Chapter 14 #2
Instead of answering, I attack. Bale parries easily, and I counter his simple reflexive move with an aggressive strike that drives him back a step.
I try going all in immediately, wanting to force that thunderclap of power and speed inside me, but after a flurry of hits, I know it’s not going to happen. I back off, reassessing.
“Not scared enough to unlock your beast yet?” Bale mocks.
I scowl. That abrupt heightening of my senses, focus, and strength usually needs real danger in order to come out in me—and it doesn’t always last. “Stop sparring like I’m made of glass, then we’ll see what happens.”
His features harden. “How about you do better when you’re not on the brink of death?”
“Do fucking better,” I growl, slashing at him. “I’m sick of hearing that.”
He easily dodges my messy hit. “Not fucking that,” he growls back.
My nostrils flare, dragging in his scent of hot wind and dry leaves.
Slowing my breathing, I consciously settle my emotions and launch into a more controlled attack.
My double blades hum through the air and clang against Bale’s with a cadence that gradually speeds up.
Faster, harder, the rhythm of battle rings in my ears.
The more aggressive Bale gets, the better I fight.
My steel becomes a blur—a whirlwind of hits, twists, and thrusts.
Bale’s still always one step ahead. He spins out of a sudden deadlock and sweeps around, knocking me over.
I barely scramble up and away from what would probably be a killing blow in a real confrontation.
Bale’s on me again in seconds. His next hit vibrates up my arm as I block a strike that nearly knocks my sword from my hand.
A spurt of panic finally unlocks the strength and speed I need. I leap out of his reach as he abruptly comes into such sharp focus that I can see every twitch at the corner of his mouth, every subtle flick of his amber eyes, every dot of sweat lining his brow.
Revitalized, I launch into an all-out assault. My next hit vibrates up his arm, and my heightened senses soak up his sharp inhalation like a victory.
Bale fights me off, then rolls his shoulders, eyeing me with increased vigilance.
We circle again. I stay focused, my body coiled for action.
In a real battle, my utter concentration on Bale would make me vulnerable to attacks coming from elsewhere.
I’d have to widen my perception, but right now, he’s my only opponent.
“What changed?” He draws his second blade, and satisfaction thumps harder than my whomping heart.
“I’m pretending you’re the only thing that goes bump in the night.”
His steps unexpectedly slow, and I nearly skewer him. I twist away as he strikes back, his blade whistling past me.
His breathing is labored—more so than usual. I must be making him work, and that makes me absurdly happy.
“If I were your enemy, would you be scared of me?” he asks.
“Why would you be my enemy?” I counter with words and powerful hits, driving him back until he uses brute strength to throw me off him.
“Hypothetically,” he grinds out.
“I know you. It’s hard to be hypothetical.”
“Why? Aren’t I scary?”
“Do you want to be?”
He barks a loud laugh, the rare sound engaging all my senses. He jumps in, his blade at my throat before I even see it coming. I go utterly still, my eyes widening.
“Don’t get distracted by conversation,” he says sharply.
Bloodpit. Was that a lesson? “You asked me a question,” I grumble.
“So could a werebear. Or a vampire.”
Fair enough. Gripping my blades until my knuckles ache, I get back down to business.
We spar like we want to cut each other to ribbons, but neither of us lands a hit.
Avoiding injuring each other is also part of training—the precision part, knowing your intent.
The harder Bale pounds at me, the more I know I can’t match his strength, even at my best. His constant hits rattle up my arms, numbing me to the shoulders.
He knocks one sword from my hand, throws his second blade aside, and continues with one, coming at me so hard he forces me backward.
Our clashing swords heat the air. We both move so fast we blur.
He drives me across the clearing until my back hits a tree, the hard thud knocking a grunt from me.
His free hand shoots out and grips my neck, holding me against the trunk and forcing my chin up.
His other hand pins my sword arm against the bark at my side, squeezing my wrist until I drop my blade.
His eyes burn. He smells like a lightning strike, and shadows bleed from him. The dark tendrils swirl over me, soft and warm. Bale’s starborn magic seems to draw us close, linking our bodies, and arousal thumps low inside me.
Breathing hard, he stares at me. “And you’re dead.”
My lips part, my chest rising and falling so violently it brushes his with every breath. I don’t think I’ve lived yet. The thought comes from out of nowhere as Bale abruptly backs off, ripping his shadows from me. Shivering from the loss of both, I don’t move, even after I’m free.
Bale watches me from under lowered brows. He rakes his fingers through his hair, shoving it back. I think he shoves his shadows, too, because they disappear entirely. “I thought you’d last longer.”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing and decide to take that badly, his gruff words like a winter storm dropping cold rain on my head.
“That was just the warm-up.” I look him up and down like he’s mediocre instead of the most powerful and captivating man I’ve ever seen.
“And I thought you needed a confidence boost.”
His teeth flash in a predatory grin. “Now that you’re warmed up, are you going to stand there all day, or fight like you want to win?”
“Win?” I scoff. “No one beats you.” Everyone knows Bale is the best—in any form. The only one who’s ever come close to defeating him was the Vampire King, and no one knows how Rannigan Bloodthief managed to get close enough to rip through those chest scales.
My body cooling in a way that’s good for my heart but not good for my fighting focus, I step away from the tree and retrieve my blades.
“What did I do wrong?” I still feel the weight of Bale’s hand around my throat and his chest pressed against mine.
I want to ignore the lingering sensations and bursts of heat, but I can’t.
If he scented my desire when he pushed me up against the tree, his shadows licking over me—or if he reciprocates it—he doesn’t show it. Maybe he’ll chalk it up to danger lust.
Ugh, I hope so.
