TWENTY-SEVEN #2
“Yes,” I say flatly, giving up and moving into second position.
I roll my eyes but keep my sword level between us.
“You’ve figured out my devious plot. There are only a few more steps before I can enact it.
I just have to learn forbidden magic and figure out who I’ll ask to scrape the bits of you off the floor. ”
Bishop snorts. “Blowing me up would work. No chest … no heart,” he admits with a wink. “Add it to your list.”
Something entirely unhelpful flickers low in my core. I swallow and tip my head, trying to maintain my balance. “I will.”
He lunges without warning. Our blades crash together again, locked high between us, so close I can see my own warped reflection in his steel.
“Are you going to start coming up with better questions?” The silver in his eyes catches the light, his gaze as sharp as his blade—and entirely on me. His breath ghosts over my cheek, steady where mine isn’t.
My grip tightens as I lift my shoulder in the barest shrug, not daring to reduce the strength I have behind my weapon. “I think I have it figured out.”
“Really?” His forehead jumps an inch, his mouth tugging just a little at the corner. But it’s the way that his eyes brighten slightly that sends my heart spiraling in my chest. “I’ll tell Hadrian he can stop with all the research.”
I lift my arm for my next strike, but he spins behind me in one smooth motion.
There’s a sword at my throat. How in seven hells did he do that?
His body is so close that if I lean back, I’ll practically be in his arms. But his blade doesn’t move, so neither do I.
“Being distracted will get you killed,” he murmurs in my ear, and it’s everything I can do not to lean against his lips. “You can’t let your opponent into your head.”
It’s not like anyone else could get this close. I doubt that the next person who attacks will have this effect on me.
Just Bishop.
I can’t decide if that makes him the worst person to train me or the best.
Facing someone who wants to kill me has to be easier than this.
Because this? This is dangerous. Whatever it is.
“I doubt my opponent will make me defend for six hours straight.”
He shifts ever so slightly, and his chest presses against my shoulder blades, right where my armor dips. The contact sends a shiver through me that has nothing to do with the cold—or the sword at my throat.
I scrounge up what little self-control the Stars have apparently gifted me and ignore the heat blooming where he’s barely touching me.
“Are you complaining?” There’s a wicked undercurrent in his voice that sends that delicious tremor racing lower.
“Me?” I feign innocence. “I wouldn’t dare.”
His soft laugh tickles my earlobe, and fuck, I’m distracted again.
He finally drops his sword, but he doesn’t move away for a beat, like maybe he doesn’t want the distance between us, either. I start to turn just as he finally steps to the side.
So much for that theory.
Before I can even reset my stance, he comes at me again.
I counter by spreading my feet wider, the better to absorb the force of his big swing, but the paving stones underneath me are slick, this morning’s rain turning to ice as the temperature drops, and as soon as Bishop’s blade meets mine, my feet shoot out from under me, one in either direction.
I go down hard on my butt, my teeth rattling inside my head.
I should have seen that coming.
He slides his sword into its sheath and leans down to offer a hand up. “Ready to hit the baths now?” he asks with the most infuriating half smirk, something wicked blazing in his eyes.
My body warms up instantly as if, despite being nearly frozen, it appreciates that he’s practically smoldering.
Not the time.
Not when my shoulders and my ass are having a furious fight for top billing as the body part most likely to kill me.
But the way he’s looking at me … Void swallow me.
Except I’m pretty sure that this is all in my head. Well, other parts of me are involved, too. But Bishop? Regardless of what he says about his vow being an act, he continues to be a saint.
As soon as I’m on my feet, he releases my hand as if to prove the point.
“It’s normal to panic when you aren’t expecting an attack,” he says with a shrug like I wouldn’t have died on the spot if he’d been my actual enemy.
“That’s easy for you to say.” I snort. It’s hard to imagine him ever panicking.
“Why?” His mouth twists with genuine curiosity.
“I don’t know …” I hedge, regretting that I said anything. Somehow, in all this time, we’ve managed to keep the questions and their answers about everyone but ourselves. It feels safer that way. “I just can’t imagine you losing your head.” I wince. “Bad choice of words.”
He huffs a half laugh, but the smile slips from his face. “Believe me, I’ve lost my head before.”
“Oh yeah? When?” Now that is a better question. If only because the idea of finding out that Bishop, despite his immortality, is only human is too tempting to resist.
He stops, his shoulders setting into a hard square like he’s bracing for his own words. “When I died,” he admits.
