Occidis: Sophia Moreau, Book 1

by Aisha Tritle

  “It’s like you go on auto pilot. Your senses settle. You don’t pay attention. Which is why I could defeat you so easily.”

  Sophia lay, crumpled on the floor, boiling in discomfort. But she couldn’t do anything. She couldn’t even breathe.

  Across the room, Ilya stood up. He’d been watching the practice session with an anxious face. As he rushed over to his indisposed friend, Saren’s eyes narrowed.

  “You alright? You need anything?” he asked, helping Sophia up.

  She shook her head, humiliated.

  “I didn’t tell you to help her,” said Saren.

  Ilya shot her a disapproving glance. “We’re here for you to train us,” he said. “That’s where your jurisdiction stops. I can help her if I want.”

  Saren raised an eyebrow. An intrigued smirk crossed her face. “Alright,” she said. “Go get her water. Whatever you want. Then, it’s your turn.”

  Ilya scoffed, before redirecting his focus to Sophia. His hands firmly held her shoulders. “Come on,” he said, leading her across the room.

  Sophia sat down, her breath slowly returning. Ilya grabbed a nearby water bottle and set it next to her.

  “This is my water. If you want some, go ahead.”

  With a disgruntled sigh, he turned back around and stretched out his arms. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s do this.”

  The look on Saren’s face bothered Sophia. She looked too eager, too excited. Also, the voluptuous woman’s eyes had been scanning Ilya—over and over. The number of times she had checked him out was obscene.

  Saren threw the first punch, but Ilya quickly deflected and retaliated. Within a matter of seconds, they were engaged in a full-blown fight, tumbling across the room, kicking, and sparring.

  Sophia took an angry swig from the water bottle. Ilya was so much better than her, and so was Saren. Their fighting techniques were so polished, it would have been a satisfying sight to watch, if Sophia wasn’t so annoyed.

  They were on the floor now, grabbing and digging into each other. Saren managed to get the upper hand. She rolled on top of Ilya, her thighs squeezing his neck.

  Sophia angrily drained the water bottle. The woman before her was an attractive enigma.

  Saren was young, but obviously experienced and skilled. Her English was nearly perfect, but at times an ambiguous European lilt crept into her speech. She could inflict enough force to cause serious injury, but the grace with which she carried herself echoed that of a dancer.

  The relationship between Saren and Yasuo was ambiguous as well. Sometimes they seemed like good friends, sometimes siblings, sometimes lovers, and other times he seemed like her manservant.

  And here was the Attractive Enigma, making literal moves on Ilya. Sophia threw the empty plastic bottle to the side.

  Ilya had recovered quickly, and now held Saren’s neck in a tight grip. His long legs were wrapped around her, pinning her arms.

  Saren struggled for a few seconds before giving up, and Ilya released her.

  “Good,” she smiled. “Very good.” The tall woman shot a disdainful glance at Sophia.

  “He pays attention,” she said. “Not like you.”

  Sophia scoffed. Was Saren actually going to teach them anything? Or was she just going to criticize?

  “Well, I certainly know who you pay attention to,” muttered Sophia, under her breath.

  Saren’s head snapped back around. “What’s that?”

  “Nothing,” smiled Sophia.

  Ilya brushed himself off and crossed back to Sophia. “You feeling better?”

  “Yeah.”

  The discarded water bottle caught Sophia’s eye.

  “Sorry, I drank all your water,” she said, with a tinge of guilt.

  Ilya sat down next to her and gently bumped her with his shoulder. “That’s fine.”

  Saren watched them intently as she toweled her sweat off. Something midway between a sneer and a grimace occupied her face. “Alright,” she said. “We’ll break for lunch.”

  Ilya hopped up. “Perfect. I’m starving.”

  Sophia slowly climbed up. She’d regained her breath, but her chest still ached.

  “Need help?” asked Ilya.

  “No, no, I’m—“ Sophia was cut off.

  “Go down the hall,” said Saren. “At the end, there’s a dining room. Yasuo will have lunch waiting.”

  She’d started changing her clothes in the middle of the room. Saren stood, her pants in one hand, top in the other.

