyes widened. “How is it that you've never been defeated?”

Talyn passed an amused glance to Felicia. “Want to know the secret?”

He nodded eagerly.

Talyn sat back in all earnestness. “Every morning before a fight, I sacrifice two goats to the gods.”

“For real?”

He laughed. “No. I just train hard, study my opponents, and eat right.”

“I want to Ring fight.” Gavarian glared at his father. “But I'm not allowed to.”

“I keep telling him how dangerous it is. He equates it to schoolyard fights and his wrestling matches.”

Talyn choked at that. “Listen to your paka, Gavarian. It's not like any fight you've ever had. I promise you.”

Gavarian snorted. “How can it be different?”

Talyn bit back a snort of derision. How he wished he could have been that arrogant and foolish at that age. But the gods had never allowed him such naivete. “When we step into that Ring, it's not over a girl or hurt feelings, or with school referees who want to protect us from harm, and make sure we follow game rules. It's for honor and glory. With only one law. Two warriors walk in. Only one walks out. You're not facing a bully or former friend who's ticked off. It's cold-blooded ruthlessness. All-out war. Every punch or kick is one from someone who is trained to put every ounce of their strength and weight behind the blow. You've never been really hit until you take a punch with a ton of weight behind it. The first time you receive a pro hit, you have this moment where you think, did I just lose a kidney? Or control of my bladder? No, wait, it's my mind. Definitely every brain cell I possess … I have to be crazy to be in here. What the heck was I thinking? Where's the exit? Medic! Help!”

They laughed.

“I don't believe that for an instant. Not the way you fight.” Gavarian reached for his drink.

“It's the truth. I swear. It's not as glamorous as you think it is. There's a big difference between sitting in the stands, watching the fight, and being the idiot in the Ring looking out at the crowd with blood streaming into your eyes. Take my word for it, you'd much rather be tasting snack foods and soda than your own blood, sweat, and bile.”

“Yeah, but the cheers from the crowd—”

“Don't register through the roar in your ears from your heartbeat and the sound of blood rushing through your body.”

“Really?”

“Really. The only thing I hear in a Ring is the sound of my trainer calling drill moves from practice. That and the voice in my head saying I'm an absolute moron for being there, and telling me to run while I still have all my body parts attached.”

Her nephews looked at him suspiciously.

“You don't believe me?” Talyn asked. “After dinner, we'll go to the gym in back and I'll show you.”

Brach's eyes widened with joy. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“That's going to be awesome!” Gavarian dug into his food. “So how do you prepare for a fight, Hammer?”

Talyn shrugged. “It's no different than what your paka does. You drill, every day. Study your enemy. Carefully. You have to know what you're getting into before you accept the challenge. And recognize that some fights aren't worth it. The real skill lies in deciding which fights to take, and which to walk away from.”

Lorens reached for his wine. “How do you mean?”

Talyn gently declined the wine when the server tried to pour some for him. “There are a lot of fighters who are out for blood. Like Death Warrant. I know going in that he's there to kill me if he can. Normally, I'd have passed on the fight.”

“Then why did you take it?” Brach asked eagerly.

“End of the day, fighting is a business. While I know he's after my throat, the payout on the fight is substantial compared to most. Plus, he's only lost two fights. I take him down, and it'll be a while before I have to defend my title again. A match like this keeps the posers at bay. And makes them think twice about calling me names in public.”

Gavarian wiped his lips. “You have a lot of those?”

Talyn nodded. “There's always a new kid out to prove himself. Comes in cocky and ill-trained. They're actually more dangerous in a fight than someone like Death Warrant.”

Lorens cocked his head as he tried to understand that. “How so?”

Felicia passed the bread to Brach, knowing Talyn wouldn't eat it.

Talyn took a drink of water. “Death Warrant is a calculated, cold-blooded killer. You can study his moves and know where and how he'll react to every blow. How he's going to strike. He's practically choreographed. There will be a new move or two that he hasn't used before, but he's reliant on his previous fights where he picks those up. So again, you study his last few fights and you can still predict what he's going to do with pretty good accuracy. But the new fighters are wild cards, usually emotional and highly volatile … They get angry or they can't handle the pressure and adrenaline, and just start pounding their opponent. They're the ones who are going to break your back and leave you crippled, if you're not careful. So before you step into that Ring with one of them, you have to know beyond a doubt that you're willing to kill them if you have to.”

The boys sucked their breath in.

“Have you ever killed anyone in the Ring?” Lorens asked.

“Not that I know of … That's not why I fight.”

Gavarian frowned. “But isn't that the point of serious Ring fighting? To kill the enemy?”

Talyn shook his head. “That's the point of war. Not sport. And it's not easy to kill someone, especially when they're so close to you that you can feel their breath on your skin. Andarions respect strength and we are natural-born fighters. But we are sentient creatures, and we have a conscience. In battle, you know that you're protecting your family and our homeworld. In that Ring, you're fighting only for personal glory. In my opinion, that's not worth my opponent's life. No matter how much I might want to close his mouth forever.”

“Here, here,” Lorens said, raising his glass. “Truly, there are some battles not worth fighting. And not every insult is worth a broken jaw. We're not Phrixians. As I often tell my boys, sometimes you just need to shrug it off and let it go.”

