Page 95 of A Dance With Fire
Her face flushed. “So?”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “Sooo, I also saw him pointedlynotlooking at you.” His whole body vibrated like a child hyped up on sugared candy.
“Again, I ask: so?”
His eyebrows waggled suggestively. “Sooo, I can expect some fuckage in your future?”
Shula blanched. “What did you just say?”
“The both of you need to get laid.” He clapped his hands together. “You’re uptight, dancing around each other, acting like you hate each other—”
“Wedohate each other,” Shula interrupted. “I don’t understand what you’re trying to get at here.”
“Do you hate each other though? Or are the flames just burning too hotly?” Clay pressed the tip of his finger to his tongue then to her shoulder, mimicking a sizzling noise.
Shula’s eyes rolled as she spread the blanket out on the ground. “I still don’t know what you mean.”
The gravitas in her tone had Clay pausing and observing her. She felt his judging gaze keenly, only it didn’t send her spine shivering like Ryker’s did. It didn’t make her skin break out in gooseflesh, and it definitely didn’t make her thighs pulse or her mind swirl with confusion and frustration.
Ryker was an enigma, one she didn’t have the time to understand, even if her mind had the desire. Her self-respect and pride were at war with his blatant dislike of her. It was the only reason there seemed to be anything between them at all. It was nothing but animosity due to their difference in circumstances and very different lifestyles.
He had Fae pride in an abundance that was almost as toxic as human pride. So much so that he shunned her when all she wanted to do was survive.
“I think—”
“Fuck off, Clay,” she interrupted, plopping herself onto the blanket. She didn’t bother taking off her boots because she didn’t know what terrors the night held and if they’d be forced to make a quick escape. “Stop imagining things that aren’t there.” Then she closed her eyes.
She could feel him staring at her, but she chose to ignore the questions that pulsed silently and thickly in her direction. She didn’t allow her eyes to flutter closed until he walked away, and as soon as she did, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
33
Survival
Steel clanging against steel echoed throughout the woods, startling birds from their perches on the high ends of branches. Shula herself sat propped against a rock, soaking up the early morning sun. Dew beaded against sharp blades of grass, and she ran her fingers through them.
It was an anxious gesture, the only one she’d show. An insignificant movement of her fingers so no one could tell that her heart was beating in her throat or that she felt nervous and perhaps even the smallest of thrills in her blood.
They’d been traveling for days now, falling into a simple routine. They walked until night fell, they slept in scheduled shifts, and by morning they trained while Shula watched.
She never particularly liked violence before. After witnessing death and killing someone—several someone’s since meeting the Fae—herself, she shied away from such things. However, watching Clay and Julius shirtless and clashing weapons in the small clearing gave her a new appreciation for the primal, masculine energy the two radiated.
It wasn’t just because they were shirtless, sunlight glittering off their sweating forms. Or even the stacks upon stacks of muscles that Julius sported, curly ginger hair spanning across his massive chest. Clay was thinner, yet no slouch. His arms were muscular, and his abs tapered down to a slim waist.
They were both extremely beautiful specimens, especially Clay. Though Clay’s features were softer than Julius’, who was rugged with rougher edges and a chin thick with a beard. While Julius was gruff, and radiated pure, masculine energy, Clay looked more feminine in his soft curves and panes. Clay was staggering, completely overwhelming in his countenance.Pretty,Shula thought.
What held Shula fascinated the most were their movements. Every turn of their bodies and gliding of their feet seemed like an impromptu dance. It was brutal, the force of their collisions, and it left them soaked in sweat and dripping blood.
Shula dug her fingers into the grass to avoid flinching as Julius landed a perfectly placed blow to Clay’s face. Blood bloomed from his nose and he cursed, holding up a hand.
“My nose, you asshole!”
Julius twirled his wrist and sword, an impetuous smile curling his mouth. “Stop worrying about your pretty boy face and focus on your footwork.”
Clay swiped the back of his hand against his nose and flipped Julius a vulgar gesture. “You’re built bigger than a fucking ox. My footwork isn’t the problem here.”
Julius snorted and advanced, causing Clay to stumble back and hold up his hand. “Fuck, give me a second.”
“I win, then.” Julius dismissed Clay by turning towards the rest of them. “Who’s next?” His eyes landed on Valerio. “Prince?” They swept over to Weylyn and the wide smile he wore suddenly turned malicious as he took in the quietest of the Fae. “How about you?”