“You’re not using all your weapons. Your two swords aren’t everything. You have feet. You have hands. You have a mouth,” he says. I snort, and he gives me a hard look. “Get me off balance with your blades, then try something unexpected.”
“Like biting?”
His gaze holds mine. “Not unless you want me to bite you back.”
Warmth clenches deep in my belly. “Then why the mouth?”
“Conversation, Sunshine.” His voice a velvet rumble of fire in his throat, he says, “Use it to distract.”
My insides tumble at the nickname he’s used twice now. While I slowly melt, he starts circling. Exhaling tension that has nothing to do with sparring, I try to focus, gripping my weapons and waiting for him to make the first move.
It takes a long time for the nearly six-hundred-year-old Dragon King to grow impatient, but he finally does and strikes out with incredible speed and total silence.
I spring into action on pure instinct and counter his attack with crossed blades, tapping into every bit of strength I have to throw him back.
“You weigh a ton.” I shake out my aching arms.
“All muscle.”
His cocky answer draws a reflexive smile from me as I drop, spin, and slice lower.
He jumps over my blade. His eyes glitter on landing, igniting with interest. “Do that ten times faster, and someone might lose a foot.”
“Exactly. You,” I mutter.
He chuckles, and I suddenly get a strong image of me riding Bale, the wind streaming past me, his powerful wings beating the air, and his fire-warm scales between my legs.
Heat roars through me as Bale strikes out, nearly slicing my abdomen. His shocked inhalation hisses loudly in the sudden silence. We both pull up short, staring at each other. I hear my warbirds click their beaks.
“What the fuck, Idallia?” Smoke curls from Bale’s nostrils. His amber eyes thunder with condemnation. Sword lowered, he steps in, looking me over with a fierceness that’s both worried and furious.
I exhale shakily. Bale’s inner fire is volcanic and pounds at my skin. The vision was just a flash, as much sensation as thought, but it’s seared into my mind now. It’s not the past, so does that mean…it’s the future?
My heart hits my ribs like a battering ram. “Sorry.” I swallow hard.
“Don’t be sorry,” he snarls. “Be focused.”
Nodding, I square my shoulders and get ready to start again.
Wanting to drive the intense vision away, I go on the offensive first this time, my blades glinting in the morning light filtering through the trees.
Bale only uses one sword now—like vampires—but he’s so fast that I still can’t find an opening.
“Are you already bored? Thinking about other things?” He strikes violently, tawny heat boiling in his eyes.
“Because this isn’t a real fight? Because your warbirds aren’t in danger?
Your team? Your life?” He hammers harder with every word.
“Because you’re not scared of me?” The blade he just hit flies from my hand.
My fingers howl in shock. “You should be. I could eat you alive. Maybe one day, I will.”
Shaking my numb fingers out, I scramble away from him. What the fuck does that mean? “Who’s the one yapping now?” I snarl back at him. “Trying to distract me? Too bad. I’m on to your tricks.”
“I can hold a conversation and still win.” He lunges for me. I drop, roll, grab the blade I lost, and come up swinging with both swords again.
Bale nearly knocks the same weapon from my hand with his next blow.
I double my efforts, but that rush of strength and focus I had earlier doesn’t come back to me now.
I hold him off, but don’t advance at all.
This is about to go from bad to worse, and I don’t have any hope of lasting in a bang-it-out sword fight with Bale.
Try something unexpected.
Keeping all intention from my expression, I stop alternating with rapid but predictable hits and suddenly strike hard twice in a row with the same blade.
While he holds off that assault, I turn the angle of my other hand and ram the hilt of my sword into Bale’s lower ribs with a blow that would snap a human bone in half.
His nostrils flare. I follow up with a kick to the gut. He barely moves. Fucking dragon shifter.
He strikes back, adding a fast, hard twist of his wrist that sends the blade in my dominant hand flying across the clearing. I hold him off with my second sword for mere seconds before he rattles that one from my grip too. I duck his swing and lurch out of his path. He stalks after me.
I back away, weaponless and done. I know it. He knows it. I don’t have a dagger on me to throw at him—a mistake I won’t make again.
Bale surges for me in a hot rush of speed. I leap back, but my heel catches on a root. I tilt over backward with a gasp just as his body slams into mine. He probably expected resistance, and when there is none, we both go down.
Bale’s hand wraps around the back of my head just before we hit the ground.
His weight drives the air from my lungs.
We stare at each other in shock, then a fiery blush explodes across my skin.
I’m completely pinned, unable to move. A root pokes into my lower back.
I wince, and he lifts his weight to his elbows, freeing my torso and lungs.
I drag in a breath and arch to relieve the pressure of the hard knot under me.
His jaw tenses. His eyes sweep over my face, then snag on the pounding pulse at the base of my throat. Slowly, he lowers his head and whispers, “And you’re dead.” He inhales against my neck, sending a river of goose bumps cascading over me. I could swear his teeth graze my skin.
“Didn’t we say no biting?” I ask roughly.
“I’ll bet you taste good.”
His fast, guttural response sends a shot of heat through me that could rival dragon fire. Wild desires smash through my defenses. Kiss me. Strip me. Fuck me. I shove them all back across the threshold of good sense and somehow ask, “How’d I do this time?”
Lifting his head, he rasps, “Better.”
The glittering, starborn wheels in his eyes are so beautiful and distracting this close up that I can barely form words. “Really?” I huff. “Because that was my second death today.”
He looks straight into my eyes, his voice rolling with smoke and danger. “Your death is not an option.” His gaze dips to my mouth, then he lifts off me with fluid strength, already turning away.
I’m too weighed down by liquid heat and uncertainty to follow him up at first. When I finally stand, neither of us tries to spar again. We gather our belongings and head to the inn, silent tension hanging loudly between us.