Chapter 16 #2
Con still hadn’t picked up the sword. He moved only enough to keep from being hit, his blunted blade flashing in short, defensive arcs.
My strikes were sharp, precise, fueled by fury and pride.
I spun, thrust, swept low, forcing him to adjust or fall.
He matched every move with control that only infuriated me more.
“Fight me!” I demanded.
“No.”
The word was quiet but unyielding. He blocked another strike, the sound ringing like thunder in the wide hall. I went for his shoulder, then his knee, each blow turned aside with maddening ease.
He wasn’t trying to beat me. He was trying to weather me.
And that, somehow, made me angrier than if he’d fought back.
I feinted right and brought the spear around in a high arc. He ducked it, the blade in his hand catching the shaft and locking it in place. For a moment, we were close enough to feel each other’s breath, the electric tension between us more dangerous than any weapon.
“You done?” he asked quietly, his eyes flickering gold and red.
I pulled back, chest heaving, the edge of the spear lowering but not dropping. “Not until you admit it.”
“What truth, Cass?”
“That you don’t get to decide when we start or stop,” I hissed.
His expression softened, but his voice stayed low, steady. “I never did.”
The spear in my hands trembled slightly—not from weakness, but from the raw emotion still burning through me. I wanted to hit him again. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel something other than control.
But he just stood there, silent, his blade lowered, his body taut and waiting.
The air between us was thick with everything we couldn’t say, and the silence that followed was louder than any strike and thick enough to choke on.
I stood there, chest heaving, the shaft of the spear trembling in my grip from the force I’d been holding back. The air still crackled with the residue of my magic, glowing dull-blue against the dark mats before fading away.
Con hadn’t moved. He stood where he’d been, shoulders squared, blade lowered, his expression maddeningly calm. That calmness—the restraint, the way he refused to meet my anger with his own—only made the fury rise higher in my throat.
“Of course,” I said finally, my voice as sharp as glass. “You can fight armies, tear through monsters, but when it’s me? You fold.”
He didn’t answer. His eyes—gold flecked with that red shimmer—tracked me, steady, patient.
That patience broke something in me.
I took a step closer, pointing the tip of my spear toward him, not to strike, but to punctuate every word that came next. “You’re a coward, Constantine. A complete and utter pussy.”
A murmur rippled through the room. The death dealers who’d been pretending not to listen stiffened, their eyes flicking between us like they were watching an execution.
Con’s expression didn’t change, but something in his jaw twitched, the smallest crack in that perfect composure. “Are you finished?” he asked quietly.
The question hit harder than a blow.
I laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, I was finished last night,” I said. “You just didn’t stick around long enough to notice.”
That earned me a reaction—subtle, but unmistakable. His hand tightened slightly around the blunted sword, knuckles whitening. Still, he didn’t rise to it.
Of course he didn’t.
The fury that had been simmering all morning snapped. I let the spear fall with a metallic clang that echoed through the training hall, then turned on my heel and stalked toward the door. The eyes of the young death dealers followed me, wide and uncertain, but no one dared speak.
“Dismissed,” I snapped over my shoulder. “All of you.”
They scattered instantly, boots scuffing against the stone floor as they vanished into the adjoining corridors. I didn’t look back. I couldn’t. Every step toward the exit was a battle to keep from turning around and saying something I’d regret—or maybe something I wouldn’t.
The heavy doors swung open with a shove of my shoulder, the noise reverberating through the hall.
The cooler air of the corridor hit me like a slap, sharp and clean after the heat of the sparring room.
My pulse still thundered in my ears, every muscle tight with the need to move, to burn off what was left of the anger twisting in my chest.
I strode down the hall, my boots ringing against the stone floors, the echo chasing me through the vast corridors of Shadow Bone. Servants and clan members turned as I passed, some offering greetings, others stepping aside quickly when they caught sight of my face.
I didn’t slow.
The farther I got from the training hall, the less steady my breathing became. Rage and humiliation tangled under my ribs, each feeding the other until it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
When I arrived at the grand foyer, the tightness in my throat had become almost unbearable.
I stopped in the middle of the marble floor, my hands still trembling from the fight, from the words I’d hurled at him.
The massive chandelier above cast shards of light across the walls, refracting off the polished stone like fractured fire.
I dragged in a breath, trying to steady myself, but the air tasted bitter.
The mansion was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that made you aware of just how alone you were.
For a fleeting moment, I almost turned back—some foolish part of me wanting to see if he’d followed, if he’d finally chased me instead of standing there like a statue. But the hall behind me stayed silent, the echo of my anger already fading into the stone.
“Fine,” I muttered under my breath. “Stay where you are.”
He could keep his composure.
I’d keep my rage.
At least one of us was honest about what we felt.