The Fallen Prince Part 5

His face contorts into a mixture of annoyance and disgust. "I hate bullies." He moves right into my face. "You're not one of them, are you?"

I don't like people getting into my face. I stare back, seeing the black of his pupils contract and expand like a junkie on a meth high. My jaw tightens and the muscles in my arms stiffen.

Grandpa's big body moves between us. "When will Reece be back?"

Wyatt's narrowed gaze gives me another once-over, and when he looks at Grandpa, he visibly relaxes. "Soon. He said you wanted a hose. Over there."

As Wyatt trots inside to a storage room and starts pulling stuff out, Grandpa grabs my arm and pulls me inside the barn. It smells like old dirt and fresh hay. I thumb over toward GI Jacka.s.s. "What's with him?"

"Don't mind Wyatt. He's a good guy." We reach the hose and he picks it up. "I guess Reece recruited him to help train you."

"Fantastic, and what are they training me to do?"

With a twist of the pressure nozzle, water shoots out of the end of the hose and across the barn floor. Grandpa grins. "Not light up."

A knot in my stomach grows. "They know about me?"

"If you control yourself, and if I'm quick enough with this hose, they won't."

Oh, this is not a good idea. "They're gonna freak."

"Ready?" Wyatt says, standing in the midst of a pile of stuff.

"He's ready," Grandpa calls back.

Wyatt shakes his head. "Sorry, sir. I need to hear it from him. I'm not interested in helping someone who doesn't want it."

"I promise, he won't accuse you of abuse when all's said and done."

I turn my head back and forth between the pair. "Why would someone do that? What exactly are you going to do to me?"

"Teach you to control your temper by means of repet.i.tion."

All the tension leaves my body and I laugh. "What, every time I get angry I'm going to recite my times table?" I turn to Grandpa. "That's a great solution." The sarcasm in my voice isn't hard to miss.

"This isn't a babysitting service. You game or not?"

The guy's getting a little testy, and I'm not fond of testy dudes, but then a flash of Kera's horrified expression comes to mind. "I'm ready."

"Then let's get loaded up."

From out of the pile he pulls out a backpack. I have a sinking feeling his idea of repet.i.tion involves a bit more physical endurance than I was expecting.

I hesitate, and Grandpa twists the nozzle, shooting a quick stream of water at me. When I look back, he grins and winks. "Start trusting. I've got you covered."

Good Intentions Go Bad.

Wyatt jerks the cinches to my backpack until the straps are snug against my shoulders. He then slips an identical pack onto his back. Something shifts inside mine, but I don't have time to give it much thought because he launches into a mini lecture. "You're here to learn control. To discipline your actions. The thing about control is that it's elusive until you figure out it's all mental."

"So we're going to sit cross-legged on the floor and repeat positive affirmations?"

Wyatt smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Note taken. He doesn't have a sense of humor. "This is a training camp. When I'm home on leave, I help Reece train fighters. MMA, boxing, jujitsu. I'm not going to ask you to do anything I don't ask any one of our boys to do. This is our one day off. Don't make me regret helping you when I could be helping myself to some fun down at Dirty Joe's Day and Night Club."

I nod, but I'm still not sure what he's got planned. Not until he pulls me outside to a pile of rocks. He turns me around and starts loading them into my pack. The weight pulls at my shoulders and ribs. He secures the load and moves to face me. "Give me grief, there's room for more rocks, got it?"

I tuck my fingers in the straps and adjust the weight. "Got it."

"All you have to do is keep up." The guy flashes me a grin.

Grandpa calls me over and tests the weight strapped to my back as he watches Wyatt doing who-knows-what outside. "He's not messing around."

I'm beginning to get the feeling I've fallen into my own rabbit hole to h.e.l.l when Grandpa grabs the water hose and soaks me down until my boxers stick uncomfortably to my legs. "That should keep the sparks away until you get back. If you feel the need to light up, get the h.e.l.l away from him, got it?"

"This is lame," I say, standing in a puddle of excess water. "How's this supposed to help me?"

Grandpa shakes his head and steps back. "Careful, son. Confidence is knowing you can do something and get it done. c.o.c.kiness is showing you're too stupid to know when you're in trouble. You're verging on c.o.c.ky, boy." Grandpa nods toward Wyatt. "He trains hard-core for fun."

