chapter nineteen
STORMING OUTSIDE, I ALMOST RUN over Vilder, who’s standing right outside the door.
“Got class?”
He looks a little confused but shakes his head.
“Good. Sparring.” I grab his arm and haul him with me out into the training courtyard.
“It’s good to see you too.” He grins at me.
“Enough,” I say.
“All right, all right. Sparring it is,” he says, pulling himself free of my grip. “Believe it or not, I’ll come willingly.”
The white gravel crunches beneath our feet as we step onto the sparring grounds. A few other students are scattered across the area, practicing with staffs and swords, but there’s plenty of room.
“Daggers?” he asks as we stop by the weapon rack.
I nod. It’s the only thing I know how to wield. Removing the skirt tied at my waist, I fold it over my shadowshard, then grab two of the practice daggers. Vilder does the same. With blades in hand, we circle each other, carefully assessing one another’s moves.
“First blood?” he says.
I nod again.
“Not so talkative today, are we?”
He wisely remains silent under my intense stare.
He moves half a heartbeat before I do; he has an unnerving ability to anticipate my actions.
With eyes locked, we spin and weave, our bodies as fluid as water, each strike part of a deadly dance.
It doesn’t take long before drops of sweat are trickling down my temple and my heart is pounding like a drum, but it feels good to move.
Vilder is amazing with any weapon but is by far the best sword wielder I’ve ever seen.
Whenever he practices with his twin blades, he’s a blur of motion, and even the best sword masters at the Arc struggle to keep up with him.
I have learned that elēn can have personal gifts that other elēn or even C’elēn don’t share, and my gut tells me that his ridiculously quick reactions are linked to a gift.
Allegedly, it’s rare for elēn to be born with gifts these days, but he already has a bonded wolf—another thing most C’elēn believe to be a lost ability.
I push the world outside the two of us away, forgetting everything else as the world narrows down to the space between us, a flurry of strikes as we test the limits of our skills—or rather, as he tests the limits of my skills.
I’m well aware he’s holding back. If he wanted to draw blood, he would have done that a long time ago.
But I’m enjoying myself too much to care.
Which is why I don’t even notice him until I hear his voice behind me.
“Let me.” He doesn’t wait for Vilder’s answer, and I can’t help but notice the slight widening of Vilder’s eyes as he sees Astēr and how he yields without question.
“Of course, mi nē.” He bows and steps away.
Mi nē? That sounds remarkably similar to what Astēr sometimes calls Nana. Void, even Casimir used that endearment. Mi nā. I give Vilder a questioning look, but his expression tells me to get the fuck on with it.
I turn to Astēr. “You.” It comes out as a curse.
“Me,” he says, the corner of his mouth tilting upward.
He gives my outfit a once-over, and I'm acutely aware of how my leggings cling to every curve and contour of my body. How the blouse falls off one shoulder. I've never felt more naked.
“Looking good.” His gaze lingers on me.
Heat rises in my face, betraying my embarrassment despite my attempt to mask it with defiance. “Just because you feel bad, you don’t have to lie to me,” I snap. “I do not look good for a human, and I most certainly do not look good when compared to a Reān.”
Astēr cocks his head. “I beg to differ. I think you’re beautiful.”
Vilder makes a choking sound behind me, and if not for the fact that all I can do is gawk at Astēr, the whole situation might have been funny.
Not pretty. Beautiful.
“You’ve clearly lost it,” I grumble. “And just stop it. I don’t know what you want to achieve with the flattery, but I’ve picked up enough to know that any form of romantic relationship between Reāns and humans is more than just frowned upon, and I do not have a death wish.”
He arches an eyebrow. “I give you a compliment, and you think I want to be in a romantic relationship with you?”
“I did not say that.” I glare at him. “All I said is that it’s clear that you want something, and I”—I point to myself—“am telling you to stay the fuck away.” I’m so angry at him, I don’t even care if I’m being rude.
Having someone trespass the boundaries of my mind was the final straw.
He can burn for all I care. Together with Llyr. Void! I’ll make their pyre myself.
“So, do you want to spar or not?” I meet his gaze. “If I win, you stay away. Forever. Deal?”
“Sure,” he says with a smirk. “Although you’ll come to find forever is a very long time.”
He pulls off his shirt, revealing his drop-dead-gorgeous body. He is so not playing fair. His loose pants hang low on his hips, and I can’t help but stare at the display of muscles as he walks across the sparring grounds to grab a couple daggers from the weapon rack. Golden glyphs cover his body.