  Sophia’s jaw dropped at the blatant exhibitionism. Why was she changing? They were only going to go and get sweaty again after lunch.

  “Gosh, it wasn’t like she was wearing many clothes anyway,” she muttered.

  To her surprise, Ilya didn’t seem fazed. Saren might as well have been bundled up in winter clothes, judging from his expression.

  As soon as they left the room, Ilya snickered. “She’s quite a character,” he said. “Isn’t she?”

  Sophia’s eyebrows flew up. “Yeah, she sure is,” she said, not bothering to veil the scorn in her voice.

  Ilya stopped, his eyes wide. “You don’t like her.”

  Sophia shrugged. “Yeah. So what?”

  “Why don’t you like her?”

  Sophia opened her mouth to speak, then clamped it shut. She couldn’t really tell him exactly why she didn’t like Saren…

  “This place is probably lined with cameras,” she said flippantly. “I bet Saren’s watching us through them, just looking for an excuse to kill me in my sleep.”

  “I don’t see any cameras,” said Ilya.

  Sophia knew he was right. She also knew she’d given him a poor reply.

  “So you don’t trust her?” asked Ilya. His golden head was down, his hands clasped behind his back like a pondering philosopher.

  Sophia pushed out a frustrated exhale. The whole issue of “trust” seemed to be a recurring theme in her conversations. Still, his question deserved an answer.

  “No, I don’t trust her.”

  An angry spark shone in Ilya’s eyes. The philosophic air was gone, replaced with that of a man scorned. “So you don’t trust her, but you trust Jonathan?”

  Sophia’s gritted her teeth. Would the animosity between him and Jonathan ever be resolved? “I never said I trusted Jonathan,” snapped Sophia.

  “But you do whatever he says,” said Ilya, madder than he should be. “If he says ‘drink this,’ ‘do that,’ ‘I’m sending you to my friend so she can train you’—you just go along with it.”

  Sophia threw her hands up in the air. “What do you want me to do?”

  Ilya shrugged his shoulders while looking for an answer.

  “Please, tell me,” said Sophia. “What is the point in not following him right now? Everything he tells us to do goes with the plan.”

  “Yeah, but—“

  “The plan that I was dragged into. The plan that you wanted.”

  Ilya’s blue eyes narrowed with intensity, but Sophia didn’t falter. She took a step towards him.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  The two of them stood in the hall, each locked in the other’s gaze. The creak of the practice room door met Sophia’s ear. Regretfully, she turned her head.

  Saren was making her way down the hall, dressed in a clean outfit of tight workout gear that looked more decorative than functional. She’d obviously gone out of her way to emphasize her cleavage. Sophia frowned. What was she wearing? A push-up sports bra?

  “Why are you two loitering?” asked Saren. “I told you lunch is ready.” She forged past them, lightly brushing against Ilya.

  With a low growl, Sophia followed her into the dining room. There was a short cherrywood table, topped with a spread of food that looked depressingly healthy. Four blue silk cushions were placed on the floor around the table for them to sit on.

  Saren lightly tapped Ilya’s arm. “Come sit next to me.”

  Much to Sophia’s dismay and annoyance, Ilya took the sug
gestion.

  As she situated herself across from them, every muscle in Sophia’s body tightened. Saren was relentless…and Ilya was too polite. The rage she felt seemed to drown out any of the jokes Saren was telling, but Ilya’s laugh came through loud and clear. Why was he laughing? Saren was smiling too much. Now her hand was on his knee…

  “How are you, Sophia?”

  The words came as a surprise. Neither of the individuals she was observing had spoken to her.

  “How are you?”

  It was Yasuo. Lord knows where he’d come from. But he was sitting next to Sophia.

  She blushed a mild shade of red. She’d been so wrapped up in her study of Ilya and Saren that it had taken her an embarrassing amount of time to notice Yasuo’s presence.

  “I’m good,” she said. “How are you?”

  “I’m doing well, thank you,” said Yasuo, sporting an affable smile. “Are you hungry? Let me put food on your plate.”

