Finale

will be outside, somewhere remote. You’re going to force Dante
into a position where the rising sun is in his eyes. Even if he tries to reverse your positions, he’s tall enough that he’ll shade the sun’s rays from your vision. Use his height
to your advantage. He’s taller than you, and it will expose his legs. A hard strike to either knee will unbalance him. As soon as he loses his stance, attack.”
    This time I reenacted Patch’s earlier move, forcing him off balance with a hit to his kneecap, followed by a rapid succession of strikes and blows. I didn’t strip him of his sword,
but I did thrust the tip of my own against his exposed midsection. If I could do that to Dante, it would be the turning point of the duel.
    “Very good,” Patch said. “The entire duel will most likely take less than thirty seconds. Every move counts. Be cautious and levelheaded. Don’t let Dante goad you into
making a reckless mistake. Dodging and sidestepping are going to be your greatest defenses, especially in an open clearing. You’ll have enough room to avoid his sword by sliding out of its
path quickly.”
    “Dante knows he’s, like, a zillion times better than me.” I arched my eyebrows. “Any wise words of advice to cope with a complete and utter lack of confidence?”
    “Let fear be your strategy. Pretend to be more frightened than you are to lull Dante into a false sense of superiority. Arrogance can be deadly.” The corners of his mouth crept up.
“But you didn’t hear me say that.”
    I hung my mock sword over my shoulders like a baseball bat. “So, basically, the plan is to strip him of his sword, deliver a fatal blow, and claim my rightful position as leader of the
Nephilim.”
    A nod. “Sweet and simple. Another ten hours of this, and you’ll be a pro.”
    “If we’re doing this for ten hours, I’m going to need a little incentive to stay motivated.”
    Patch hooked his elbow around my neck and dragged me into a kiss. “Every time you strip my sword, I owe you a kiss. How’s that sound?”
    I bit my lip to keep from giggling. “That sounds really dirty.”
    Patch waggled his brows. “Look whose mind just rolled into the gutter.
Two
kisses per strip. Any objections?”
    I pulled on an innocent face. “None whatsoever.”
    Patch and I didn’t stop dueling until sunset. We’d demolished five sets of swords, and stopped only for lunch and for me to receive my awarded kisses—some of
which lasted long enough to draw the attention of beachcombers and a few joggers. I’m sure we looked insane, darting about on the craggy rocks while swinging wooden swords at each other hard
enough to leave bruises and, very likely, a few cases of internal bleeding. Fortunately, my accelerated healing meant the worst of my injuries didn’t interfere with our training.
    By dusk, we were covered in sweat and I was thoroughly exhausted. In just over twelve hours, I would duel Dante for real. No makeshift swords, rather steel blades sharp enough to sever a limb.
The thought was sobering enough to make my skin prickle.
    “Well, you did it,” I congratulated Patch. “I’m as trained as I’ll ever be—a lean, mean sword-fighting machine. I should have made you my personal trainer
from day one.”
    A rogue smile surfaced, slow and wicked. “No match for Patch.”
    “Mmm,” I agreed, glancing up at him coyly.
    “Why don’t you head back to my place for a shower, and I’ll pick up takeout from the Borderline?” Patch suggested as we trudged up the rocky embankment toward the parking
lot.
    He said it casually enough, but the words drew my eyes directly to his. Patch had worked as a busboy at the Borderline the first time we met. I couldn’t drive past the restaurant now and
not think of him. I was touched that he remembered, and to know that the restaurant held special memories for him, too. I forced myself to put all thought of tomorrow’s duel, and
Pepper’s slim chance at success, out of my mind; tonight I wanted to enjoy Patch’s company without worrying what would become of me—
us
—if I had to duel and Dante
won.
    “Can I put in a request for tacos?” I asked softly, remembering the first time Patch had taught me to make them.
    “You read my mind, Angel.”
    I let myself into Patch’s townhouse. In the bathroom, I stripped out of my clothes and untangled my braid. Patch’s bathroom was magnificent. Deep blue tiles and
black towels. A freestanding tub that would easily fit