Page 127 of The Call of Crimson
No, my female would be in boots or nothing at all. Not that I minded.
“Are you just going to ogle me all day, or do you plan to fight?” Breyla asks, breaking me out of my trance.
“Is ogling you all day an option?” I quip back, a flirtatious smirk taking over my mouth.
“No.”
She’s in a mood.
I pull a sword from the rack of training weapons and step into the ring. “Were you just training with someone?”
There had been no one else in sight when I arrived, but the space had not begun filling with other soldiers as they started their mourning routines.
“Darian,” she says curtly.
I give her an incredulous look. “Willingly?”
She shrugs. “He was the only available option.”
“I meant on his part. He despises you.”
“Astute observation skills. I couldn’t tell,” she deadpans, her emerald eyes rolling.
I narrow my gaze, daring her to do it again.
She catches herself, stiffening slightly, and wisely keeps her eyes locked on mine.
“I think he enjoys the opportunity to knock me on my ass,” she says, starting to pace.
I match her step for step, circling warily.
“Someone bested Rimor’s general?” I question, knowing I could probably best her if I wanted to, but not many others could say the same.
“Believe it or not, Aurelius, I’m not perfect,” she says, her lips quirking. “Elijah often bests me. Cillian, too, though I haven’t faced him in years. I’m skilled, but not invincible. Darian provides a real challenge for me on multiple levels. As he should.”
Her self-awareness is refreshing.
“Care to add me to that short list of defeats?” I ask, twirling the sword in my hand.
“Please, My Lord,” she says as she makes the first move, lunging for me. I easily block and spin to the left, bringing my own sword around in an arc that she dodges. “I have no doubt you are skilled, but you have spent far too long among courtiers and wielding your words rather than actual weapons.”
“Foolish little demon,” I chide, lunging another attack that she parries with ease.
Her brow quirks. “How so?”
We dance around each other, our swords clanging together in a series of attacks and blocks.
“You forget,” I say, voice low and mocking. “I was trained by the same males who trained you. I've watched you fight for years. I know every move you’ll make as well as you know mine.”
“How cute,” she coos, dodging my next swing. “Though some might say your obsessive tendencies are unsettling.”
We fall into a brutal, beautiful rhythm, swords clashing again and again, neither gaining the upper hand for more than a few heartbeats.
“Obsessive tendencies,” I snort. “Says the female who worships my cock like a zealot.”
I smirk as her steps falter for just a moment, having been caught off guard by my comment.
It gives me the opening I need to slip past her defenses. I disarm her, sending her sword clattering across the ring.
