But I had to hold on. I cleared my throat and said, “How do I use your strength against you?” My voice creaked as pitifully as my sore bones.

“Lean over,” Nero said, hardly above a whisper.

He pressed his body harder against mine, the pressure making me bend at the waist—and think really indecent thoughts.

“Use my own weight to throw me.” He straightened, but the pressure remained. He’d committed most of his weight forward. “Now.”

I moved quickly, using his weight to pull him over my shoulder—and sure enough, I was able to throw him. My victory was short-lived, however. Even as he fell, he didn’t let go of my arms, and so I fell too, landing on him. Before I could move, he flipped us over so that he was on top of me. I tried to struggle free, but of course I couldn’t. The damn angel had pinned me to the floor. I glared up at him.

“Glaring is not an effective attack,” he said smugly.

I imagined his head exploding. I broadcast that picture to him, loud and clear. He had telepathic magic, so he might just pick it up.

His mouth curled into a smile. “Yes, that attack would work better. If you had such an ability. As it is, you’ll just have to make do with what you do have.”

“What’s the point of telling me how to get out of your hold if I can’t actually get out of your hold?” I demanded.

Nero rolled back, sliding up to his feet. “Because it will work on most of the opponents you face. Even if it doesn’t work on me.” He extended his hand down to me, pulling me up.

“You’re really arrogant, you know.”

“I’m an angel.”

“Yeah, I know. Arrogance comes with the wings.”

“This isn’t about arrogance. Angels are faster and more resilient than other people. As you well know.”

Yeah, I did know. I had learned a lot from Nero—and used it on my opponents in training. Like he said, the things he taught me were effective against most people. In fact, they worked really well.

“You could let me win once in a while,” I said.

“And what purpose would that serve?”

“It would make me feel better.”

“It would make you feel better to know that I let you win?” His eyebrows crept up.

“Yes,” I said stubbornly.

“That’s not how we do things here.”

I sighed. “I know.”

The Legion of Angels was a do-or-die kind of place. Our magic was gifted to us by the gods, a new power every time we advanced up the ranks. It was kind of like a really twisted real-life video game. With each new level, Legion soldiers received the powers of a different supernatural, boosts like the physical abilities of vampires, the potion-brewing power of witches, and the healing magic of fairies.

The catch—and oh, yes, there was a big one—was if your will wasn’t strong enough to absorb the gift, it killed you outright. Just two months ago, I’d watched over twenty people die during my initiation ceremony into the Legion. Even more of my fellow initiates had died when we’d all drunk from the Nectar of the gods to receive our first gift, Vampire’s Kiss.

The Legion took all kinds of people—those who wanted to prove themselves, those who craved power, and those who were simply desperate. I was of the glorious latter category. I’d joined the Legion to gain telepathic magic, a skill called Ghost’s Whisper. It would give me the ability to link into the minds of my loved ones, and that power was my only chance of finding my kidnapped brother.

The only problem was Ghost’s Whisper was a level nine ability in the Legion. It order to gain it, I’d have to survive all the trials before it. That included getting my wings and becoming an angel. It was called the Legion of Angels because the angels commanded the gods’ army, but there weren’t many angels in the world. Very few made it that far up the Legion. But I had to. My brother was counting on me to beat the odds, and if there was one thing I excelled at, it was my unwavering stubbornness. So I stared that angel down and resolved to kick his ass.

Nero nodded in approval. “We’ll go again.”

I began to circle around him. “Will I ever be able to defeat you?”

“After you’ve gained more powers.”

“And before that?”

His face was unreadable, as cold as marble. “Perhaps.”

“How?”

“You have to find my weaknesses and exploit them.”

“Care to share?”

He remained silent.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

He wasn’t going to hand me anything. He was going to make me fight for it. I swung a punch at him, but he caught my fist, holding me back.

“You know, you are really aggravating,” I told him.

He said nothing, but I thought I caught a hint of amusement on his face—just a second before his grip tightened and he flipped me down to the floor. I rolled, jumping up.

“I need a weapon,” I commented.

“The rules of this match are quite clear. No weapons.”

“Yeah, I know. You love your rules.”

Sometimes we fought with no weapons. Sometimes we fought with just one particular weapon. Nero defined the rules of each match very clearly. He wanted to make sure I was a master of any weapon—and that I stopped using found objects to fight. I wasn’t allowed to knock my opponent upside the head with a trashcan lid, even if that lid was lying right there just begging to be used. Apparently, such tactics weren’t very dignified. And soldiers of the Legion were always dignified.