"Alright. Let me get some water" I said, heading toward a water spigot.

"Ok... I'll go tell him you're fighting then" Gerry said, leaving.

After getting water and walking to the entrance of the field, I made Pik and Gunther leave so they could observe. I took a deep breath and walked onto the field, straight to the sword rack as I attempted not to make eye contact with Brock. As I picked out my swords, the crowd slowly began to chant "Brock the Cold".

By the time I squared up with him, the roar was deafening. It was odd, being the underdog.

"Brock the Cold?" I asked, trying to keep my voice level, even though my heart was pounding.

"That is my name" he said simply.

"I thought The Boss's name was Brock Calder?" my attempt to sound curious came out as snide and condescending.

"Calder means 'cold waters' in my native tongue" Brock said, beginning to circle to my left.

"Interesting. What is your native tongue?"

"Icelandic, but I think you knew that" he took a quick slice at my mid section, which I blocked easily. He was toying with me.

"Your accent is indicative of that area" I quipped, the end of my sentence coming out like a grunt as I did a double handed pirouette, instantly meeting Astvinur with a clang.

"I cannot rebuke that"

"Then stop talking and fight me for real" I snapped.

He dropped his head slightly and the intensity of his eyes spiked with light at the challenge.

He came at me full throttle, swinging left, right, and throwing in the occasional thrust. When he saw how adept I was at blocking his advances, he began the fancy moves, putting more power behind each blow trying to fling one of my blades away. If I lost one, I was doomed. There was no way one short sword could take on Astvinur. He came at me with a particularly complicated and beautiful combo that involved a two handed grip. I barely managed to block the move by pushing Astvinur to the left. In order to piss him off, I brought my right arm across my body and back handed him in the face with the hilt of my sword. I sprang back, knowing I had just unleashed the beast. I reestablished my center of gravity and waited. His head was still turned to the side from my strike. He slowly looked up, glaring at me, making my skin crawl. He wiped the trail of blood from his mouth and reset as well. I knew I had to attack first, so took a deep breath and drove head first, something he would not expect. I crossed my blades and attempt to catch him in a cross slice. He put Astvinur between both blades and pushed back. I planted my legs and tried to resist, but he was over powering me quickly. I ducked left and pushed right, sending Astvinur away from me. I didn't anticipate his letting Astvinur go with one hand so he could grab my left wrist. With one jerk and pull, he flipped me over and threw me on the ground, my sword falling from my limp hand. That move should not have broken anything, but I felt my wrist snap. All I could do was hope that he hadn't heard or felt it. I still had my other sword, but before I could get up, Brock threw a long leg over my body and pinned my hips to the ground. He brought Astvinur down toward my chest, knowing I would block it with my short sword. The weight of gravity, Astvinur, and Brock's strength pushing downward was too great, so I put my palm on the edge of my sword to push up. I felt the blade slice my skin open and I saw blood begin to run down the side of my hand. He too placed his large hand on Astvinur and applied more pressure. His hand began gushing blood violently onto the dirt next to me. I had no choice at this point, if I didn't want to give myself away. I used the rest of my strength to push the tip of my blade over my head and into the dirt. Astvinur slipped off and immediately Brock grabbed my right hand with his bloody one, twisting until I released my blade. Once it was obvious both my blades had been discarded, he released Astvinur. He then pinned my wrists together with his left hand, pressing his right, wounded one against his pant leg. Already covering my body with his larger one, he leaned forward, looking over my head, as if he was examining my hands.

My hand! It would have healed by now!

I began struggling but he simply applied more pressure with his body. He suddenly leaned back, staring me in the eyes, his fierce blue ones darting rapidly over my face. There was a distinct emotion there, something I was not used to.

Confusion. He studied my face for a few seconds more, desperately looking for an answer he could not find in my face or my eyes, no matter how intensely he gazed at them.

The man in charge of officiating came to us and told Brock it was ok to get off me now, that he had won. Slowly, he stood up, not even bothered by his still gushing hand. Two men ran up and tried to tend to the wound, but he wouldn't let them.

A woman attempted to help me up, but I cried out when she gripped my left wrist to pull on.

"What the hell" I hissed, looking at my swelling, crooked wrist. It was still broken...

I flipped my right hand over and saw that my hand was bleeding slightly, the slice still gaping.

I wasn't healing... why?

Then I recalled that I hadn't eaten anything today other than some breakfast and whatever I had eaten I threw up.

New Life Lesson number No. 1: no nutrients means no healing abilities.

I couldn't help the smile of relief that sprang to my face. That's why he had been confused, he expected my hand to be healed, so when he found it still bleeding, it caused him to question everything he had deduced.

The nurse escorted me to the small hospital station on the side of the field and sat me on a pristine, white cot. She brought me a bottle of water and some sort of homemade granola bar to eat. After ensuring I had taken some of the bar and water, she wrapped my wrist in a stiff, temporary cast and cleaned and bandaged my palm. I tried to eat the square slowly so that I would not heal too noticeably quickly, not that one small snack would do much help, but you could never be too careful.

By the time I got out of the tent, it was dark and almost everyone was gone. Gerry was waiting to escort me to the jeep.

"You did good. I haven't seen anyone challenge him to that extent in decades. He never puts more than thirty percent of his full ability in, but you easily had him going a eighty percent" Gerry said, sounding as if he praised the ground the man walked on.

"Good to know" I said with a yawn. Gerry rushed ahead to open the passenger door for me, and when I looked in the vehicle I almost cried out in shock to see Brock in the driver seat. I hesitantly climbed in and Gerry crawled in to the back. Like yesterday, Brock passed The Penthouse and drove to my house. As soon as Brock put the car into park, I was out the door. Gerry opened his door as I slammed mine shut, but he didn't get out of the car. Instead he reshut the door and the driver side opened. I tried to walk quicker, but his long strides easily caught up with my shorter ones.

Grabbing my injured wrist, Brock spun me around. I winced and confusion instantly lit his eyes again as his brow furrowed deeply.

"I'm very tired, can you let me go so I can rest?" I asked, fighting the urge to scream and fight and run.

"No" a terse answer as per usual.

"Why?" I snapped back.

He didn't say anything but released my wrist and put both hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked fiercely.

Tell him who you are, Katherine the Beloved...

Taking a deep, shaky breath, I replied slowly.

"C-Constance. Your secretary." I murmured.

"Boss?..." Gerry's worried voice came from the jeep.

"Why?" Brock said, his searching eyes changing colors underneath his furrowed brow.

"Why...what?" I asked, stuttering and spluttering from the nerves.

It took me a second to realize that I didn't recognize this look on his face before because he had never showed it.

His eyes were dark and shadowed with...with...

"Why do you always lie to me?" He asked, right before he gripped my jaw and head in both hands and ripped in opposite directions, sending me spiraling into darkness.