Four-thirty in the morning is a hellacious time to be dragged out of bed, especially when you are literally being ripped out of bed.

Want to know what makes it worse? When the person who is doing the ripping is a six-foot-seven mountain of anger and impatience.

"What the actual fuck, Peter?" I groan as I pull myself off the cold, wooden floor. I swipe the back of my hand against my face, glaring at him when it comes back bloodied. "I think you broke my nose, you asshat."

"It'll heal."

The pain and bleeding have both stopped before he finishes his sentence.

This is one of the things I consider a 'sometimes perk' to being a mutated freak, rapid healing.

"You were given an alarm clock to use and a cellphone to be contacted in case you forgot to set the alarm, but neither seemed to work for you. Let's get going. You're going to be late again, which means I am going to be late again, and I don't feel like spending another day running laps because you didn't feel like dragging your lazy ass out of bed before noon."

"I am not lazy; I was up all night reading the reports about the dead Aygnels the Chief sent up. You want me to catch your killer, right? That requires being in the know about what kind of damage this psycho can inflict. I am also fairly certain that your bleach-job boyfriend filled you in on the fact that I need more sleep than the rest of your perky freaks." I rummage through the bag of clothes he has tossed on the bed, pulling out a green tank top, too-small black leggings, and a pair of standard-issue DSA black boots. "What is this bullshit? All I need now is an oversized flannel and an overpriced matcha tea, and I will look like the rest of the hipsters running around this oven of a state. I swear, if my first mission involves talking to bearded men who drink kombucha while listening to them drone on about the 'finer works of Mr. Edgar Allen Poe', then I might consider letting you throw me back into my cell at Kimera."

"Have you always been this dramatic?" His cheeks flash fifteen shades of red as I strip off my pajamas and begin pulling on the clothes he provided.

He allows his eyes to roam shamelessly over my exposed body. While Peter has never shown an ounce of anything besides annoyance when it comes to me, he is still a red-blooded male, and I still possess the type of body that many find attractive.

He clears his throat, finding that my bookshelf suddenly needs inspecting. "Jeremiah is never going to clear you for any mission until you can prove that you aren't reckless enough to get everyone involved killed. We gave you three days to recover and another four of light cardio to get you back in the habit, but you have still done things half-assed. He's decided to forego your assessment's fitness portion and dive back into testing your offensive and defensive fighting skills. It has been quite some time since you threw down against someone who wasn't human, and we are both curious to see how you weather."

"I have a better idea." I brush past him so I can head out of my room, down the hall, and to the stairs leading us to the training floor. "How about I stuff my face with all the carbs this place has to offer, take a nineteen-hour nap, and then catch the bastard responsible for going all 'Jack the Ripper' on those Ayngels?"

When we enter the training room, Jeremiah is impatiently waiting for us. In his maroon sweats and blank tank top, he looks nothing short of flawless. I almost forgot how much lean muscle his body has, and for a split second, I hate him less than I did yesterday.

There was a time when that body would have made me weak with want. Then I discovered what a self-serving asshole he was, and it ruined it all for me.

He eyes us warily before doing the same to the large clock on the wall. "You're late again."

"I'm not going to name names, coughPetercough, but someone thought the best way to wake me up would be by trying to rip my legs from my body."

"I called your phone nineteen times, banged on your door eight times, and shook you six before resorting to physically removing you from the bed."

"Enough!" Jeremiah's voice is a thunderous sound that damn near shakes the walls. For a moment, the whole room goes silent. "Eden, I am tired of you acting like this is some game. You aren't a VIP guest here. You are a DSA agent, and it is time you start acting like one, or I am going to throw your ass into one of the cells and starve you into submission. Now, get on the mat and show me what you've got."

"Again," Peter adds snarkily, trying to pass it off as a sneeze when Jeremiah cuts his eyes at him. "Sorry, the room is a bit dusty."

I stroll into the center of the thin foamed mat and roll my neck, cracking it loudly. I bounce on my toes for a moment, getting reacquainted with the feel of the flow before me, and stretch my arms out as I move.

