Wicked Ones {bxb}

{Chapter 30 : Knife Play}

Weeks has passed since the kiss, but it lingered in Vinny's mind like a recurring dream. For every second that Kailan painted a colorful portrait on the kitchen floor or sketched out the demons in his head or covered himself in a messy rainbow of acrylics, he did so with a look of whimsy. One that was hard not to admire, but Vinny hardly put up a fight. He did admire. He admired from afar.

There were a lot of things about Kailan that he was starting to take note of. Subtle things that no one else would have noticed—but quirks he himself was beginning to treasure. Like the way he tied his hair up, or seemed to glow every time they passed a mangy mutt on the streets.

Kailan had moved on from the situation with a sort of grace, but Vinny felt as if he was trudging through wet asphalt. As much as he tried to move past it all, he was distancing himself at a snail's pace. And eventually the ground turned to stone around him. He couldn't get away from Kailan if he wanted to.

Now he was watching him fumble over charcoal pencils, balancing one between his teeth and scraping the others to the pad of paper in his lap.

There was a consistent nagging inside of Vinny—one that made him fidget with an unlit cigarette. He twirled it between his fingers, but he wouldn't set it ablaze. Something as small as a stick of cancer would do nothing to sooth an angst so large.

He was growing weary of it all, and it was beginning to show; the past two weeks had been quiet ones, losing himself to his thoughts, becoming more observant. More opaque. And in terms of Kailan, more distant.

"Vincent," Jahni called his name, finally having emerged from that dark little den of his. "You and I will not be training today."

"Why not?" He rose from his seat, disappointment in the angry tuck of his brow. "We were going to start combat training today."

So far, 'training' with Jahni had hardly gone above crushing Vincent with an ungodly amount of weight until his body crumbled under him. He insisted on drilling his muscles before the actual fighting began. In two weeks' time, Vinny could already feel the strength in his bicep hardening the bulk to stone. It was a small change, but a visible one.

Jahni had explained that it was partially due to the methods of training he used. With full control over the weight of an object, Jahni could force the heft of a truck upon him—or he could take it all away with the snap of his fingers. It was convenient, and he worked Vincent to the bone. But it was not the only thing to blame for the sudden change in definition.

Wickeds, he had explained, had an astonishing ability to gain and lose muscle mass when compared to an average person. Their metabolisms ran twice as fast, and their wounds took thirty-percent less time to heal. Biologically speaking, they were the next generation in human beings.

But despite how far he'd come in terms of strength, he'd yet to face Jahni on the training floor. He wanted to fight him—to improve. He wanted the advice and the wisdom—and the ass-kicking if fate had it. But instead, he was handed a knife.

"What is this?" he asked, taking the weapon from Jahni's hand.

"Something's come up," he explained. "There is an anti-Wicked movement grouping downtown. The Syndicate will show—I'm certain of it. It's important we have eyes on the situation."

"Let me—"

"No," he interrupted. "You are staying here. Gigi and April are already waiting at the remonstration. They are the perfect tools for reconnaissance. It is a peaceful protest after all, and I could name a million things more peaceful than the both of you."