  As he piled her plate high with all sorts of roots and vegetables, Sophia’s anger simmered. Saren had scooted her cushion closer to Ilya. Her green eyes looked at Ilya as if he were some Norse god.

  Throughout lunch, Sophia kept up a superficial conversation with Yasuo. He went on about what roots he’d cooked and where he’d gotten them and why they were eating them. Nothing that took her attention away from the other side of the table. It wasn’t until Sophia had downed her food and pushed away her plate that he said something that sparked her interest.

  “We were surprised to hear from Jonathan,” said Yasuo.

  “Surprised? Why?”

  Yasuo took a second helping of food. “We weren’t sure he would ever want to see us after what happened last time,” he said quietly.

  Sophia leaned in. “What happened?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  Yasuo cautiously eyed the two people on the opposite side of the table. Satisfied that they seemed preoccupied, he spoke. “That was when we lost Ingrid.”

  “Ingrid?”

  “Jonathan’s wife.”

  Sophia was stunned. “Jonathan has a wife?”

  Yasuo hesitated before shaking his head. “We were on a job in Switzerland. You know how Jonathan says he has a private security business?”

  Sophia nodded.

  “Before that, Jonathan, Ingrid, Saren, and I used to function as an independent elite special ops unit. It was right after Jonathan had gotten out of SAS,” said Yasuo. “Various governments would hire us when they had complicated missions.”

  Sophia tried to keep surprise from showing on her face. Jonathan seemed too young to have lived such a life.

  “We were dealing with a drug lord called Rodriguez who had emigrated to Switzerland, and things went bad. Ingrid was very beautiful…” Yasuo’s voice drifted off.

  There was a pained expression on his face. His eyes filled with regret, and his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a minute before he continued. “We’d had about three jobs before that. Ingrid had been used as bait before. She was very skilled, very trained…but something went wrong. I still don’t know what happened. Jonathan was uncomfortable with the whole mission—“ he ran the back of his hand across his eyes “—we lost communication. They weren’t at the hotel where they were supposed to be. We found her a few days later in a chalet, bloody and bruised. She’d been beaten to death.”

  Sophia stared, not quite believing what she was heard.

  “What are you two talking about?” asked Saren. A smile was plastered on her face, but the suspicion in her eyes didn’t escape Sophia.

  Ilya used the break from Saren’s attentions to scoff down his food.

  “I just told her a little bit of our history with Jonathan,” replied Yasuo.

  The smile vanished from Saren’s face. “Oh, really?”

  Sophia kept quiet. The extreme dislike she felt from Saren seemed to keep multiplying, and she didn’t know why.

  “You finished your food quickly,” said Saren.

  Sophia nodded. “Yep.”

  The little attention she gave Saren seemed to aggravate the older woman even more. Sophia felt a forceful nudge on her foot.

  “Are you ready for round two?”

  Sophia let out an incredulous scoff. “We just finished eating. Don’t we need some time?”

  “What’s the matter? You afraid I’m going to knock you off your feet again?”

  Saren’s challenging manner was more foe than teacher. What was her deal?

  The two men had stopped eating and now watched Sophia and Saren with intense interest.

  “Alright,” said Sophia.

  Saren raised an eyebrow. “Alright what?”

  “Let’s go for round two.”

  Sophia knew she might get her butt kicked again, but she might as well get it over with.

  Saren laughed. “Perfect,” she said as she got up.

  The two women went to the practice room. Yasuo and Ilya followed them, both curious for different reasons. Yasuo seemed bewildered, while a tense expression of worry crumpled Ilya’s brow.

  Ilya crossed his arms. “Sophia,” he said, a cautionary note in his voice.

  But Sophia ignored him. She turned around to face her opponent. Without a word of warning, Saren’s palm rammed into her nose.

  Sophia took a step back, stunned. Blood was dripping into her mouth. She cupped her hands and smacked Saren’s ears. The auburn-haired woman’s eyes widened in pain.

  But Saren was ruthless. She came at Sophia in an angry flurry. As Sophia defended herself, she fed off the impassioned energy. Her moves became quicker, sharper. Her brain was running at a thousand miles an hour, figuring out where Saren was weak, what she should do next.