I meet Vilder’s eyes where he’s now standing at the other side of the square, leaning back against the wall, and we’re clearly thinking the same thing: That’s a lot of glyphs.
“Like what you see?” The voice is inside my head, and my jaw snaps shut.
Astēr turns to face me, cocky smirk in place. “You don’t have to answer. I know you do.”
That’s it. I leap toward him, daggers in hand, with all my anger and frustration pouring out.
In that moment, I forget the first rule of combat: Never allow your emotions to overpower you.
And sure enough, before I’ve had time to blink, I’m disarmed and on my back with Astēr pinning me down.
He supports himself on one elbow as he holds my arms above my head with the other.
He tilts his head, staring down at me. “If you wanted me between your legs so badly, you could have just asked, you know.”
The audacity. “You . . .” Don’t let him get to you, La?na. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Even before his musky scent reaches me, I know I’ve made a mistake. He smells incredible. Pine and musk and him. Just like he does in the dreams. He smells . . . mine.
When I open my eyes again, his gaze has softened, and just as it did when I first met him in Bowen, the pain and longing it holds catches me by surprise.
He lets go of my wrists and pushes a strand of hair out of my face, tucking it gently behind my ear, and when his golden eyes meet mine, there’s something so vulnerable in them.
But just for a moment. A heartbeat later, his normal amused smirk is back in place.
“You don’t smell too bad yourself,” his voice teases inside my head.
“Stop reading my mind!” I growl, pushing at him, but he’s at least twice my size. He goes nowhere.
“Then keep your thoughts to yourself.”
My eyes flare. I want to strangle him.
He laughs, a deep, warm sound that vibrates through his chest and into my body. His smile broadens, showing off his fangs.
My eyes widen. No. This is not happening. Absolutely not. No, no, no! But before I can do anything about it, heat ignites in my lower abdomen, spreading between my legs. My breath hitches as I stare up at him.
His mouth twists into a wry, knowing smirk. “And now your scent tells me you’d rather do . . . other things.” He tilts his head. “But if strangling me is your thing . . .”
“Fuck. Off!” I growl. I’ve had enough of this.
With my hands free, I seize the opportunity to grab the dagger he tossed to the side.
It’s conveniently within arm’s reach. He should have thought of that.
Before he has time to read my intentions, I use all my force to plunge the dagger into his shoulder while I use my other hand to push him off of me and roll out from underneath him.
I scramble to my feet and look down at where he lies on the ground, giving him a vicious grin.
“I won.” Leaning in closer so only he can hear me, I add, “And stay the fuck out of my head.”
I stride over to my skirt, secure it in place, and discreetly slide my shadowshard back into the sheath.
Vilder’s eyes dart between me and Astēr as if he doesn’t know what to think, and he probably doesn’t.
Astēr, on the other hand, simply pushes himself up and pulls the dagger out, and I notice the way his skin just closes, as if the wound were never even there.
“Vilder!” I set off, not knowing if he’ll follow or not. All I can think about is that I need to get away from him.
FILLED WITH A MIX OF Reāns and humans, the small tavern hums with a low, pleasant energy.
A warm fire crackles merrily in the corner hearth, chasing away the evening chill, while a lute player in a shadowed alcove strums a lively tune.
His melodies weave through the chatter, creating a harmonious backdrop.
I shift in my chair.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind?” Seniia squeaks just as one of the barmaids—a human, I notice—drops three mugs of beer at our table, followed by a basket of warm rolls. The barmaid gives Vilder a lingering stare, then hurries over to the next table at their impatient calls.
Vilder, oblivious to the attention, leans back in his chair with a smirk and a gaze that says, I told you so.
“What?” I say. “Lord—or whatever he is—or not, I refuse to bow and scrape for him. He infiltrated my mind.” I’m still angry. “Is that a common trait? Can you do that?”
Seniia turns to Vilder. “You haven’t told her?”
He shrugs.
“Seriously, Vilder. We agreed to help her, remember?”
“From what I saw today, she seems perfectly capable of helping herself.” He takes a sip of his beer.
I glance between them. I’m clearly missing something.
Seniia leans across our small booth table, her mane of pale pink hair spilling over her shoulders, her brow furrowed with worry.
“No, the C’elēn cannot read minds. But he is not a lord, La?na.
Void, I don’t even know if there are any Reān lords.
‘Mi nē,’ it means . . .” She searches for the right word.