Page 37 of Song of the Heart Scale
“Second lesson,” I grunted, applying pressure to his joint. “Leverage beats strength.”
Thorne roared with a sound no human throat could produce. Heat radiated from his body like a furnace, forcing me to release him or risk burns. He whirled around, his eyes glowing with a fierceness I’d never seen before. Scales—actual scales—began to shimmer beneath his skin. “You think your human fighting skills will save you?” he sneered.
I backed away, cursing the elaborate dress restricting my movements. The heavy fabric tangled around my legs as I tried to maintain distance. “Maybe not,” I admitted, “but they'll sure as hell make you work for it.”
He charged again. This time I couldn't dodge completely. His shoulder caught me in the ribs, sending me sprawling across the garden path. As pain exploded in my side, I rolled with the momentum as years of training took over.
The skirt of my dress ripped when I scrambled to my feet. I grabbed the torn section and yanked hard, creating a thigh-high slit that provided more mobility. “Much better,” I muttered just as Thorne recovered and stalked toward me. Steam curled from his nostrils with each breath.
“Who taught you to fight like that?” he demanded, wiping blood from his chin.
“Uncle Sam,” I replied, knowing he wouldn't understand the reference. I circled to my right, looking for an advantage in this garden turned battlefield.
Thorne lunged again, but this time I was ready. I sidestepped and drove my elbow into his kidney. He grunted but didn't go down. His hand shot out, catching my wrist in a grip like iron.
“Enough games,” he snarled.
I twisted in his grasp, using my body weight to break his hold, but my dress tangled around my ankles. I stumbled off-balance for just a second, but it was enough. Thorne's fist connected with my shoulder, sending white-hot pain lancing through my arm.
I bit back a cry, refusing to show weakness. The pain in my shoulder was nothing compared to what I'd endured in Kandahar. “Is that all you've got?” I taunted, using the distraction to reach down and tear my dress further, freeing my legs up to my knees. “Dragon or not, you telegraph your moves like an amateur.”
His eyes widened at my continued defiance. “You should be cowering by now!”
“Not my style,” I said, circling him again. I grabbed a decorative garden stake from a nearby flower bed and brandished it like a staff. “Where I come from, we fight monsters bigger than you every day.”
Thorne's laugh was cruel. “And what monsters would those be, little human?”
“The kind who wear uniforms and hide behind flags.” I lunged forward, driving the stake toward his abdomen.
He evaded my strike with inhuman speed, but I still managed to graze his side. The stake tore through his expensive tunic and left a thin trickle of blood.
“You'll pay for that,” he growled, his voice becoming more guttural with each word.
I spun the stake like a baton. “Send me a bill.”
The air around him shimmered as his transformation continued. His shoulders broadened, stretching his clothing with the rip of tearing fabric. The ground beneath us trembled as he gathered power. “I was going to keep you alive,” he snarled, “but perhaps I'll just slice that mark off your severed arm.”
“Big talk coming from someone bleeding from his nose!” I shot back, though my confidence was wavering. Fighting humans was one thing—I'd done plenty of that—but battling a dragon shifter was definitely above my pay grade.
He charged again, but before he could strike, I slammed my forehead into his face. The headbutt wasn't pretty, but it was effective. Thorne staggered back with a roar of surprise.
“That'sfor ruining my hair,” I panted, yanking the rose from my bun and tossing it aside. Blood dripped where the thorns had scratched my scalp.
“You fight like no noblewoman I've ever seen,” he growled, a newfound wariness in his eyes.
I laughed, the sound short and sharp. “Because I'm not one.”
Taking advantage of his hesitation, I grabbed a decorative garden urn and hurled it at his head. He ducked, but the distraction gave me time to tear another slit up the opposite side of my dress. The expensive fabric ripped with a satisfying sound.
As Thorne recovered and advanced again, the garden air suddenly crackled with electric tension. A large shadow passed overhead, blotting out the sun.
“Get down!” a familiar voice commanded.
I dropped flat as an immense gust of wind swept through the garden, followed by the deafening sound of massive wings. Damien landed between us with his body already partially transformed; scales glittered along his exposed forearms and his dark eyes blazed with protective fury.
“Touch her again, brother, and I'll forget every shred of supposed family loyalty we are supposed to have!” he growled. Though his voice resonated with the same inhuman power as Thorne's, it was somehow warmer, deeper.
Thorne froze and genuine shock crossed his features. “Damien? Youdareshow your face here?”
