6
Aspen
Bloody hell. That voice pierced through me like a knife. The shape of him against my body, a cliff of muscle and heat, threatened to disrupt my balance.
The troops had been crowding us. Now they shuffled back like a fleet of ants.
Half out of intimidation, chiefly from new recruits.
Half out of amused respect, mainly from the seasoned warriors.
Autumn’s legion offered salutes, then disbanded to the opposite side of the fence, far enough to idle out of earshot, yet close enough to watch the scene unfold.
Only Rhun took his sweet time. Sauntering backward at his own pace, he flung a skeptical glance toward the figure stationed at my back, then strayed his gaze to me.
A feral noise grated from the First Knight’s throat. If the command “Fuck off” had a signature sound, that would be it. Though, it was hard to say whether the broadsword aimed at Rhun’s larynx or the undomesticated sound traveling over my shoulder drove the lower-ranking soldier off the field.
Still the protector. Ever the defender.
That had always been the good part of him. The problems arose from his tendency to overdo it.
Involuntary goosebumps ratcheted across my flesh. They traversed everywhere, stoked by unwanted external circumstances. From the edge of his weapon brushing the frayed seams of my cloak to the fatal hiss of his words, as if he spoke around a mouthful of rocks.
Irritation set my teeth on edge. Because I had buried that crush in a six-foot-deep casket, he shouldn’t affect me in this way. I blamed the physical reaction on exertion and the element of surprise. He’d caught me off guard, and in front of an audience.
Contrary to Rhys’s note, Aire wasn’t merely on his way. He’d gotten here earlier than the missive indicated.
A reunion should have been the appropriate time to make amends. However, the context of Aire’s intrusion snuffed out the apology I’d been planning for years, replacing it with umbrage. And combative curiosity.
How well did he fight these days? How well could he stand up against me?
My fingers tightened on the axe. I twisted my head to the side and spoke to my shoulder. “Apparently, you don’t know when to quit.”
“Evidently, you do not know how to pick your battles,” that voice bit out. “Not to the level of your skill.”
“Is that right? Because from my experience, Rhun was making all the right moves.”
The hard planes of his torso went rigid.
“Only if you consider a novice up to your standards.” He leaned in, his aggravated timbre crackling like dynamite against the shell of my ear.
“An experienced knight will make you sweat more.” The next string of words sizzled off his tongue. “He’ll know how to wear you out.”
My nostrils flared, the heat of competition searing a path up my thighs. “Thanks, but we’ve had this chat. I can take care of myself. Besides, maybe I have a thing for strapping novices. They’re good for practice.”
“Pity,” he observed. “I mistook you for someone I used to know. An independent girl who didn’t require a man’s help in any capacity.”
Fighting words. Oh, but he’d have to do better than that.
I mustered a snide chuckle—then struck. Pivoting in a half-circle, the curve of my axe slammed his broadsword sideways in one clean blast.
Steel clamored, vibrating across the lawn. The attack incited a chorus among the troops, a brushfire of avid whispers traveling through the field.
With the hatchet braced, my gaze collided with a pair of vivid irises. The rings flared like blue oracles, the shade darker than I remembered.
Torchlights threw Aire’s features into glaring relief. That face, hewn from metal. The rugged line of his jaw. The messy fall of his hair, each ashy blond layer sharply cut around his nape, longer than it used to be.
Time had altered him, unknown events casting shadows where there’d been none before. Lines trenched beneath his eyelids, his light complexion had deepened, and a new scar sliced across the bridge of his patrician nose.
An ankle-length fitted leather vest gaped open, framing the contours of his naked torso. Broad pecs, a few old scars pulping along the steep V of his hip bones, and abs on top of abs. Seasons strike me, he packed even more muscle than he already had before.
I’d outgrown my infatuation. And yet. Like a storm surge, blood rushed to my head, the fucking sight of him nearly capsizing my balance.
Aire’s gaze skidded up and down my figure. Despite his militant expression, something flickered in his pupils. Shock and a visceral emotion with a high temperature.
Also, satisfaction. Because while I’d knocked away one sword, the other hovered parallel to my throat. This man had raised the opposite weapon before I noticed, the move pinching me with aggravation.
The knight’s mouth twitched. Not entirely sportive, nor entirely charitable. A challenge lingered, daring me to strike back.
Palpitations beat a rhythm under my bodice. A bitter thrill coursed through my veins. Now my reaction made sense, this renewed flicker of attraction having nothing to do with the past and everything to do with a mutual passion for exercising our weapons, a connection we fostered long ago.
My cartilage throbbed from the foreplay with Rhun, which meant this next bout was going to hurt worse. Even so, intrigue pulled us closer. The mutual need to see how my skills held up to his own these days.
Like a good sport, I flipped the axe. “Silly knight. You wouldn’t recognize me anymore if you tried.”
Aire’s tone came out level, but his eyes told a different story. Those irises penetrated my cloak, shredding the fabric to bits. “Prove it.”
Civility be damned. I loosened a crick in my neck, accepting the bait because fuck him.
In slow motion, we circled each other. Aire revolved his swords, all previous signs of agitation replaced by well-trained composure.
Sure. He had muscle mass and thirty-four years of experience on my twenty-four. But those were mere numbers.
We paused. Then exploded.
I charged, attacking on the offensive. Aire deflected the first swipe of my axe, turning sideways as my blade stabbed.
