3. Making an Enemy #3
He wielded only raw, berserk power suited to battlefields.
His movements were rapid and explosive, and his attacks were direct, precise, and brutal.
Not a single step he took was redundant, and there wasn’t a trace of ostentation in his blows.
He circled Hugo like an elegant yet terrifying predator, and when he struck, he left no room for evasion or retaliation.
I knew Hugo was no match for the northman within seconds. And just as I thought, he knocked Hugo to the ground in a few minutes and wrapped his long, powerful, and very nicely shaped right leg around Hugo’s neck in a choke hold.
Hugo clawed frantically at his leg, desperately trying to dislodge himself, yet to no avail. Soon, his eyes began to roll back, and then he passed out.
The northman loosened the choke immediately.
He wiped his long hair back, glancing at the crowd with a smug, triumphant smirk.
It was the first time I saw his face clearly, and it was very handsome, or more precisely, beautiful.
It was not the usual delicate, fragile, carefully maintained beauty, but the raw beauty of sheer, angular mountains and shimmering, meandering rivers: natural, splendid, yet not without sharp, dangerous edges.
I felt a current of excitement crackle under my skin, electrifying my blood and making my fingers twitch with anticipation. I hadn’t felt like this in years.
The crowd fell into an awkward silence, seeing another top-tier southern warrior defeated by a random young northern lord. They sent more warriors in, and one by one, they all kissed the ground like their predecessors.
The northman stood in the middle of the ring in all his glory, a haughty, jeering grin on his face, as he said loudly, “Well, if this is the best Nocturne warriors can do, I guess we northern clans should help you instead.”
I should have been angry and embarrassed that my best Nocturne fighters were having their asses handed to them, but I just ... didn’t care.
I couldn’t look away from him. The way he moved, the way he glared, and the way he growled, were all so mesmerizing.
I wanted him to see me, to fight me, to feel me, and to think about me with such intensity that he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to.
That was why I decided to make myself known by exclaiming, “Not so fast, warrior. I’ll challenge you.”
When his icy, almost eerie blue eyes locked on me, the tingling hum under my skin intensified into a raging fire. All other thoughts in my head dissolved, leaving only one: I would conquer him.
And conquer him I did.
It was a difficult fight, much more difficult than the ones I had faced recently, which was impressive, considering he had had several more fights before me.
He gave me a swollen cheek and a bad nosebleed, but it was all worth it when I finally found a chance and tackled him to the ground and pinned him down with all my weight and strength.
“What was the bet again?” I whispered into his ear. “If you can’t get up in ten seconds, you are going to run naked in the training yard?”
I saw the shock in his eyes when he realized he couldn’t overthrow me, and the count had begun.
“Let me go, you twat!” he cursed loudly, thrashing violently against me as his scent wafted over me like a palpable mist. It was ...
unexpectedly intoxicating for a male alpha.
I mean, maybe I was biased, since I had always been attracted to my own gender, but something about his scent just ...
affected me. It was the smell of tall snowy pine warmed by the afternoon sun, resinous and slightly spicy, blended with a warm, animalistic, sensual undertone that reminded me of a majestic male elk wandering through a winter-sealed woodland.
The excitement of a good fight, his scent, plus his vigorous struggle caused my body to react in a way.
I felt all the heat in my blood rush to one place, and a certain part of my body began to harden.
He suddenly grew very still, and I saw a tempest of mixed emotions like confusion, disbelief, rage, and ... shame?
Oh ... wait ... what was that pressing against my thigh?
Was he also ...?
Sweet Great Wolf! I couldn’t hold back a big grin on my face.
The counting was approaching ten in rapid succession, and I could see and smell his panic. It was adorable ... making me want to push him just a little more. I was considering letting him up at nine when my mother’s voice interrupted the counting.
Of course she had to come and ruin everything again. I rolled my eyes and released my grip on him.
He got up on his feet, and his cheeks were flushed with a delicious crimson of embarrassment, overlaid with anger and a sliver of relief.
When I left with my mother, I took his knife as my trophy, which he had placed on the side as part of the wager. It was a beautiful knife, but not the best I’d seen. I did it with no other purpose than to annoy him.
The all-consuming fire burning in his gaze told me that he would be thinking about me tonight, just as I would be thinking about him.
Oh, and I learned his name later.
Fenris. It suits him.