Absolute Surrender Read Online Free PDF Page A

unlike Týr, he was from the Celtic pantheon. His glowing eyes fixed on Aethan like a rabid wolf, his short, black hair plastered to his skull. He made no move to get back in the game but persisted to skirt around him.
    Aethan clenched his fingers, his knuckles bruised to the bone. Weapon-free combat was a pain in the ass, but it eased some of his edginess. Good thing Blaéz preferred hands-on fighting. Like him, Blaéz wore a pair of loose black Gi pants and T-shirt.
    Through the haze he saw the shimmer on the warrior’s thick biceps. Fuck! Blaéz had to go and do that. Use the one weapon none of the Guardians would summon without a reason. The sword of Gaia always remained in the form of a tattoo, unless they were on the hunt for demoniis .
    With little choice, Aethan summoned his own. No way would he let the bastard crow over this.
    Instead of the usual smooth gliding off his flesh to shimmer and take form in his hand, the weapon tore out of his skin. The pain just about brought him to his knees. The taunting smile on the warrior’s face made him growl.
    Damn Celt! He thrived on pain.
    Blaéz came flying through the air, attacking with the deadly mystical sword.
    Aethan leaped back and blocked. The power of the blow reverberating up his arm, he swung around and struck. Blaéz easily countered the strike. The sound of the clanging swords echoed in the forest as they dueled...
     
    ***
     
    Aethan wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Dammit, he needed a break. His muscles, straining in protest, started to knot in retaliation. He’d worked up a thirst, too, could drink the freakin’ Nile dry, if only the clueless bastard would call it quits.
    They’d been training for four solid hours. Blaéz didn’t know the meaning of the word rest . He could go on for days, if Aethan’d let him. The hardhead couldn’t feel tired—or any emotion for that matter. Never had. Except for pain—the reason why he summoned the sword.
    But Aethan had had enough. The Celt could go fight the damn trees for all he cared. He willed his sword back onto his biceps and dematerialized, taking form inside the huge, underground gymnasium in a shimmer of bright sparks. Here, away from humans, he didn’t bother to tone down his true color.
    The enormous facility was bare of equipment and protected with arcane magic against their powers. Concealed lights were embedded in the high ceiling. White walls flowed around him and light gray tiles ran the length of the floor. On the far end, an array of swords was displayed in a stand next to a fridge. Aethan headed over when Blaéz flashed in front of him.
    “Hell, Blaéz—time out, man.”
    “Scared?”
    Aethan grabbed his katana from the reserves. No fucking way was he summoning his sword again. He came in hard and fast, his sudden thrust sent Blaéz tripping and sliding on his ass some distance away. His tattered tee hung by its seams, and blood welled from the new wound on his chest, dripping down his abs. The Celt’s eyes narrowed into slits as he sprang up. Grabbing the neckline of his shirt, he ripped it apart and threw it aside. “That was my favorite.”
    Aethan shrugged. “It’s black, like everything else you—”
    A shift in the air caught his attention. Power of unparalleled force surrounded the castle. The brief distraction cost Aethan. His sword, snatched from his hand, went sailing through the air. Blaéz caught the katana and attacked.
    Aethan evaded a swing guaranteed to detach his head from his body.
    Gods-damn it! Didn’t the crazy bastard ever give up?
    “What do you know—he can get excited,” Týr drawled as he strolled into the gymnasium. “Empyrean, think it’s you who got the Celt hot under the collar?”
    Aethan stilled. It was time Blaéz found a new target. And the Norse’s irritating yapping made the choice so easy. He changed direction and charged at Týr catching the katana Blaéz tossed back at him.
    Týr snatched a sword from the backups,