Dashing Devil Omnibus 1: Books 1-3, page 4
Then, he reached out for Iron Masher’s mind. For all of Masher’s mighty physical defense, his mental protection was not the strongest Boyd had dealt with. Nor was this the first time Boyd had beaten his foe in this way.
Boyd saw the fear in Iron Masher’s gaze transition to terror. He knew what was coming.
Boyd set a mental tether on Masher’s mind; it was how he used this part of his Mental Domination Power. From there, it was the simplest thing in the world to shove all the pain Boyd had experienced from the start of the fight down that connection. The best part about using his Power that way was that it magnified all the pain he’d stored up by an estimated factor of ten.
“ARRH-ghrrglle,” Iron Masher seized up, letting out an agonized shriek as his steely eyes rolled up into his head.
The metallic sheen of his skin faded until it had returned to his standard caramel tone. The A-ranked trainee dropped bonelessly to the floor in a heap as his consciousness fled to the deeper recesses of his brain to escape the pain Boyd’s Power had activated.
Beyond the two downed antagonists Thunder Fist stood in a defensive stance. He was clearly disinterested in continuing the fight. He peered at Boyd with wide eyes, as if waiting for Boyd to pounce.
Boyd could see from his stance that the other trainee wanted to run. Gray dust coated his normally black hair, olive skin, and blue clothing, leaving wide brown eyes as the only spots of color amidst a sea of gray.
Sure, Boyd was hurt. His ribs were visibly broken on his right side, he had a charred scorch mark on his chest, his left forearm was mangled, splitting off at a sixty-degree angle from where it should have been, and a trickle of blood dripped steadily down his face from his broken horn. But Boyd had fought through worse, and Thunder Fist had seen him do it.
“Ah… I… I surrender,” Thunder Fist choked on dust as he yielded.
Chapter 3
Boyd straightened, letting his arms drop to a casual rest at his sides. “Good,” he rumbled, letting the gravel he normally kept from his voice enter it. “That was terrible. You should be ashamed of such a performance,” Boyd snapped. “The Mentors would have taken away your dinner if you performed like that in training.”
Thunder Fist looked chagrined as he adopted a more relaxed stance and coughed on the powdered concrete that still lingered in the air, it would take forever for it to completely settle. Now that the fight was over, the loser reaped the consequences. For Thunder First, that meant a scolding from the guy they’d just failed to ambush.
Boyd enjoyed turning the attempted humiliation on his attackers. “First, why the fuck were you and Masher on one side with the oh so squishy Cobolto on the other?” This time Boyd let the mocking tone he usually withheld enter his voice, turning the idiot’s stupid name into an epithet.
“You’re an A-Ranked close combat support! Your job is literally to protect squishy S-Rankeds like him. You’ve received the same specialized training as me. Pay more attention next time, and you might stand a chance against me someday. You need to learn always to keep your eyes on your target, too—which you failed to do when I threw blue boy at you.”
Boyd glowered at the other trainee, who looked suitably abashed. It might seem like a small thing, but Boyd was sure the scolding was the worst part for whoever was left standing after a failed attempt to cow him into quitting the Hero training program.
“Now, let’s talk about your punishment. I get your desserts for a week once I get my meals back… because yeah, technically I started the fight, and you should report that. I won’t even deny it. These two aren’t hurt enough to justify calling a medic out at this time. Drag them back to the ward.”
That was the unwritten rule of the PAC. The winner determined the loser’s punishment. They could take their swing to try to force him out of the Hero program as often as they wanted. Boyd knew no matter how the fights went, they’d never force him to quit.
The way Boyd saw it—win or lose—it was good training. Plus, extra dessert was an excellent motivator. He’d found that providing himself small luxuries like that for doing something well was good for his morale. It made up for the rare occurrences where one of these fights went the other way and he woke up in a pool of blood in the middle of the hallway or in the medical ward sometime later.
