Chapter 49
Derian
Tyla insists on coming outside with me to watch Huntyr and Cal spar, so once again I lift the tiny girl into my arms and carry her over the stairs, setting her up on a wooden rocking chair on the porch before bringing her a blanket to wrap around her shoulders.
She really is a frail little thing. Nothing but skin and bones.
Truthfully, I haven’t spent much time around Mortals, so I certainly don’t know much about their illnesses. But whatever is infecting the poor girl appears merciless. No wonder Huntyr is so desperate to get her help.
“So, I suppose we are to be family?” she says to me as I flop down into the chair next to her.
The Eshari sits on her other side, resting her head on the girl's lap, a position that allows it to stare right at me with unblinking eyes. I should feel offended that the beast made such fast friends with Tyla since she constantly bares her teeth at me.
“I suppose so.”
The sound of clanging metal echoes through the air.
I glance towards Huntyr andCal.
Cal is definitely not going easy on her. He manages to land a few good hits, including one that makes her head snap back so sharply that lightning tears from the sky and scorches the ground next to him before I even realize my magic had spiked.
Oops.
He looks at me apologetically for half a second before Huntyr shouts at me to ‘stay out of it’ and resumes her attacks.
“So, I should probably warn you that if you hurt my sister I will definitely make you suffer.”
I look over at Tyla, once again stunned by how much she looks like my Huntress despite their lack of any true familial relation. The hair is nearly the exact same shade. Their eyes, while a different color, are still the same shape. Their jawlines are quite similar.
“You hardly look strong enough to kill a butterfly,” I remind her. “You definitely couldn’t hurt me, even if you wanted to.”
She stares at me, blinking softly, before bursting out in high-pitched laughter.
The sound of it startles Huntyr enough that she turns back to us, a mistake that earns her a sharp kick to the gut.
I clench my fist instinctively. So help me, if he just broke her ribs, I’ll break two of his in punishment.
“I’m so used to everyone coddling me and pretending like I’ll be just fine. It’s refreshing to talk with someone who doesn’t shy away from the seriousness of my illness.”
She watches her sister with careful consideration, her love for Huntyr so obvious.
“She tries to pretend the truth isn’t written out in front of us.”
I frown. “Truth?”
Tyla turns her dark eyes tome, eyes that are far too serious for a girl so young. “I don’t think I’m meant to live very long, and I think, deep down, she knows that. She knows I’m going to die.”
“You will be fine,” I tell her, unblinking. “That tonic will work.”
She gives me a soft smile. “I hope so. I would like enough time in this realm to decide whether or not you are worthy of my sister.”
“And if you decide I’m not?”
Tyla shrugs. “I won’t have to. Huntyr’s always been smarter than me. She’s the stronger one. She’ll decide about you far sooner than I will. Gods have mercy on you if she decides against you.”
I watch her fight, her movements a mix of utter strength and poetic grace. She’s grinning, the kind of easy smile that’s become more common in recent days, even as sweat drips down her brow. Remarkably, she’s keeping Cal on his toes, a feat not many can accomplish.
Gods have mercy on me indeed.
She doesn’t realize it, but she’s gotten stronger. Faster, too. Whatever Fae magic woke up inside of her, it’s brought with it some of our other gifts as well.
“You should go,” Tyla says next to me, nodding towards the fight.
I raise a brow at her in confusion.
She nods towards Huntyr. “Your friend needs a break, and she’s nowhere near finished. She can go like this for hours before she calms down.”
For some unknown reason, I hesitate.
Huntyr has been through so much recently. Her entire world is upside down, and this drive for violence is just a symptom of her need to put everything back in its place again.
I don’t fit into one of her neat little plans anymore. I’m one of those aspects of her life that’s now confusing.
Somehow, that’s a more unsteady place for us to be than when she hated me.
I feel Kaia watching me, those golden eyes focused so keenly on me as I look back at Tyla. “I don’t know if I’m what she needs right now.”
Huntyr’s not just angry anymore. She’s lost. And I don’t know if she wants my help in finding herself again.
Tyla is quiet for a longtime, watching as her sister expertly begins winning the fight, using Cal’s strength against him. She rocks slowly in her chair, the wood creaking softly under the movement.
“I think you might be exactly what she needs.”
Cal pauses, lowering his sword and stepping back from the fight when he sees me rise from my chair and begin making my way down the porch steps.