I shrug, not worried at all. "I've got more speed in me than he'll ever possess. I'll be back before my clothes start to dry."

"Just crossed over into c.o.c.ky," he mutters. His fingers grip my shoulder, digging into my muscle. "Do this human, Dylan. No powers. Prove to me and to yourself what kind of man you really are."

Wyatt appears near the barn door, notices my wet clothes, and shakes his head. "I'm not even going to ask. Come on, kid. I'm not holding your hand through this. Either you want it or you don't." He doesn't wait for an answer. He turns and runs off.

He's tapped into my main problem. I don't want to be out of control, but half the time my powers appear without me ever calling on them. Ever since I came back from Teag, I'm plugged into the earth like wires into a grid. I'm not just freaking myself out, but everyone else around me.

"I'll do it human." The promise is out before I can stop it. I'm terrified. There's no way I can keep it.

Grandpa lets go, and I take off after the guy. It's only a little run. How hard can that be? A streak of khaki, like a slash of dirt, pinpoints him on the opposite side of the yard. He enters the woods, and with my long-legged stride, I steadily gain on him. When I come alongside him, I see his surprise, but he quickly hides it. I suppress a grin, but inside I'm glad I've made a dent in that irritating smile he wears.

The first part of our run is about the lead and who can hold on to it. After twenty minutes, my lack of endurance begins to show. I resist the urge to call on a jolt of energy. It would be so easy. I can feel it humming in the earth beneath my feet-ready, waiting for me to accept it.

Seeing me struggle, Wyatt's muscles loosen and he starts in with the big talk. "I hear your mom's got an open-door policy."

I grit my teeth. It's not like I can deny it, but I don't like him or anyone else talking about it.

Either he's a real jerk or he's trying to tick me off because he keeps yammering. "You should hear the stories. She was a wild thing back then, and a handful in more than one way."

We come to a hill, and I get a good grip on the backpack straps, taking the weight off my shoulders as best I can, but the climb still burns my lungs.

Wyatt paces himself, more like a machine than a human. I don't even hear him breathing heavy. "From what I've heard, she's still got her looks."

I don't respond. How can I? I'm using all my energy to keep pace.

"Surprising, though. Most women like her tend to get that used look by now."

The smell of burning cloth reaches my nose. My hands are gripping the straps, and beneath my fingers, the fabric edges are singed. I shoot a quick glance at Wyatt to see if he notices.

"Still," he says, all innocent, "if she comes back, I wouldn't mind seeing what all the fuss is about."

I feel the rush of heat and battle to keep it down. "You really don't want to get me mad."

"That's what I hear. Now take that anger and push it down into your belly. Let it fuel your need to beat me to the top of this hill." Wyatt pumps his legs harder and begins to pull away from me. "Come on."

I really want to beat him. I hunch down and push myself, but the guy stays one step ahead of me.

At the crest, he pulls me to a stop. With my breath heaving in and out, he spins me around so my back faces him. "Sadly, you suck, so more rocks."

I glance over my shoulder. "I was right behind you-"

"Yeah, but I heard you breathing. I don't like heavy breathers." He collects five rocks from his pack and jams them into mine."

"You're carrying rocks?" My surprise shows in my voice.

"As many as you...well, not now." He turns me around and pushes me forward. "Let's go, anger-management boy. Reece should be getting back soon. That's when the real fun starts."

Wyatt stops me three more times, once because I slowed down, once because I was sweating too much, and the last time-just because. By the time we get back, I'm carrying all the rocks. I stumble into the barn, sweat stains my shirt, and my face is hot from anger. Wyatt managed to hit on every one of my insecurities from Mom to school to Kera. I collapse to my knees, chest heaving, lungs burning, and rip off the backpack. Rocks the size of my fist and larger skitter across the barn floor.

"Pick them up," Wyatt says as he strips the empty pack from his back.

The fire in me is so hot, I can feel it smoldering, can smell the smoke. I rake off my shirt and chuck it at him.

A sudden shot of water hits my chest, resoaking my torso and splattering my face. I blink away the droplets and glare at Grandpa. He shrugs. "You looked hot. Am I right?"

I stand and shake off the water.

He smiles. "It might work." His smile fades. "Now go pick up those rocks."