With a week of extra desserts secured, Boyd turned and began walking towards his room and his bed. He wouldn’t bother with the ward tonight. He’d go after his three plus hours of sleep in the morning and request a temporary transfer to non-physical education through the day. He’d pick up the missed physical training in the evening after the worst of it had healed.
Boyd made it about a dozen steps when he heard Thunder First say words that made him freeze in place. “Oh… hey, Hopewing, what are you doing here?”
Boyd’s back went rigid. What was she doing here? It was late, and she needed her rest. She sure as hell didn’t need to see the mess he’d made of his fellow trainees or the hallway. Worst part of it was, he knew she would want to help—to help all of them.
“Never mind, do you think you could heal these two up?” he heard Thunder Fist ask. “Boyd attacked them, and…”
“I most certainly will not.” The sweet girl’s voice fit her nature, with a musical lilt to it that brightened the drab hallway. Whenever he heard or saw her, he was struck every time by the thought that she didn’t belong in such a place. She belonged where the sun could kiss her flawless skin and the wind caress her feathered wings and golden tresses.
Her angry retort surprised Boyd.
Her lyrical voice contained more firmness than he had ever heard in it before as she continued, “I saw the whole thing. Boyd may have charged Cobolto and thrown the first punch, but your intent was clear. They earned those injuries. Now, excuse me.”
Boyd wanted to flee, but his legs refused to obey him. He heard her soft steps draw near and the urge to flee built alongside something that kept him rooted to the spot. He doubted he could refuse the help he knew she would offer him.
“Boyd?” her voice packed so much sweet concern in the single word that it almost caused him to weep. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he choked out, refusing to turn to face her. Most of his injuries were all on his front, so if all she could see was his mangled arm and missing horn, maybe she wouldn’t…
“No you’re not,” she stated, the unusual firmness re-entering her lilting voice. “Don’t lie to me, I saw the whole thing. Now turn around so I can heal you.”
“I’ll heal,” he replied, fighting to keep the desperation he felt out of his voice, though he wanted nothing more than to turn and flee.
“I won’t be able to sleep…” she said softly. “Please?” The word contained such a fragile sense of pain that it almost broke him.
Reluctantly, Boyd turned around. He did manage to keep his gaze several feet over her head. He would not look her in the eye. If he did, he might not be able to do what was necessary. He only saw the feathered tops of her wings twitch when she first saw his state. That shocked gasp when she got a close look at his condition damn near broke his heart.
“You’re pretty horn! …lean down.”
Boyd’s heart clenched as he leaned forward, keeping his head turned slightly to the side to make keeping her out of his gaze easier. She was tall. Even at seven feet tall, he didn’t have to lean down far.
He felt her warm and gentle fingers settle on his head around the broken horn. Warmth filled the spot for a moment and a golden glow that emanated from her hands filled the hall. His discipline and his eyes slipped, glancing at the angelic healer’s face as she healed his broken horn.
Her lustrous golden hair and luminescent skin were coated in gray dust. Almost glaring at her hands, a look of extreme concentration locked her delicate features in a pout. He had to catch his hands, already on their way up to wipe the dust away; to stop the words that threatened to escape his lips that would ease that scowl. Boyd bit his tongue and forced his hands back down to his sides.
The little pout on her lips and the way her deep blue eyes were filled with concern for him was too much. He had to close his eyes before he could force them back to the wall beside them. Her hands moved to his chest, probing the charred edges of the hole in his sweatshirt. More warmth filled Boyd, but this time he kept his gaze locked on the wall.
“Won’t you even look at me?” There was a sadness in her musical voice that struck him to the core. It was a sadness he wished he didn’t have to cause.
“I… ” he swallowed, trying to work the words around a dry tongue. “I can’t.”
“Of course you can, silly,” Hopewing chided him as sweetly as she did everything else. “I’m right here. You just have to turn your head a little.”
