Page 92 of Wrath of the Dragons
Cayden won’t hit me, which is why he called for the swords, and most likely won’t fight at his full strength for fear of hurting me. Even when I first met him all those months ago, he only disarmed and restrained me. He’ll be looking to do the same, just as he did to Finnian. Cayden is one of the greatest fighters Ravaryn has ever seen, and when the history books recount his life, it won’t be the tales of his crown that come first, it’ll be his sword. He fights like a god and has the mind of death itself.
Not even a breath later, he cuts the distance between us and strikes.I shoot my sword up to block him, and our eyes lock over the blades. The clang of steel vibrates my bones. Using all my force, I shove him back, wasting no time in advancing. I strike once, twice, three times—he blocks them all. I feign frustration, baring my teeth, wanting to make him pay for his little actress comment last night. The soldiers around us chuckle as we repeat the same movements again.
He forces me back with his blade, and I stumble over the foot he wedges behind mine and throw my weight to the side to keep from falling. His blade twirls in his hand as he tracks me like a predator, and I know I’ve done enough to make him believe I have no ulterior moves up my sleeve. His sword cuts through the air and I pretend to be more tired than I am, letting the set of dulled blades slam into my side. I knot my brows together and drop to my knees, forcing myself not to smile as his sword clatters to the ground.
“Fuck, angel, are you—”
I keep a firm hold on my sword as I pivot on my knees, swiping my leg beneath his ankles and sending him crashing to the deck. I climb on top of him and point my blade at his throat. The deafening cheers vibrate the boards beneath us.
“You little cheat,” he says, but his dimples are deep in his cheeks as he looks up at me.
“I believe it was you who told me to never fight fair.” I drop the sword beside me and lean down to his ear. “But if you behave, I’ll still give you what you asked for.”
And with that, I’m off him and blowing a kiss over my shoulder as he drags a hand down his face and gets to his feet. Green eyes drill into me as I walk back to an ecstatic Saskia.
Chapter
Forty-six
Cayden
The whiskey burns my throatas I tip the bottle back and rest my head against the couch while I listen to the ebb and flow of Elowen’s footsteps. Our cabin is located at the back of the ship and split by a set of dark blue drapes that are usually pulled back but remain closed tonight. A paneled window stretches the length of the far wall, a feature I made sure to add with Elowen’s fear of confinement in mind.
“You’re out of practice, little shadow,” I say, putting an end to the steady pattering. She mutters a curse under her breath and steps through the drapes, clad in nothing but a night slip. My hand tightens around the bottle, and I slowly release it one finger at a time to keep it from shattering.
She sits between my parted legs, and I grit my teeth to refrain from groaning when the scent of her perfume surrounds me. The scrap of fabric grazes the tops of her thighs and leaves next to nothing to the imagination. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not nearly enough.”
“I can put on a robe.”
“I can burn a robe.”
She laughs, and fuck if it’s not one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever heard. In her hand rests a small bowl containing some kind of oilwith herbs floating at the top. “I figured I could try again at alleviating the pain in your shoulder now that you’re awake.”
I dryly swallow and wet my throat with another drink. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I know.” She dips her fingers in and rubs her palms together before latching her hands on to my left shoulder and digging into years’ worth of aches. I drop my head on her shoulder as I grip her hips. Her pulse jumps, and goosebumps rise on her arms. Her touch hurts at first, but soon feelsso damn good.She continues her tortuously pleasurable pattern, and I’m putty in her magical hands.
“What are you doing to me, angel?” My lips skim her skin as I speak, and she shivers again. It’s a loaded question because what I feel for her threatens my very existence. There is nothing left for me in this world if she leaves it. I never realized how little I had until the magnitude of her presence became apparent. She is everything. She is both the knife that pierces my heart and the healer who mends the mortal wound.
“Taking care of you, since you refuse to.”
“You’re not inspiring me to start.”
I draw my head back, but my eyes snag on her new markings, the delicate silver, gold, lavender, and pale blue swirls. Markings that will forever solidify what she did for me, and how I put her in harm’s way. The darkness that’s always lurked within me has been more forceful since the ritual. I want to keep it away from her, but it calls out to her, sings for her, dances to the tune of her voice.
Guilt.
It brands me and burns within my blood.
I tighten my hands on her, wanting to be here, not in my head, but it’s holding me hostage. She digs her thumbs in again, and in this moment, if she told me she was an enchantress I’d believe her. “If you learned this from Nyrinn, I want a list of who you used this oil on.”
“Why?”
“I just want to talk.” I’m going to kill every bastard who had her hands on them like this. Truthfully, I’d kill whoever had her hands onthem in general. She finishes the massage but neither of us moves as she continues trailing her fingers across my shoulder and down my back. She’s inches away, but instead of feeling the usual peace that accompanies her nearness, I feel like I can’t get enough air into my lungs.
A knot forms between her brows and my heart painfully pumps against my ribs.You ruin everything you touch, boy.I release her hips.