Huntyr, merciless beast that she is, takes advantage of that hesitation, landing a swift punch across his jaw that leaves my friend stumbling back in surprise.
“That was unsportsmanlike!” he chastises her while rubbing out the wound.
She smirks. “No, it was underhanded fighting. I don’t know why you expected any less.”
He looks to me, as if expecting me to defend him against her.
I extend my hand, reaching for his sword. “You’re fighting an assassin and expecting her to have the honor of a warrior. The Huntress prefers things a little dirty.”
Those blue eyes roll dramatically when I wink at her, and the sight of it has blood rushing to my cock. The woman could be doing the most horrendous, deplorable, disgusting things, and I would still want her.
“I don’t want to fight you,” she protests when I take the space across from her where Cal had previously been standing.
The sun catches her hair, black waves of silken perfection. It fell out of her braid while she was fighting, and now hangs in a curtain down her shoulders and back, damp by her forehead where the effort of the fight has started creating beads of sweat.
She’s pissed.
Rage is easy for her. At least, it’s easier than dealing with how overwhelmed she is.
And despite the anger written across her face, the hatred seemingly directed at me, she’s just as beautiful as ever. Maybe more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her before.
I marvel at it as I put my full strength into a swift swing of my sword, aimed right for her head.
She ducks just in time, the blade whistling over her head as she stares up at it from where she crouches. Already I’m moving again, swinging my sword in an arc towards her. Our blades meet with a resounding clang, sparks bursting on impact.
“Still think I’ll go easy on you, Huntress?”
Huntyr looks up at me, the position remarkably similar to one we’d been in two nights ago.
Only that encounter had ended with both of us finding our pleasure, this ends with the wicked thing kicking me right in the shin.
Pain shoots up my leg, sharp and immediate, as I stumble back.
“Fuck,” I hiss, tentatively taking a few steps and shaking out the leg.
She is definitely stronger than a normal Mortal.
Her grin is unforgiving when I look at her. Her gaze flickers to my leg, and those blue eyes light up momentarily with self-satisfaction.
“I prefer things a little dirty,” she teases with a shrug.
Walking slowly, we begin to circle each other, our movements fluid and measured.
“You never answered my question,” I remind her.
Her eyes narrow, the only indication that she wants me to clarify.
“Chocolate or vanilla cake at the wedding?”
I see the wheels in her mind spinning, see her tracing through her memories to recognize the reference, and see her exasperation when she remembers that first night at the fortress when I’d asked her the same question.
“I truly do not care.” She sighs, and then she’s driving forward again.
She’s relentless, each strike more forceful than the last. I parry her attacks, grunting when the vibration of the blow travels up my arm.
Her movements remain quick and sharp, even though she must be tiring.
I divert her attention to the right so I can level my fist into her gut, and her only reaction is a sharp hiss.
I take advantage of the moment she takes to catch her breath.
“Vanilla cake then?” There’s that eye roll again. I swallow down my chuckle. “No, you don’t want vanilla.”
She throws back her head, shaking back her hair off her shoulders, and squares her shoulders again. “I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Right.” This time when she swings, I don’t meet her blade with my own.
I step to the left, bending out of the way, then do the same when she spins to my right side.
She lets out a frustrated huff as I dance out of the way of each of her blows.
“So, you don’t want to fight me, you don’t want vanilla cake, and you don’t want to have this conversation. ”
“Aren’t you observant,” she notes through a locked jaw. Her movements are coming more rapidly now, technique slipping as I start to get under her skin.
“What do you want, Huntress?”
Every swing of her blade is a release of the emotions she can't put into words. She fights not like she wants to win, but like she needs the reassurance of a win. Two very different motivations.
“Enough, Derian.”
“It’s not enough.”
I watch her movements, anticipating them, and this time when she swings, I drop my sword, grasp both of her wrists in my hands, and rip her towards me as her own blade falls to the ground.
She’s breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling against mine. Sweat drips down her temple. Heat radiates off of her body.
“Let me go,” she demands, but her voice lacks strength. She’s speaking in nothing more than a whisper.
“What do you want, Huntress?”
Her eyes flicker towards the porch, and I don’t need to follow her gaze to know that Cal has taken Tyla back inside, leaving us alone.
“I should go take care of my sister.”