Avenging Heart (Ignited Series, #4) *CHAPTERS 1-2*

Chapter 1

Traveling permitted me too much time to think. I did a lot of thinking. Maybe too much.

Mostly my thoughts revolved around the prophecy, and my central role in it, what happened a week ago, and the unknown that awaited us.

I blamed myself for the attack on the Kala base last week, and for Micah's death. Though everyone tried to make me feel better about it, I couldn't shake the guilt that wrapped around me like a fat, life-extinguishing python.

I hadn't asked for this life, nor had I wanted all the bloodshed on my hands, but those were the cards I had been dealt. I chose to turn them all back over to the dealer in exchange for a new set of cards. A winning hand of freedom, determination, victory . . . and love.

The love I shared with Nathan was the one thing that brought me solace these days. I often thought about the possibility of returning to a normal life—as normal as I could live given my circumstances. Nathan was the central figure in those thoughts.

It didn't matter where we were—a dingy bus traveling across Central America, the dirty floor of a hotel room shared with our four travel companions, crammed into an airplane on a transatlantic flight, or on the pristine beaches of Greece—his mere presence enveloped me like a protective barrier, something I had been accustomed to nearly my entire life. I sought him, and his fiercely protective nature, with every move I made. Especially now, when the horizon of my future was at its bleakest.

Granted, not every day with him was rainbows and sunshine. Like when he went into that unbearable instructor mode I had once loathed, and I seriously contemplated kicking him between the legs so he would stop 'strictly coaching me' on my sparring techniques. That was his choice of words. To me, it strongly resembled 'being an asshole.'

Still, even those moments had a silver lining. While kissing Nathan was my absolute favorite extracurricular activity, fighting him came a close second.

"Good!" He flexed his fingers as he held his hands out to me. "Again."

I swung, and connected my fist with his open palm with a crack. God, it felt good.

"Combo," he instructed, and I jabbed both of his palms.

"Left is weak," he critiqued. "Again."

I struck him as he instructed, and winced from the sting to my knuckles.

"You can do better than that." I tried again, and he shook his head. "You call that a punch?"

"You know what?" I dropped my arms to my sides with a groan. "My arms feel like Jell-O. How do you expect me to punch with Jell-O arms?"

Nathan stared at me over his hands, which were still raised expectantly. "You done?"

"Yes, I'm done." I turned away with a sigh of relief. I was eager for a much needed break, and a shower. We had started over an hour ago with a run before the sun rose. After an ungodly number of sit-ups, push-ups, and fighting drills, I was so done.

"I meant . . . are you done complaining?" Nathan said, stopping me.

I glared at him over my shoulder, and he raised his eyebrows in challenge. I blew out a puff of air, and shook some life back into my arms as I turned to face him with narrowed eyes.

He was going to pay for that.

My right fist cracked his palm hard. As I rotated, I pulled my left arm back with the intention of giving him everything I had. Before I made contact, Nathan's hand shot out and clamped down on my wrist, stopping my follow through. My eyes lifted to his in time to see the smirk on his face before he twisted my arm behind my back and spun me around.