16. Leah #2
“Just checking it wasn’t a fluke,” he says.
“You have good reflexes, but it’s obvious you know next to nothing about close combat.
” He circles me, and I get the feeling he’s looking for weaknesses—and finding way too many of them.
“How did you ever survive on the plains? From what I’ve heard, scavenging is dangerous. ”
“I’m good with a bow and arrow,” I say defensively. “I taught myself that much.”
He considers this, nodding. “That explains why you freeze up the moment you get close to the action.”
I grimace, not liking that he’s read me so well.
What he doesn’t realize is that staying at a distance is a deliberate choice.
Hodges could’ve taught me a thing or two about fist fights.
Growing up as a poor boy on the city streets, he knows how to scrap.
But I never asked, for reasons I’m careful not to think about.
Syrus presses the other dagger into my hand, then walks backward, rolling his sleeves up over his sculpted forearms.
“I’ll make you a deal—”
“I’ve made enough deals with you,” I say coolly.
He ignores this. “Try to stop me taking the dagger from you. If you fail, you have to answer one of my questions.”
“I told you—” I stop myself before I waste my breath. I can’t expect this man to respect my boundaries when he spends half the time invading my head. “Why?” I ask instead.
“Because it’s motivating,” he says. “For both of us.” The ghost of a smile plays on his lips, and I roll my eyes. Of course he likes the idea of forcing me to do something I don’t want to, again.
“And if I stop you taking it? What do I get?” I ask.
“It’ll be one less time I’ll make you carry that stone up the steps tomorrow,” he says.
It’s both bullshit and pretty tempting at the same time. I suppose you can’t be the Lord of Malice without having at least a little skill at dealmaking.
“Fine,” I say, taking the defensive stance Viz showed me earlier. He drops lower too, even though I’m still looking up at him, and bounces lightly on his feet. I grip the dagger tightly in my hand, the tip tilted toward him, waiting.
He charges, incredibly fast, but I still have time to pull my arm back, putting the dagger out of reach as I swing at him with my other arm.
He takes the hit in the stomach, and my knuckles collide with a wall of pure muscle.
He uses the opportunity to jab me in the ribs with the edge of his hand.
I fold over as a sharp pain radiates through my side, and that’s when he leans over and rips the knife from my fingers.
“How long have you been a scavenger?” he asks.
I straighten up with a groan, rubbing my ribs as I consider how to answer. I’m reluctant to give up even one more inch of myself when he’s claimed so much already. Still, it’s not worth denying him.
“A little over three years.”
He hands me the dagger back. “We’ll try again. Keep your attacker in front of you when possible. If someone tries to position themselves toward your flank, pivot with them.”
He disarms me a second time and resumes his line of questioning.
“What made you start working on the plains? There must’ve been easier jobs.”
“I wanted money,” I say, shaking out the hand he’s just twisted. “And no, there weren’t. Not ones that paid enough and didn’t require a guild license, anyway.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me?” he raises an eyebrow.
“That was two questions!”
“Yes, but wanting money is hardly an answer,” he says sardonically. “You’re not playing fair.”
“And you are?” I protest. “Like Viz pointed out, I’m human, and you’re not taking that into account. Whatever instructions you’re giving me are never going to help against someone as strong as you.”
“They don’t need to,” he says. “What I teach you will work well enough on any humans you fall afoul of.”
“And if we run into any ephilium? Those are the people we’re actually investigating, right?”
He tilts his head to the side, thinking about this. “I’ll teach you some tricks for killing an ephilium too. It’s possible, even for a human. Especially for a human with some shadow magic at her disposal. But that’ll come later. For now…” He hands me back the knife.
The third time the dagger is snatched from my grasp, I wind up on the ground, my legs swiped out from under me.
“Mexalor…waspvine…yablon’ti…kuvvel.” This time I chant the plant names in my head to stop myself cursing out the Lord of Malice. I lie there, panting, until he comes to stand over me, grinning. The expression startles me. It’s almost like he’s having fun.
I preferred him when he was bored.
“So what did you want the money for?” he asks casually, as if he didn’t just throw me to the ground.
“To leave home,” I grunt, climbing to my feet. He’s made kicking my ass look effortless, but this close, I can see the light sheen on his face, his natural scent mingling with the musk of sweat. It’s…not unpleasant.
“Try again,” he says, taking my wrist and placing the dagger in my palm.
I’d expected him to lose patience by now like Viz, but his voice is as calm as before.
After each failure, he carefully explains to me where I went wrong.
It doesn’t stop me from losing, but I am getting smarter with my choices with each subsequent round.
“Why did you want to leave home?” he asks. The answers swim to the front of my mind—Ada’s cruelty, my father’s neglect, Evie’s safety—but I guard it all from him. It’s too much, and I can’t let him have it.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “You haven’t earned that answer yet.”
I shrug my shoulders back and lift my aching arms. This time when we square up, I try to listen to my gut. It’s always helped me before, and as I meet Syrus’s eyes, I ask it to give me some clue as to how he’s going to play the next attack. I stare into the red-brown irises and listen hard.
He charges, and on instinct I go low, dodging his first swipe. When I roll to my feet, I pivot to protect my flank like he showed me, and we’re face-to-face again, him backing me up toward the wall of the courtyard.
An idea comes to me, and I shove my hands behind my back as if trying to protect the blade, discreetly switching it from one palm to the other.
When he nearly has me cornered right up against the wall, I bluff, making as if to stab him with my empty left hand.
He blocks the blow, pinning my arm up against the wall, only for his eyes to narrow when he sees the hand is empty.
But by then, I have the dagger pressed against his hip.
We stand there for a moment like we both can’t quite believe it, his body so close I can feel the brush of his chest against mine. My arm is still trapped, caught between the heat of his bare forearm on one side and cool stone on the other.
Ghostly fingertips move along my spine, and a voice caresses the inside of my mind.
“Congratulations,” he says.
I release a little gasp, because there’s something about him touching me—skin to skin—while possessing me that’s too much. I’m too full of him, too aware of the way he shifts inside me and against me at the same time, creating sparks beneath my skin that fizz and burst.
He must feel it too, because the red of his eyes darkens, and he takes a sudden step back, retreating from my mind so quickly I jerk back against the wall.