Fury over Peter's comment and my poor life decisions flows through me, and I welcome the anger, knowing that trying to suppress it will hinder my response time and weaken my blows.

Jeremiah stalks towards me on the mat, dropping his shoulder at the last moment to try and fake me out.

I foolishly take the bait, dodging left.

His fist slams into my temple with a force I forgot he possessed, and the world goes hazy around me. I stumble backward, and my adrenaline kicks it into high gear, speeding up the healing and allowing me to recover quicker.

He charges me, but this time, I am ready for him, and as his shoulder connects with my gut, I lift my foot so I can slam it down onto his calf. He falls, taking me with him, but I manage to spin during the tumble and wrap my legs around each of his as we roll—one hand slips under his throat, and the other clamps around his wrist. When we stop rolling I have him in an unbreakable headlock.

"I thought I should let you know that I am having fun now," I snarl into his ear.

He struggles to break free, but it is pointless, and I drive that point home by tightening my grip to put more pressure on his windpipe.

He taps on my arm in a silent signal for me to release him, and as tempted as I am to 'slip up' and snap his neck, I let go.

Jeremiah rises to his feet, placing his hands on his thighs as he struggles to correct his breathing.

"Happy?" I hop back to my feet without issues. "It took me less than ten minutes to take you down, and I did so without breaking a sweat."

A small crowd starts to form at the edge of the mat, and it seems that word of my return has spread quicker than I thought.

'Good,' I think to myself. 'Let them see what I can do. Let them see what I have become.'

Jeremiah shakes his head. "You wish it was that simple. We match in skill and speed, but let's see how you handle it when pit against someone who outweighs and outpowers you."

Peter smiles from the sideline and peels his shirt off, causing a few females in the room to gasp in awe. Yes, the man is an artwork of heavy muscles and road-mapping battle scars, but the sound effects are unnecessary.

He cracks his knuckles loudly. "I was hoping I'd get a chance to do this."

"Why?" I side-step, ducking under the blow that comes at me without warning. "Are you in that much of a hurry to get your ass kicked again?"

He strikes again, and I jump back, his fist whizzing past my head by less than an inch.

Close, but not close enough.

"You're quicker than you used to be. I'll give you that, but you're still not quick enough to match me. Come on, Peter, you'll have to do better to impress blondie over there."

Anger darkens his naturally light eyes, and he shifts. I keep my eyes fixed on his feet, watching how he positions one vertically from the other.

I was able to pick up on this about him years ago, and it is the only flaw I've ever found in his fighting style. His mountainous size has always left him underestimating a smaller opponent, and since his temper is even shorter than mine, his attacks become more frenzied the madder he gets.

I fake a strike to the left, and he swings. I take the opening, pushing my palm upwards to ram it into the underside of his nose. The bone gives way quickly, blood rushing from his nostrils.

The large man howls in pain, pressing his hand against the fresh injury before stumbling to where Jeremiah stands.

Cheers erupt from the crowd, and I can't help but notice the smile on Jeremiah's face as he tapes up Peter's nose.

The fight had barely begun before I injured his second-in-command, which says a lot about my ability to move.

The tape doesn't do much to stop the bleeding but will do until Peter has time to head to the infirmary. With a bit of magik, his nose will be as good as new by evening.

I prop my hand on my hip. "Are we done yet? Nose job over there wouldn't let me grab anything to eat on the way down, and beating the shit out of the two of you has caused me to work up a hell of an appetite."

Jeremiah puts the finishing touches on Peter's temporary bandage, and the two men spread out across the mat. Peter takes a stance behind me while Jeremiah takes the front.

"Not quite," the still-smiling blonde replies, planting his feet wide enough apart that a hit won't knock him over should I decide to strike first. "You've done well. You took Peter out easily, but let's see how you fight against more than one attacker."

I close my eyes and let out a lengthy sigh, quieting my mind to focus on the sounds around me. I block out the whispering crowd until only Peter's labored breathing and Jeremiah's pounding heart remain.