I’m not sure what to say to that. So I reach out, hesitating for just a second before I touch his shoulder gently. Just to let him know that he’s still here. In this moment. With me.
“You didn’t know what happened?” I guess.
He tries to force a smile and fails. “It was worse than that,” he confesses. “I knew what happened.”
I blink at this revelation. “You knew? But you weren’t even a patron yet.” Hadrian said only the patrons knew about scions.
A muscle works in his jaw like he’s fighting with himself. When he finally speaks, his voice is strained. “Order Marius controls the scion population.”
“I don’t understand …” I start to shake my head, but then it hits me. “The crown sees scions as a threat.” That’s why he hides his secret so carefully.
He looks at the ground. “I’ve done things I’m not proud of.”
He doesn’t offer more, and I don’t press.
“Are you afraid you’ll lose control when the cycle …” I pause. I know the answer’s not earned or whatever, but Bishop almost seems to be in a sharing mood today.
He hesitates a bit too long, more unsure than I’ve ever seen him when confronting one of my questions. “I hope not.” His throat slides as if he’s trying to swallow his own answer like medicine. He scrubs the stubble on his jaw. “Let’s call it early today. I didn’t sleep.”
By the time we’ve gathered our things, the sun casts a warm glow, dying on the horizon as the birds come out to sing it to sleep.
“Care to stop at the Bellatorum?” he asks, just like he does every day. He’s stopped directing me to the baths since I accused him of trying to see me naked.
I’m starting to regret that.
“I promised Hadrian I’d look through a few books with him.” It’s not a lie, but it is an excuse. I’ve taken to always having one ready.
Bishop snorts, and I shoot a questioning look at him. “What? Are you mocking my scholarly pursuits? I’m a woman with many interests.”
“I’m just wondering when you’re going to give in, go to the baths, and admit that I’m right that you need the break,” he says, his tone so light that I could float away listening to it.
Something clenches low in my belly. Are we … flirting?
It’s an absolutely ridiculous idea, so I roll my eyes as much at myself as him. “Probably never.”
He bumps his shoulder against mine, but he holds it there a beat too long for it to be friendly. “That sounds about right.”
I should move away from him, but I don’t. “When are you going to give up and stop asking?”
“Probably never.” He bites back a grin.
“What’s funny?” I ask.
He glances at me, letting that smile slip through. There’s nothing wicked about it. It finds his eyes in a way that makes my heart hurt. “Nothing … It’s just nice to have something to count on.”
There’s something so safe in that smile that my entire body forgets that I’ve been destroying it for weeks and actually relaxes. But somewhere deep down—in a place I’m starting to build a wall around—I know that feeling safe with him might be my next mistake.
“Do you ever sleep?” a cheerful voice asks the next morning.
I glance up from the rosebush I’m carefully removing to find both Taliesin and Vessica in the garden. I shoot a glare at the oscen. It usually warns me when we have company.
Vessica glides toward the fountain, eyes slightly glazed like she can’t believe it’s actually working.
Taliesin shoves his hands into his pockets. “It’s nice to see you’ve taken up a hobby other than getting under Bishop’s skin.”
I fight a sigh and lose. How does he make everything sound like a flirtation? The man could read the Civicus out loud at a bar and get someone to go home with him. Thankfully, I’m immune to his charms. “What do you want, Taliesin?”
I’m certain the visit has something to do with the note I found from Bishop this morning, informing me that he had business in Florentia that couldn’t wait.
If he asked these two to step in … I’m just getting comfortable with the sword. Bishop doesn’t mock me. I’m not sure I can count on Taliesin or Vessica to do the same.
Taliesin leans against the fountain, which I’ve finally gotten to work after unclogging its small pump. “I thought I might accompany you to the baths.”
Okay, that’s not where I thought this was going.
I sit back on my heels, brushing dirt off my gloves, and look at both of them in turn. “Did he put you up to this?”
“What do you think?” Vessica asks sourly.
But Taliesin shakes his head.
“It was my idea,” he says, spreading his hands, his eyes widening in what is potentially the least convincing display of innocence ever performed.
Vessica sighs with resignation and goes back to fishing fallen leaves out of the fountain.
“I figured you might want a friend with you,” Taliesin continues.
Going alone is not what keeps me away from the bathhouse. Not that I’m about to explain myself to him. “I’m not doing anything that involves being naked with you.”
“Ouch,” he says, clutching his chest. “You wound me. Truly.”