The Donor to a Vampire (Donor #1)

Chapter 9: The Terms of Conditions

"Harder," was all that Ly growled at me, lids half hooded over his current more purple than yellow eyes.

I drew back my hands, straining to obey his command, "If I try harder, my arm, hand and wrist will fall off."

Grumbling and mumbling curses, I tried to land a right hook into the boxing bag. My punch was as weak as a newborn, and thusly the weighty sack filled with sand didn't sway, flinch, twitch or move an inch.

That rhymed; who would have thought that physical activities would bring a poet out of me.

Lysander remained unamused. With a lift of his brow, I knew what would follow that pitiful display; more drills, punches and exercises which would make my body burn in all the wrong and unknown to me places.

The terms of conditions were frightening now that I saw what they could be. The first term was self-defence classes. Why had Ly decided that I was in need of them? I hadn't had the faintest idea. When I posed the what, why, and whatever for, he did not deign to reply. At this very moment, I was slightly inclined to let Ly pay for the damn things, but the possibility of him having a more considerable advantage over me made me grit my teeth. I abhorred the feeling that I owed someone. Drawing back my fist, I lurched it forward with a newfound determination.

"You sway instead of the bag when you punch. That is unacceptable; do it faster and harder," Lys' words were stone-cold and flat. "Again."

"Again," I mouthed mockingly into the bag.

Ly was not a coach that would applaud and sing you praises at each success. He was mean, strict and on the border of being sadistic.

A bastard from a hellion mother and a goblin father. Maybe he and Angelica were related?

I shuttered at the possibility.

Arms tightly crossed, Ly scowled at me like I stole his last clean underwear. Even though Ly was from the waist up naked as the day he was born, I was not in the mood to rest my eyes on the beautiful display this time. I was caught once, which earned me running up and down all flights of stairs in the house, not once, not twice, but fucking five times. I never cursed his 'fucking big house' as much as I had today.

My legs trembled with exertion while my knees vibrated as I straightened myself. "We have been at this for hours; my arms are dying; let us just face it, I am puny and proud."

Whining, hoping to appeal to Lys' sympathy, I didn't know what I hoped to achieve. Clemency? As if. My behaviour only received a penalty in the form of squats, with Ly barking at me to keep the posture upright. That bastard didn't know the meaning of the word sympathy. By the end, my eyes were glazed with tears, not from sadness but raw fury.

"While hitting and kicking, imagine someone or something you hate and visualise the bag having its' visage."

"How about you?" Punching with newfound vigour, my lips were angrily pursed while sneaking glances at Ly.

His expression remained unchanged, with an exemption for a slight darkening of his eyes.

Yeah, I will pay for that statement; thank you for my lovely filterless mouth for speaking before thinking. You are going to get me killed today.

"Whatever. You can imagine hitting me all you wish; in real life, you cannot even land one punch in my stratosphere." Ly waited to see if I would grab the bait and make another sarcastic remark, and he seemed pretty hopeful that I would.

I didn't. I was not that stupid. Ly would ground me into stardust, sprinkle my remains onto his ice cream instead of rainbow sprinkles, chew, eat, and spit me out. All that in less than a minute. Yes, I was that bad and Ly that good.