I s.n.a.t.c.h one of the straps and drag the pack across the floor, collecting the rocks as I go. When I'm done, I deposit the bag at Wyatt's feet.

He nods. "Let's gear up." He cinches a twenty-pound vest to my bare chest and a pair of heavy weights over my ankles. "I don't know where Reece is, but until he shows his sorry a.s.s, you'll be doing what I tell you." He tosses a jump rope at me, and I catch it. He pulls out his phone and begins to text someone. It's got to be a girl. No guy smiles that cheesy when he's texting some other dude. After a second, he frowns at me. "What are you waiting for? Start skipping."

After a minute, he pockets the phone and crosses his arms over his chest. He circles me, an a.s.sessing slant to his eyes. "Anger takes away your ability to think and process information correctly. Your reactions slow and you're more p.r.o.ne to make irrational choices. Those choices can get you into trouble. If you pay attention, I'll teach you how to live smart."

I give him a nod; it's about all I can do as the rope whips over my head and under my feet. My skin tingles with the urge to use magic, and I resist showing him just how good my abilities are.

An hour goes by with me skipping rope, doing squats, chin-ups and sit-ups, and getting water sprayed at me. I don't know what Wyatt thinks about Grandpa and his water fixation, but he takes it all in stride, yelling commands between texts and calls.

After the last drill, I'm doubled over, hands on knees and sucking down air. Grandpa's distracted by a phone call. From what I can tell, it's Grandma checking up on us. I'm surprised when Wyatt shoves a bottle of cold water at me. "You've earned it."

I straighten. With shaking hands, I rip off the top and guzzle down half the bottle. Lowering it, I nod my head in thanks.

Wyatt slaps my back, motioning to my drowned appearance. "I'm not sure if he's keeping you from getting heatstroke or he's an old ballbuster getting his jollies, but it's one h.e.l.l of a show."

I shrug, keep quiet, and quickly drain the last of my water.

He takes the empty water bottle and tosses it into a nearby trash bin. "Since it's my job to get into your business...you look like s.h.i.t. When's the last time you slept? Really slept."

I dozed on and off last night, but it'd been forever since I'd had a full night's sleep. "I don't remember."

"You know, there's lots of stuff that can keep you from optimal performance. I'm talking life, not just sports."

"I get it. No drugs. No alcohol, and I need sleep."

"That, and you need to tell me why your skin's so hot it can melt metal."

A sliver of alarm shoots up my neck. I look down to see what he's talking about, and notice one of the old metal clasps riding my hip has melted and fused. Tiny drips of metal shimmer against my shorts.

"Now, I'm just a simple soldier, home on leave," Wyatt says nonchalantly, but there's an underlying tension that can't be missed, "but even I know metal doesn't melt without some serious heat." He splays his fingers at me, revealing their red tips. "Touch fire, you get burned."

I remember every time Wyatt switched exercises, he'd tap my shoulder. I thought he was simply getting my attention, focusing me on the task when I got angry, but he'd gotten burned, which made him curious. There's no way he could've figured out how, so now he's laying out his cards, showing me what he has in a ploy to get me to reveal what he couldn't find.

And I've got nothing. There's no logical explanation that will make him believe I'm an everyday, normal guy with anger issues.

"It's complicated," I finally say.

"I know you can't tell by looking at me, but I'm a complex guy."

"I thought you said you were a simple soldier?"

"I am, with deep complex issues swirling in my head, so listen up. Byzantine tactics are my specialty, which is funny, because I hate being tricked." He takes a step closer in a way that feels threatening, and he lowers his voice. "You and your grandfather haven't been honest with me."

He isn't going to let this go, but how much can I tell him? "Yes, we have. Lately I've been getting angry."

"And..."

"Really angry."

"And..."

"Out-of-control angry."

"Don't make me push. I'll win. You know I will."

"I light up."

"You start hitting people? Typical teenage s.h.i.t. I want to know what's with the heat."

He's not getting it, and why would he? It's not something someone would think possible. Since he's standing there, waiting for me to continue, I decide to tell him the truth.

"I don't hit. I do this." I hold out my hand and uncurl my fingers. A ball of fire springs to life in the middle of my palm.

Wyatt rears back, his disbelief snapping from the ball of fire to my face. "What the h.e.l.l kind of freak show are you?"