Boyd was almost driven into shock by the length of the sentence. He couldn’t remember the normally shy angel saying so much to him all at once. It seemed she’d gained some confidence in the years since he’d Changed. He’d seen it grow in her during training sessions and other interactions he couldn’t avoid. Of course, he’d avoided her in any other situation where he might have seen evidence of it.
She was normally extremely shy. Very rarely had she ever used more than a few gentle words when speaking. Normally, since she and Silver seemed to be joined at the hip these days, it was Boyd’s extroverted best friend who spoke for both of them.
“I know,” he choked on the words but still got them out, “but I still can’t.”
Hopewing let out a soft sigh before moving to heal his ribs. She prodded them carefully through his shirt to find the edges of the injury. Boyd didn’t want to think about how good her gentle touch felt.
“You mean you won’t let yourself,” she said softly, as more warmth filled his center.
It soothed the ache that spilled out from even his Mental Domination and made him crave more. “Yes,” Boyd haltingly confirmed. Lying to Hopewing had always been difficult.
“You don’t have to move that far, you know,” she said as the golden light of her Power faded and his need to repress the pain with his Mental Domination faded sharply.
“Arm,” she said softly.
Boyd held up his broken limb for her to heal.
As the golden glow grew, she continued. “I understand why you push everyone away. Talking with Silver, I pieced together what happened with… her.”
Thankfully Hopewing didn’t use her name. Boyd was already at a breaking point. He’d take another desperate struggle with the odds stacked against him over an encounter with Hopewing any day. There was only so much testing his promise to Victory Seeker could endure.
“I also understand what it means to be Changed,” she murmured, “even if it’s different for me than it must be for you. It’s not like I don’t get urges I have to restrain.”
There was something in her voice that Boyd couldn’t identify. Part of him hated the spike of emotion it raised in him, but another part of him liked it—that part like it a lot.
“But you don’t have to go this far, you know? You can let yourself have friends.” By the time she was done, the golden glow faded. “Silver so badly wants to be your friend.”
Boyd shook his head. “Silver is the last person I can afford to have as my friend. If we were to be friends…” Boyd trailed off.
Hopewing paused, and it took everything Boyd had to keep staring at the wall. Somehow, he just knew that she was biting her lower lip, a rosy blush staining her cheeks. He didn’t know how he knew, but he would have bet a month’s desserts on it.
“I want to be your friend.”
This last was murmured so softly that Boyd had no trouble convincing himself he’d only heard the words because that’s what he wanted to hear. She couldn’t have said them; she deserved so much better than to have him sully her presence or her golden reputation.
Boyd’s forearm snapped back into place, the bones resetting themselves properly. It didn’t hurt, but the sharp noise still made him twitch. He couldn’t stop his eyes from darting to see his perfectly restored limb. He had to close his eyes again to keep from staring at her long, delicate fingers.
Her Power really was amazing—S-Ranked healing. Theoretically, she could heal anything that didn’t automatically include terms like deceased in their description. And she could do so in only a few seconds.
Boyd had been on the receiving end of her Power often enough, and he’d seen her do it enough to know that she’d intentionally gone slow this time. That was likely in an attempt to draw the encounter out, knowing that her patient wasn’t in a great deal of pain. Boyd had to resolve himself to do it before he could respond.
He so badly wanted to accept the simple offer. Surely, she was correct. He could have friends, people he exchanged thoughts and ideas with, right? It wasn’t that he didn’t covet the ability to dive into the warmth she freely offered. He just knew he couldn’t allow himself to.
Never again.
He knew his words would cost him, but they had to be said. As difficult as it would be, and as much as he desperately wanted to accept her offer, Boyd had to reject the extended hand of friendship. Friendship was a personal attachment, and Boyd kept his promises.
Never again.
“I’m sorry…” He choked on the words, having to swallow before he could continue. “I don’t want friends—th… th… thank you for healing me, though.”
Even saying that much took all his resolve. He simply couldn’t bring himself to be cruel enough to openly reject her. He couldn’t be less than polite with the angelic Hero-in-Training. There was just something about her that required him to treat her like the precious being she was.
