Chapter 27 #2
“Fuck yes!” Glo cheers, snaking her pale orange arm over Jasmeen’s bouncing shoulder and pulling her into a congratulatory embrace. “I’ve never seen someone catch on so fast!”
“It was only a spark, I think,” says Jasmeen, though I’ve never seen her smile so big—not even when she met Crusher the night before last. “But I felt it.”
I raise my hands and clap in earnest. Brynn follows my lead with a smirk.
“Well done,” Brynn offers sweetly and Jasmeen throws him a timid grin over Glo’s shoulder.
Though he told her she owes him nothing, I wonder if she too can’t help but doubt this, much like I had when I first met him.
Jasmeen has a proper reason though—a leftover, deep-seated distrust of the fae who binds her.
I shake the thought and lean into him again.
“I feel like I’m intruding whenever I’m around them, don’t you?” I whisper. Glo must hear it anyway, because she releases Jas and tosses me an impish smirk.
“I’ve never seen Glo like this,” Brynn admits, and I search his face for any hint of deception.
All that is written there is a plain, deep love for his best friend.
He watches Glo, who once again only has eyes for Jasmeen.
“Glo has—it’s not been easy. Having something—someone—to focus on will better her.
And Jasmeen has natural talent, I’m sure, smart as she is—but Glo could teach a veilmane to see. ”
“She’s a good teacher?” I muse, half to myself. “Maybe I could get her to show me how to use this dagger.”
“Ah, no. For that, I’ll need to teach you,” he gloats, entirely too pleased with himself.
“You? A fighter? You seem more like a lover to me,” I jest, and his face flushes.
Brynn stands and offers me an expectant hand. I eye it suspiciously.
“You’ll have to lift your rule for the night—if we’re to spar. Let me at least show you the basics.”
Brynn and I walk to a clearing on the opposite side of the pool’s overhanging rock face, giving Glo and Jasmeen privacy for their conjuration lesson.
He insists on only using my dagger, since it will not cut us.
He lets me drag it along his forearm to ensure we are not yet enemies.
It leaves nothing but a white line. I return the favor, despite his protests, directing him to try it on me.
He pales with paranoia, running the blade so gently down my skin that it tickles.
My body involuntarily shudders at the touch, but it draws no blood.
“It’s interesting that it’s not iron,” he says, trailing his finger along the edge while lost in thought.
“Why?” I ask, my brow creasing.
“Well, fae are susceptible to iron—iron chains are how you keep a fae bound. Prisons and cages are made of iron bars. Because iron weakens our magic. The fae mostly deal in iron weaponry. This is steel. Likely mortal made. It’s kind of paradoxical—a fae-magicked, mortal-made steel dagger with a High Sanctuarian inscription. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“So, when I accosted you in the alley—if it wasn’t magicked—it wouldn’t have hurt you anyway?” I ask.
Brynn laughs at this and I blush, feeling dense. “Steel can still kill—it just doesn’t render me as useless as iron would.”
“I’ll remember that for the future,” I quip.
For a few minutes, we puzzle over this conundrum, a half-fae, half-mortal weapon, but I do not have much to contribute as far as theories. Brynn shrugs, handing the dagger back to me hilt first.
“Do not go easy on me,” I order.
“All right, as you wish.”
And well, my new friend keeps his promises. He knocks me on my ass several times in quick succession. My confidence before was nothing more than a delusion.
“I think you’re enjoying this a little too much, Prince,” I accuse breathlessly, peeling myself—with great effort—from the ground once again. He winces, as though aching to help me, but he does not make a move.
“You’re not defensive,” he accuses now, his tone flat. He has plenty of breath to drill me. “You’re all offense. You need to push back—parry with the blade, yes, but you need to block as well.”
“It doesn’t help that you’re almost twice my size,” I reply angrily. “And you possess extraordinary fae strength or whatever.”
“Half-fae strength,” he corrects with a coy wink. “If you’re faced with a bigger opponent—outmatched—you must use what strengths you do have. You succeeded in ambushing me twice to date. That’s no easy feat.”
“Yes, because I can sneak and because you were drunk. Oranges to apples,” I huff, blowing the loose hair that sticks to my forehead.
His eyes narrow and I realize there’s a strong possibility he has no clue what oranges or apples are.
