15. Willow
Chapter 15
Willow
B odin dismisses Max to the sidelines and pairs off Peggy and Geraldine. His intense gaze locks onto mine. “Willow, you’re with me.”
Feral energy surges through my veins as I meet his challenge head-on. My chin dips, mind already plotting strategy. His eyes narrow, searching for hesitation. I won’t give him the satisfaction.
The steel blade feels foreign in my hand—useless against Sluagh, as I learned with Fox. But it’ll do for now.
“Draw first blood,” Bodin challenges, “and I’ll allow you to come to Burn After Reading tonight.”
A harsh laugh rips from my throat. “ Allow me? As if you could stop me.”
His lips thin, silence more damning than words. Realization slams into me—without Fox, without my magic, I’m at their mercy. Doubt claws at my gut as I glance at my friends.
Bodin’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “They’re a distraction. You’ll lose because of them.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl. “They’re my team. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“Neither would you,” he snaps. “Trusting is as new to you as it is to me.”
His words sting, hitting too close to home. I shove the feeling aside, focusing on the challenge. This cold, possessive Bodin grates on my nerves. The Knight Protector—unyielding as stone.
“What do you win if you draw first blood?” I ask, eyeing him warily.
Something hot flashes in his gaze. “Your obedience.”
I roll my eyes. “Boring.”
Unless it involves him pinning me and marking me.
“Fine,” he grinds out. “If I win, training starts an hour early. Just you and me before the others.”
Triumph swells in my chest. He’s willing to train my friends alongside me. Mostly. “Deal.”
We circle each other, frigid air crackling with tension. Our audience grows—Peggy and Geraldine have stopped sparring, and I spot Legion, Styx, and Emrys arriving at the courtyard’s edge.
Bodin jerks his chin toward the stables fifty feet from the others. “Let’s move further back.”
“Scared, old man?” I taunt, following.
He scoffs. “Of a little girl playing warrior? Hardly.”
“Don’t want them to see you lose?”
Impatience flattens his lips. “I’d rather not heal another imbecile today.”
I see him target a spot by the wooden boundary fence separating the courtyard from the stables and the larger boundary wall. When we’re close, I lunge. He barely dodges, my blade whispering past his cheek.
“This little girl might surprise you,” I hiss.
Our bodies clash, a tangle of limbs and steel. Each movement flows into the next, a deadly dance. Wet snow seeps through my boots, chafing my skin. I ignore it, pushing my advantage. He hits the fence. His brows lift as he glances back to see what he bumped into. I use my smaller frame to slip past his guard and press against him, throwing him off balance.
“Distracted?” I breathe, lips grazing his ear.
He growls, spinning us. My back slams against the fence, our faces now inches apart. Our chests heave in unison.
“You wish,” he snarls, flashing teeth. But there’s a new light in his eyes. He’s enjoying this.
I grin. “I think you’re the one wishing, Bodin.”
He grunts, pushing away. We resume our deadly dance, trading blows. Neither gains the upper hand. My muscles scream, bones brittle with cold. For a moment, doubt creeps in. I surprised him earlier, but eons of battle experience live in those hardened muscles.
“You’ve been holding back,” he accuses. “Time to stop playing games.” He tosses his sword amongst a pile of nearby weapons, then beckons with bare hands.
“Who says I’m playing?” I mirror him, ducking under a powerful swing to dance on my toes.
My muscle memory kicks in, movements sharper. My fingers itch to take the kill shot—or at least draw blood, but he’s my mate, whether he admits it or not. I don’t want to hurt him. And others are watching. If he keeps averting my attacks, I’ll have to dig deeper into that dark place.
Suddenly, he catches my wrist, yanking me against his chest. His arm bands around me, breath hot on my ear. The heat of his hard body presses against my rear end, and all I can think of is him—hot, male, spicy him .
“When you pull your punches,” he says, “that’s playing.”
His scent overwhelms me. I struggle to focus on the stables ahead. He has me caged, and part of me doesn’t want to leave. It aches for this embrace to be real. I don’t want to return to that dark place where I did terrible things.
“Show me,” he challenges, grip tightening. “Show me why we chose you as our Shadow. Why Fox writes such . . . glowing praise.”
His hips flex into my rear, digging a hardness I can only assume is one thing. His hand slides down, igniting heat I refuse to acknowledge. Our backs are to the castle. No one sees his hand gliding lower. My lashes flutter under the weight of my hormones. I just want to drop—to show him my belly and let him take me. He is a force of strength surrounding me, and I ache for more. Fox has been gone for mere hours, and yet I crave touch. What is wrong with me?
“Maybe I don’t need to prove anything,” I whisper as his palm reaches my stomach. “Maybe you need to trust I’ll do what’s necessary when it matters.”
“Or you’re afraid of what you might reveal. You won’t act because you’re being watched.”
His words strike a nerve. Anger and determination surge, drowning self-doubt. I snap my head back, connecting with his face. Pain explodes in my skull, but I face him, ready to defend.