Another strike to the left. Then to the right.
Each time, his sword flew, stunting my attempts. With every wallop, memories catapulted through my mind.
The farewell revels. The empathetic look on his face. The words we said.
The whetstone. The vision of him riding away.
I seized another opening, exercising a low, arcing swing. Aire cross-blocked, snaring the axe between his blades. If anything, this man had grown deadlier. He fought with precision, balance, and control. Heedful of spacing, he veered around me with elegant footwork.
I detonated into motion. Shifting the haft of my axe, I hooked one of his swords, yanking him forward, our bodies smacking together.
Aire’s pulse smashed into my own. This close, our outtakes clashed like steam from a furnace.
His pupils swallowed me whole. “You’ve kept your edge.”
Oh, hell no. Beneath the hood, I slit my eyes. “You’ve lost yours.”
And I don’t need your praise, because I’m not the moonstruck girl you left behind.
Aire couldn’t read me like he did everyone else. Yet he didn’t need to. Not to get this message loud and clear.
The moonstruck part didn’t bother him, since he hadn’t sought my affection back then. But his eyebrows knitted at the implication that I found his nerve lacking. Not precisely the truth, but challenging him would push this competition farther.
He broke our connection, ripping away and then driving forward. Lunging, the knight used one sword defensively, the other offensively. A sound method, but useless if executed without care.
This, I’d learned while emotionally manhandling Rhys. This, Aire had been bred to understand.
Fighting angry meant fighting dirty.
I whirled, hammering the knob of my axe into his side, then landing another to his toned ass. Aire gawked like an offended virgin, his capillaries bursting. And finally, this part-time gentle giant put his back into the fight.
Our weapons ground together, sparks dashing into the night, our bodies heaving into another. Sweating, panting, shoving, retreating. His exhalations beat against my neck, perspiration dampened the tips of his hair, and my molars ached to break his skin.
Compared to the last evening we did this, neither of us held back. Performing a feint attack, he simulated two quick strikes, the deceptive move forcing me to parry.
I ducked and spun. My hair grazed his open vest, the axe’s rim whistling near his balls.
The squad cackled, slapping one another’s shoulders.
They respected their commander, but I’d taught them to have fun every now and then.
And yes, I missed Aire’s nuts on purpose.
I might be pissed off, amped up on adrenaline and embarrassment from those early years of unchecked, unrequited puppy love.
But I wasn’t about to chop off a fine set of grenades.
His expression toggled between insulted and impressed. He used the flat of one sword to shove me back. Not violent, but firm enough to dominate more space.
Regaining balance, I kicked up a spray of leaves. As we sidestepped one another, a mercenary noise sawed across my tongue. I bounded to the left, then jabbed the axe toward his sternum.
Aire launched his weapons vertically. The blades trapped my hatchet, jolting me into him, my breasts crushing against his whipcord pecs.
We stalled. The world dissolved, and the wind spiraled between us, sealing me and this knight in a globe. Our noses tapped, my lips a scant inch from his own, every punch of air hot and rapid.
His eyes dropped to my mouth and stayed there, his pupils blackening. I refused to let my illicit mind engage. I would not allow my ovaries to react. That smoldering look was nothing but an illusion, a cautionary tale I’d learned years ago, a byproduct of my younger, stupider self.
Instead, I instructed, “Eyes up here.”
His pupils jumped to mine, seeing just how appealing I found his assumptions. He earned and deserved his rank, but that had shit to do with me. No one had the jurisdiction to decide which blokes were worth my training time, much less to scorn my choices or ridicule Rhun in front of his peers.
“You know? I’m disappointed,” I remarked. “At least my combatant didn’t hedge his thrusts.”
Aire’s lips peeled into a contentious sneer. “That’s because he doesn’t know where to aim his dagger.”
I belted out a sarcastic laugh, even as the First Knight scowled through his blush, registering the accidental innuendo. The tension snapped. He moved to fling himself backward and call it a draw.
Ah, ah, ah. Over my dead and buried carcass.
Dashing my leg beneath his, I took the alpha down, all two hundred-plus pounds of him crashing to the grass. Aire grunted, his back imprinting a crater into the earth, the broadswords slipping from his grasp.
At some point, we had forgotten the troops. They’d vanished, their chants going silent.
Now at last, our gaping audience materialized from the haze, a hush settling over the crowd. Then they bellowed, applause blasting across the field. Hundreds of knights slammed their palms together, severing the trance.
My fingers clutched the axe to stifle their trembling. My body hurt like a son of bitch.
Yet for once, I hadn’t felt a thing during the skirmish.
Aire scowled up at me. Maybe I’d delivered a cheap shot, but war and combat had nothing to do with fairness. Plus, seeing this lout sprawled on his backside, a triumphant smirk lifted the corner of my mouth.
“I mistook you for someone I used to know. An independent girl who didn’t require a man’s help in any capacity.”
Victory spiced my tongue. Hunkering over him, I nudged his tight jaw with the butt of my axe, honey sweetening my tone. “By the way, I’m not a girl.”
Straightening, I blew every hollering soldier a kiss. Then I gave Aire a mocking curtsy and murmured, “Welcome home, Noble Knight.”
I strutted off the field, the axe balancing cavalierly on my shoulder. Along the way, my back heated, his stare branding me to the core.