The daylight fades fast now and though it’s not hot, my face shines with sweat.
I crouch into a striking position again and he mirrors me.
Early on, I suggested he use a stick to at least simulate a sword, but he refused, on account of it actually being able to tear my flesh.
Instead, he holds his fists like the weapons they are.
He could knock me out with one good blow—which seems worse than the bloody stick, if you ask me.
I lunge for him with the dagger raised and he gracefully steps aside.
My aggressive momentum causes me to fall face first onto the forest floor.
I am painfully reminded of falling into him against the inn wall. My balance—
“Your balance is shit,” he comments, like he can read my mind. “Have you never trained before?”
I stand again, straightening, my arms slack at my sides in unbridled frustration. “Of course I’ve never trained before, I’m a—” I stop myself with a scowl.
Brynn uses the fleeting distraction against me, springing forward with an outstretched fist. I miraculously duck in time and leap away from him.
Taking full advantage of his surprise, I throw all of my weight into a low tackle.
It’s like hitting an immovable wall. My shoulder pops sickeningly against his abdomen and the air leaves my chest at once.
He blocks the wildly flailing dagger by grabbing my wrist. Spinning me quite dramatically, he pins my backside against his front—yanking my hand, blade and all, up to my own throat.
His other hand hovers over my stomach, leftover hesitation from his promise not to touch me.
With a jolt, I realize the one strength I may hold over him.
“Fuck!” I gasp, and the dagger’s edge relents some, as though Brynn worries he hurts me.
“If I would have known this is what it would be like, I would’ve let you touch me sooner,” I tease wheezily.
The curves of his muscular body tense against mine.
His free hand retreats to his side in its uncertainty.
“You know, that tactic won’t always work,” he says into my ear from behind, causing my skin to pebble. The subtle buzzing of our bond has my body convulsing. My back arches traitorously. Luckily, he thinks it’s all part of the act. That I’m a mortal. I lie.
“It won’t?” I pant innocently and his grip on my weapon hand tightens. I swallow hard as the blade digs into my neck. It may not cut, but its bluntness threatens to block off my air supply.
My free hand finds Brynn’s upper thigh and squeezes.
“Godsdamnit, Thea,” he breathes against my hair. “You’ve proven your point.”
When his guard slips, I act. I dive forward and down unexpectedly, his hand only clutching tighter around my wrist at the sudden movement.
I yank his body with mine, using his own startled momentum to flip him over my shoulder onto the hard ground—flat on his back.
I twist my hand out of his grip and pounce, tucking my knees into his biceps, pinning him.
My chest heaves with mingled shock and elation.
His eyes widen as I thrust the dagger back to his throat.
Another beat passes where we simply blink at each other in mutual surprise.
The slow smile that creeps onto my face is genuine. So is his as his blazing eyes catch on my dimples.
“Worth it,” he breathes. “This is a lovely angle.”
“Unfair?” I ask, loosening my hold on the dagger at his throat and rocking back on my heels to release the pressure on his arms. I hover over his chest, trying not to straddle him.
“Not fair. But what a way to go out,” Brynn laughs, scrubbing his face as if he still can’t believe he found himself in this position.
I begin to push off of him and his free hand mindlessly finds my thigh, holding me in place.
He realizes his misstep and clenches the traitor into a fist. Worry creases his brow.
“So sorry,” he says, apologizing the mortal way. I laugh.
“You can touch me—if you dare. I trust you won’t manipulate me. Just remember this moment if you think to cross me,” I say smugly.
Brynn sighs with relief and says, “I don’t think I ever want to forget it. In fact—I think I’ve found my new favorite place. Pinned between your thighs. Put me here whenever you’d like.”
My skin turns crimson at once, heat crawling up my neck—but I can’t help but grin. I smack his chest before standing and offering him a hand. He takes it and stands too, giving my palm a light squeeze before letting go.
“I can’t believe I bested a fae prince,” I say incredulously.
“Half-fae. And do you meet very many fae princes?” he asks, brushing the dirt from his backside. “I’m not sure that would work on all of them.”
I stand too close, smiling up at him and fluttering my eyelashes, much like the pretty elven barmaid at our first camp. His breath hitches.
“Fuck. I stand corrected.”