Peter shifts behind me, favoring his left foot, and I drop into a low crouch, sweeping his feet out from under him as he charges. Hit hits the ground, and I roll, narrowly missing the axe-stomp Jeremiah sends me.

Angling my body, I shoot my foot up, and the heel of my boot catches the underside of Jeremiah's chin. The force sends him stumbling back, allowing me to regain my footing and pull myself upright.

Peter takes advantage of my momentary distraction and grips my wrists from behind, spinning and pulling me towards him. I use the momentum and jump, wrapping my legs tightly around his midsection. I clamp my hands together and lean forward, slamming them onto his back and sending him flailing forward.

I am still attached to him when we hit the mat, his shoulder jamming into my ribcage. Two bones in my chest snap loudly, and a fire erupts in my lungs.

Shit, this isn't good. I might heal fast, but fighting with broken ribs is sure to slow me down.

I force the brute of me, clamping my hand around the back of his neck to slam him face-first into the ground.

Jeremiah kicks at my injured side as I struggle to get up, sending me back onto the mat. He straddles me, ranging down blow after blow to my face. I raise my arms in protection, but he continues, his knuckles slamming into my forearms.

My vision blurs, my ears ring, and blood stings at my eyes.

He is going to beat me to a pulp.

Another rush of adrenaline kicks in, my vision snaps back into focus, and the ringing in my head fades away. I buck my hips with all the strength I have, tossing Jeremiah off of me, but as he tumbles backward, I pull him towards me so that I can head-butt him in the face.

He rolls away from me, hands pressing against his bleeding face.

I struggle back to my feet, arms wrapped around my battered torso as I try to remain upright. A thunderous applause rings out across the room, and I turn to face the large crowd of spectators, their eyes wide with wonder and terror at the sight of my face healing right before them.

A victorious smile is plastered on my lips, and if there ever was a moment that I wish I could feel pride, it would be now.

I turn my head, lungs still drowning in flames as I spit blood to the ground. "Thanks, I'll be here all week. Don't forget to tip your waitresses."

A hand lands on my shoulder, and I spin, Jeremiah catching my elbow before it connects with his bruising jaw. He leans into me, his lips close to my ears. "There's my girl, all voice and rage. I've missed you so much. Don't get too cocky, Eden. This was a fair fight, and you know a Son would never go that easy on you. I will have Peter inform the Chief that you are ready to join me on tomorrow night's mission. Take the rest of the day to recover or whatever you need to do to heal."

I take my cue and head out of the sparring area, weaving through the crowd to the door. My stomach growls angrily and I can't decide which I need more: sleep or food.

As much as I hate to admit it, even if it is only to myself, I am way more out of shape than I realized. I tried to keep up with my training while on the run, but workout equipment and a willing supernatural partner were hard to come by.

Fighting with those two left me drained of the energy I spent last night gathering. Had this been a battle with a Son, I wouldn't have lasted five minutes.

I glance over my shoulder before stepping out of the room, my eyes connecting with Jeremiah's as a familiar dark-haired woman worries over him. She stops tending to his wounds and follows his line of sight, her vicious emerald eyes finding mine.

Breya, my former friend and Jeremiah's long-time girlfriend, looks as if she is imagining all the ways she could kill me. If the daggers she stared through me were real, I would be six feet under now.

Mumbling to herself, she returns to dabbing at the dried blood under his eye. I knew it wouldn't take her long to heal him; she is the best healer the DSA has.

The men in this place are fighters, but the women have been given other jobs, such as healers, researchers, clerks, and others. To the Fae, women are sacred and a means of continuing their race. The DSA made it a point to keep their women out of the field and house them safely in the main building, ensuring they would not be harmed.

It would have been sweet if it had not been for the fact that all of them agreed to produce three children to continue working at the DSA or risk being sent into the real world to fend for themselves.

Luckily, being that I am both a hybrid and a felon, I will never have to worry about meeting that fate. The Fae would never risk tainting their bloodline with the likes of me.

Jeremiah's eyes never leave mine, and while he says nothing, I know what he is thinking. I know he is aware of how close I came to losing that fight and that it got him going far more than my knocking him around did.