Talyn lifted his glass of water to return the salute. “Very true.”

“Even if they insult your mother?” Brach asked.

Talyn flashed a grin. “That's different. A mother's reputation is a sacred thing. Notice, that's one public insult no fighter ever hurls to another. We know better.” He took Felicia's hand into his and held it tight. “Nor any of their females. For we are Andarion. Family honor and lineage, the honor of our females and children … that we
will
all take a life over. You never threaten or assault, even verbally, those we hold in our hearts.”

Smiling, she pressed his hand to her cheek. “I would still rather you walk away from all fights than ever be harmed.” She looked to her nephews as she kissed Talyn's hand and released it. “And your mother would agree with me about the two of you.”

“As would your paka.” Lorens took a deep drink. “So Talyn, what got you into fighting?”

“Honestly? Got tired of having my butt handed to me in school. Figured if I was going to get that bloody, that often, I should be paid for it. As my mother often says, don't ever bring a fight, just make sure you finish it.”

Her brother scowled at the food Talyn was given. “Is that really your dinner?”

Talyn shrugged nonchalantly at his plain meal. “Told you, a fighter's life isn't glamorous. My diet is very specific. Especially when I have a big fight coming up.”

Gavarian stuck his tongue out. “All right, Paka. You win. I'll
never
fight! Not if that's what I have to live on. Thank you for forbidding it.”

Brach nodded in agreement. “How often do you have to eat that . .” He cut a sideways stare to his father. “Crap?”

Talyn glanced to Felicia and laughed. “Always. I have to stay in shape, and can't afford to cheat.”

Eyes wide, she duplicated Brach's nodding. “He's not joking. First time I saw him eat, I wanted to weep. Especially at the quantity. You don't
ever
want to know how much food he goes through in a day. It's insane.”

Lorens laughed. “Judging by what's on that plate, for one meal … yeah. Glad I don't have
your
grocery bill.”

“There's a reason they time us in the mess hall, and why we eat really fast.” Talyn took a bite of his
vorna
breast.

“That explains the mad rush at dinnertime that made me so glad I got a command position early in my career.”

Talyn snorted. “What? You don't miss getting shoved aside by the giant gunners?”

Gavarian laughed at his words. “Yeah, I'd like to see one of them try to shove
you
aside.”

“Believe me, they've tried.” Talyn flashed a devilish grin at her nephews. “Food is another thing you're allowed to shed blood for. Especially when you've just come back from maneuvers and are starving. There's always the one moron who wants to be cute. But remember, the more time you waste pounding on him, the less time for eating. So drop him with one punch, grab your food, and go.”

Felicia winked. “And now you know why his call sign is Pit Viper.”

Lorens snickered. “Yeah, we've all done that. Nothing like a herd of hungry Andarions.”

“The real reason humans fear us.” Talyn thanked his server for the plain, steamed vegetables she set down by him.

Felicia didn't miss the hot look the female passed to him before she went back toward the kitchen. Lucky for the server, Talyn
did
miss that look.

She glanced to Gavarian.

“Planning her funeral?” he asked her with a wicked gleam in his eyes.

“No. Just a new hairstyle.”

“Hairstyle?” Lorens asked, scowling. “What?”

Felicia jerked her chin toward the kitchen. “If she gives Talyn another beckoning look that says she wants him on her platter, I'm going to snatch her bald.”

Talyn choked. Reaching for his water, he swallowed before he spoke. “What?”

She patted his hand. “It's okay, Major Oblivious. I'm extremely happy and proud that you took no notice of her overt ogling.”

“Yeah,” Gavarian chimed in. “She's been pretty obvious about it every time she comes out here.”

Lorens snorted. “How long have I been married that I didn't even realize our server was female?”

“Given the fact that Felicia handles my food out of my eyesight, glad I didn't either. Spit sauce is not something I enjoy.” Talyn kissed her hand.

Lorens eyed them for several minutes before he spoke again. “Talyn, you really study every fighter you go up against?”

“Yes, sir. When you're going to battle, you have to know your enemy. I have extensive dossiers on everyone I've ever fought against.”

“So what's Death Warrant's biggest handicap?”

Talyn wiped at his mouth. “He took a bad blow to his right eye two years ago that dug his mask into it. It left him with limited peripheral on that side. He also has a bad tendency to kick instead of punch. When he does that, he throws his balance off and is easy to plant. That being said, his stinger is that vicious right hook. He hits with approximately fifteen hundred PSIs, provided he's properly grounded, weight evenly distributed. No one can survive that kind of hammering for long. But if you keep him off both legs, and kicking, his punch PSI is halved. Still not fun. However, you can survive and win against that. Just don't let him hit your chin or kidney.”

“Wow … you really do know your opponent.”

Talyn shrugged. “I don't want to lose. And I
definitely
don't want to die or end up maimed. They didn't name him Death Warrant because he sings in a band.”

Chuckling, Lorens sat forward in his chair. “Out of curiosity, Major, why the hell are you a pilot? Why didn't you ever go into command?”

Talyn cocked his jaw and let out a tired sigh as he toyed with his water glass. “It was never from lack of trying on my part, sir. I put in for a Command position every year, as soon as I'm eligible, but it always gets kicked back with a rejection.”

Her brother's face was a mask of disbelief. “Why? Do they ever say?”