Cold Visions of Future's Past

Chapter One

Unedited (seriously, it's unedited)

Chapter One

"Too slow."

I swiped at him again and instead of knocking my arm away like he had countless times before, he grabbed my wrist and twisted me in. My back slammed against his chest as he wrapped a hand around my throat, his grip squeezing my wrist so I would drop my knife. Motherfucker.

"Still too slow," he whispered in my ear as the knife clattered to the floor. He kissed my temple before releasing me with a shove. "You're either fatiguing faster than normal or just not trying hard enough."

I turned to him with a grin. "Or you're simply better than me."

"What a defeatist attitude you have, Αγάπη." He shook out his arms and moved back into a resting stance. "At least try to hit me before we have to stop."

"Why are you so antagonistic this morning?" I asked, panting. "Why not try the kindness approach instead?"

"Don't think your enemies will come at you with rainbows and fluffy unicorns, Georgiana." He waved his hand at me. "Come on, one more time, and then we'll stop."

Michelangelo Denakolokis would be the death of me, surely. Would the training ever end?

"No," he answered the question I didn't mean to send out. "I'm supposed to keep you safe, and I will, but it won't hurt to know how to protect yourself. Last I checked, you weren't a damsel in distress. The marks on your back sort of disqualify you from that."

Yeah, yeah, yeah. He was fully aware I could protect myself. He just didn't want me to get rusty. I made the "blah, blah" sign with my hand before grabbing my knife off the floor and moving into ready stance, revolving the pointy object so the blade pointed toward me. "You owe me pasta for this."

He rolled his eyes. "Already planned on it."

My eyes brightened, my spine straightening out of sparring mode. "OoOo, really? What kind's on the menu tonight?"

"Pasta alla Norma—"

"Wait, is that the one with the eggplant you've been talking about?" I crinkled my nose. "Can't you—"

"I'm not replacing the eggplant with bacon. It's not part of the flavor combination. No. Now, come on."

"If I manage to hit you, will you change your mind?"

"What is it with you and bacon?"

I shrugged. "Not my fault the baby wants bacon."

He scoffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation. "Pretty sure you're the one who wants bacon not the baby. All she wants is cheese and jalapeños."

"And bacon," I added. The jalapeños gave me wicked heartburn, so I tried to avoid eating them, but when I attempted to ignore the craving last week, she'd kicked the shit out of me and made me nauseous. First time she'd kicked me and now it felt like she'd never stop this moving around thing. She did it at the most inopportune times as if she thought I needed the reminder of her existence. Then the cravings would hit. I learned to take Tums with the little green devils and contemplated a combination of the sacred three foods to make both of us happy.

I poked at my still smallish baby bump. "Right? Bacon?"

"Don't call her bacon," he said misunderstanding my word flow. He gave up the training and walked over, discarding his hand wraps along the way. He knew I was distracted and there was no coming back from it in time to finish up this bout of training. He'd have to wait until next time to make up for it.