Mathieu (White Flame Trilogy) - By Paula Flumerfelt Page 0,1

Korinth is the haven for them. Also, it’s supposed to be all one, giant walled-in city where there isn’t any separation between classes or people. Everyone there is equally…er, ‘odd’, so they live peacefully.”

Mathieu spun in his seat, feet on the floor. He tapped his bare heels on the carpet in a tuneless pattern. His lower lip was caught between his teeth as he stood. “Tell me something…if this is, in theory, a war-free country like we claim, why do we have need for an army?”

“I don’t know.” Rebekah sighed and put her hand on Mathieu’s hand. “That’s a question better suited for when you’re older.” She smiled softly and ruffled his bangs. Mathieu huffed as she left the room.

Darrel sat up from the floor, looking directly at Mathieu. He was a burly kid, more muscle than brains, with bright orange hair and hands that were far too big for his body. “That’s where you belong, freak. I bet you’re one of those ‘oddity’ things.”

“Excuse me?” Mathieu’s eyes glinted dangerously, his weigh shifting onto the balls of his feet.

“Well, for one thing, no one can tell if you’re a girl or a boy.”

Mathieu looked down at himself, bottom lip popped out in a slight pout. His hair was just past the bottom his shoulder blades and feathered bangs, a pure white color, his chest flat and his frame thin, feminine. It was true, what Darrel had said. He was androgynous.

Very well, Darrel. He cocked his head to the side and placed a hand on his hip, batting his lashes in the girliest way he could manage. “Oh? Well, I can be anything you want me to be, baby.” His lips danced with a smirk and his hand brushed his bangs back.

“You’re a sick freak.” Darrel took two lumbering strides across the room and picked Mathieu up by the front of his shirt, snarling. As if Mathieu was nothing more than a rag doll, Darrel threw him into the nearest wall with all the ferocity of a cannon.

Mathieu sucked in a harsh breath as he flew through the air, his hair twisting around himself as he spun to get his feet between him and the wall. He wasn’t quite fast enough, cracking his knee and shin on the hard wood that paneled the room. Seconds later, he dropped like a stone to the floor, managing to land on his feet, and took a stumbling step forward. In a moment Darrel was on top of him, knocking him sideways to a firm kick to his ribs.

Wincing, Mathieu scrambled to his feet and took a real fighting stance, feet planted shoulder width apart. His injured knee was stinging something fierce and his ribs ached from the last hit, but that didn’t deter him. Breathing wasn’t pleasant, but nothing was broken.

Darrel fought much like a bear: close in with wild swipes and pray one connected. But Mathieu was smarter than that, watching for the gaping openings that Darrel left in his defense. With precision, he dodged the first swing and managed to get under Darrel’s guard. The world seemed to pause as Mathieu’s fingertips struck forward, hitting the bundle of nerves in the center of Darrel’s chest.

The bigger boy stumbled back, clutching his chest. “You…faggot!”

It was a strange feeling that came next. Mathieu heard something like a snap and his ears started to ring. His restraint was gone, arms blurring and fingertips slamming into the pressure points along Darrel’s chest. Mathieu was small, but he’d spent enough of his life reading to know how to take down someone bigger than himself.

It wasn’t until Rebekah burst into the room and tackled him to the ground that he relented. He was winded and slightly sweaty, caught in a headlock. Mathieu squirmed for a few moments before lying still. It was useless to fight when someone had him in a headlock and pinned to the floor. Darrel lay a few feet away, curled up in a ball and coughing blood up into his gargantuan hands.

Mathieu averted his eyes, coughing slightly. “W-whoops.”

Rebekah let him up, pointing to the door. Mathieu bit back an annoyed growl, but he slunk out of the room anyway. Darrel had started the fight and he’d gotten what he’d deserved.

Sighing, he ran his hand along the knotted oak paneling of the walls. The orphanage was an old-fashioned house, nothing like the new ones of the capital, each looking exactly like the next. The entire house was carved out of wood: the polished floors, the