Page 33 of Trials of Dusk and Dreams
“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. Hehits 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, spicyhim.
“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.”