“That’s… that’s okay.” Her sweet voice was filled with a tightly restrained sadness, despite the reassuring words.
“I… I understand. I’m here if you ever change your mind, though. Please know that I’m here for you. I’ll always be here for you, just like we promised.”
The way the last word ended on a rising note broke his heart. Boyd couldn’t be here anymore. He had to flee, or he would surely fail in his promise to himself and Victory Seeker. It would start with an assurance that he hadn’t forgotten the promise they’d made to one another as children—a promise sealed with bracelets they’d woven from grass, twigs, and flowers. He’d made one for Silver. Silver had made one for Hopewing. And Hopewing had made one for him.
He wanted nothing more than to stare into those blue eyes and tell her that he was still there, still ready to watch over her. Ready for when or if she needed him… he was just further away than before out of necessity. That would become a catalyst for further conversations, though, conversations which would lead to attachment.
Never again.
“When I made that promise I didn’t know what I was,” Boyd rumbled as he forced the part of himself that kept him rooted to the spot aside and reasserted control over himself. “I never would have made it, if I had known. I’m sorry.”
He forced himself to turn and stride away, each foot feeling heavier than any weight he’d ever lifted in the gym. Seeing as his equipment measured his lifts in the tons, he recognized the sensation as psychosomatic. That didn’t make taking the steps any easier.
Especially when he heard a sniffle behind him. The part that had held him rooted rebelled, insisting that he return and comfort the angelic girl. Boyd clamped down on that urge with all he had, savagely forcing it down all the way back to his room.
Entering his room, Boyd went to the kitchenette and began to cook everything he had on hand. He did so for two reasons. First off, because the Mentors would come and take it away soon. The other trainees had most certainly been there in the hallway to attack him; no one would even try to deny that. But Boyd had taken the first aggressive action, and Cobolto’s beams that his Black Flame had absorbed aside, he’d landed the first blow.
That meant he would be the one to receive a punishment. If he had to guess, that most likely would mean no meals for three days. He was grateful that he’d been healed, at least. His regeneration always left him starving, though he technically didn’t require additional calories to use it. Hopewing’s presence and gift of healing would make the next few days a lot more comfortable than they otherwise would have been.
That was the second reason Boyd had an overwhelming urge to cook. He needed something that required his focus—to keep his mind from automatically going to her. He refused to let himself think of how he’d left her. He didn’t want to think about how good her hands had felt. He couldn’t afford to relive the surge of warmth and comfort that filled him as she’d healed him. Associating Hopewing with comfort wasn’t good. Such associations led to attachments.
Never again.
Chapter 4
A few moments before the fight started, Hopewing stood hidden in the shadows cast by a support beam in the hallway. She watched Boyd’s silhouette move down the corridor, his broad shoulders weighed down by an invisible burden. His wings and tail both drooped in exhaustion from his grinding training.
Her heart ached for him. For the pain he endured silently. For the isolation he chose to bear.
Hopewing had come to understand Boyd in ways that transcended words—his strength, his goodness, his unwavering protection. These things had come to personify the boy who was only a year older than her. Still, the darkness that his Changed appearance wrapped around him seemed to be something he couldn’t escape.
When Cobolto, that bully with a cruel streak, slinked into the hallway behind Boyd, a surge of apprehension shot through Hope’s chest. She could almost taste the tension in the air, sense that idiot’s ominous intent. Boyd’s steps were slow, burdened, and he seemed oblivious to the shadow that trailed him.
In that fleeting moment, Hope’s angelic heart filled with a resolute determination. She was not going to let Boyd face this torment alone. Concern gnawed at her, but she couldn’t let Cobolto’s hostile intentions go unchecked. Gently unfurling her wings, the feathers shimmering in the dim light, Hope followed after both boys, peaking around every corner before sprinting to the next to keep an eye on them.