He wipes his nose. No blood—the fight’s not over. A wide grin transforms his face into something breathtaking. Damn him for looking so good, smelling like my personal sanctuary. He’s my opponent, not my . . . whatever. No, screw him and his stupid perfect body. Perfect eyes. How do his eyes always look bedroom-ready? It must be those long lashes, that lazy stare.
I wonder what his actual bedroom looks like.
Heat floods my cheeks. I groan, shaking away the thoughts. He’s my mate; of course, his scent affects me. He must feel it, too.
I take a moment to let that sink in. I can use this.
Grinning, I assess his frame. Immortal or not, his anatomy remains predictably human. That semi-hard length between his legs . . . yeah, he’s turned on. The Sluagh might not have been sexual beings before they received their drop of light magic, but they’re definitely sexual now. Fox taught me his cock works like any hot-blooded male’s.
“Giving up?” he taunts.
“Just getting warmed up.” I strip off my outer layer, leaving just a thin shirt. I unbutton the collar, glaring defiantly.
“Some kind of warning?” His lips curve. “Gloves off?”
I reach behind to grab the wooden fence, stretching and putting on a show. No sword means my body takes the hits. I refuse to lose to a cramp. His dark eyes roam my body. I’m acutely aware of the effect on him . . . and my watching mates. They’ve stilled. Good. Let them underestimate me.
After finishing stretching, I roll my shoulders, crack my knuckles, and attack. My movements grow precise and deadly. Bodin matches me blow for blow, and our dance intensifies. I brush against him, making small feminine sounds, but he resists admirably.
“I’ve seen how you fight when no one’s watching,” he says between strikes. “It’s not just training. It’s instinct.”
I falter, his words hitting home. This is why we moved—away from prying ears. He knows I hide my true self from my friends. He pushes me to embrace my darkness. I get it. I went there when I first met them—when Ignarius made me fight Dahlia. I almost killed her. In class! Max was a little scared of me. He admitted it.
It’s not Bodin’s choice.
He presses his advantage, backing me toward the fence. “Why hide what you are?”
“You don’t know me,” I snap, redoubling my efforts. I twist and turn, channeling all my strength into each move. My eyes never stop assessing—how his guard drops when he attacks. Every detail fuels the cold fire of strategy in my mind.
“I know enough. We need that part of you to survive what’s coming.”
“You don’t need that. Nobody does,” I growl, circling warily.
I feint left, watching his reaction. His movements are powerful but predictable. He’s used to being the predator. But the view from the top can be skewed. He forgets the underbelly is as vulnerable as the heart. I could slice him open. I’ve done it before—Wellhounds, people, even teenagers getting in my way.
“Hiding your strength endangers everyone,” he insists, voice hoarse.
The weight of my past, of what I am, threatens to crush me. Bodin glances at our audience. I seize the opening.
I run and leap. Eyes wide, he catches me instinctively, hands on my bottom. I yank his braids, throwing him off balance. He stumbles but doesn’t let go . . . probably instinct. Or because— oops —more of my shirt buttons have somehow popped during our fight. Smirking, I hook my legs around his waist, drawing us flush. Our bodies press together, lungs heaving, skin burning despite the cold. His gaze drops to the pillows of my half-exposed breasts squashed against him. A moan escapes—his or mine, I’m not sure.
Our eyes lock. The world melts away, leaving only us and this sizzling, demanding thing between us. It’s that needy place in my chest—and between my legs. Bodin wants me to embrace my instincts, but some are more powerful than killing and death. There’s life. The need for a pack. To care. My family tried teaching me, but I wasn’t ready until Fox. Now, I need to teach the remaining five Sluagh that we’re stronger together.
Darkness consumes us the moment we forget that.
Styx’s voice shatters the moment. “Looks like our little queen’s got you wrapped around her finger, Bodin!”
Bodin’s eyes widen. He drops me, shoving away. I use the momentum, spinning into a low sweep. It’s misdirection—my hand swipes a dagger from the snow. As he jumps to avoid my leg, I rise, blade whistling toward his face.
He grabs my wrist, twisting. I cry out, more surprised than hurt. His grip loosens, concern flashing across his face. Quick as lightning, I reverse the hold and slash his forearm. A thin red line appears.
“First blood,” I pant triumphantly.
Anger and admiration war in his eyes.
“You tricked me,” he growls, glaring at my gaping shirt.
“I used your weakness against you,” I counter. “Isn’t that what you’ve been teaching?”
The crowd erupts—mostly my friends cheering. But I focus on Bodin’s indignant flush, his heaving chest.
He lunges, knocking me down. Ice bathes my back. He pins me, a force of nature. I glimpse a hungry snarl before his teeth graze my neck. A soft gasp escapes me, my body arching instinctively.
Yes. Mark me. Admit you want this.
Admit Fox is right. My heart is right. We teeter on the edge of something dangerous and thrilling. Then reality crashes back. He jerks away, breath ragged.
“Enough for today,” he grumbles, avoiding my eyes. “See you tonight.”
“If you still want me to come earlier to training, I’ll do it,” I add, surprising us both.
Our eyes briefly meet, and then he stalks away, leaving me breathless and confused on the ground.