  Sophia had taken Saren’s advice; she was paying attention.

  Saren, however, was angry. In fact, she was too angry. She yelled, throwing a jab at Sophia’s throat—but Sophia had foreseen that.

  Sophia grabbed Saren’s hand, pulled her forward, and kicked her knee. As the woman yelped in pain, Sophia wrapped herself around Saren and slammed her into the ground.

  Despite Saren’s struggles, she could not free herself. Sophia had her pinned down too thoroughly. Her knee was digging into the lower part of Saren’s back.

  “Alright!” the captive woman growled.

  Sophia pressed into Saren a little harder. “Alright what?”

  “Alright,” sputtered Saren. “You win.”

  Sophia had her victory. She rolled off of Saren, the beginning of a smug smile on her glistening face. She tried to hold back her desperate desire to gloat, but she didn’t succeed. Stepping back, she observed the fruit of her work.

  Saren huffed and stood up pouting, hands feeling the crook of her back where Sophia had mercilessly inflicted a sharp jab.

  Yasuo rushed over to her, his mouth open in shock. “Are you okay?”

  Saren swatted him away. “I’m fine,” she snapped. Her green eyes glared at Sophia. But the daggers only served to improve the victor’s mood; Sophia now sported a full-blown grin.

  With a frustrated groan, Saren stormed out of the room. Yasuo lumbered after her, like a servant following his mistress.

  As soon as they left, Ilya broke into peals of impish laughter. He crossed over to Sophia, his blue eyes mirthfully alight. “Good job.”

  21

  “Jonathan will be arriving late tonight,” said Saren.

  They were all convened around the short table eating dinner—minus Yasuo; Saren’s devoted slab of muscle was away running errands of a dubious nature.

  They had spent most of the day in weapons training. Sophia was exhausted, and her arm had begun acting up again. It had been healing nicely until Saren had scratched her in a sparring match before breakfast.

  And so Sophia sat, her arm tied up in a partially bloody bandage, completely convinced that Saren had injured her on purpose. The woman was definitely out to get her.

  Upon hearing that Jonathan was du
e to arrive later, Sophia breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe Jonathan’s presence would deflect some of the animosity she felt from Saren.

  “That’s great,” muttered Ilya sarcastically.

  Sophia dropped her fork, her relief diminishing by the second. Maybe the animosity in the house would only multiply.

  “Why don’t you use chopsticks?” Saren asked.

  Sophia grimaced at Saren’s snarky tone.

  “Fork is easier,” she replied. She’d tried to keep her conversations with Saren to a minimum since she had defeated her two days before.

  “But wasn’t your mother Japanese? At least, that’s what Jonathan told me.”

  “She was, yes.”

  A bemused smirk crossed Saren’s face. “She didn’t teach you how to use chopsticks?”

  A simple question, but Sophia struggled with the answer. Questions that touched on her parents in any capacity were always difficult. The nearest memories she had of them were many years old.

  “The program that I was in—that Ilya and I were in—helped our education excel in some ways,” Sophia said. “But hindered it in others. I haven’t used chopsticks since I was nine.”

  “The program you were in sounds perfectly boring,” said Saren.

  “In some ways it was.”

  “I don’t know how you could’ve lived with such a limited pool.”

  “Pool of what?”

  “Pool of people, of course!” exclaimed Saren, eyes wide. “I don’t know how you survived. Whenever I have my way with someone, I’m done with them. I get bored to death and can’t get away from them fast enou—“ she stopped. Her green eyes fell on Ilya. He fixed her with a flat stare. A nervous laugh trickled from her lips.

  “Never mind,” she said.

  Sophia raised her eyebrows in reply and redirected her focus to the food in front of her. She was able to eat for a few minutes before Saren disrupted the peace yet again.

  “Have you had any boyfriends, Sophia?”

  The question caught Ilya’s attention. He stopped eating and stared at Sophia curiously. She shifted uncomfortably under the intense scrutiny.

  “Not really,” she said.

  Saren leaned forward. “Oh, come on, there must have been somebody.”