Page 26 of A Sword of Ice
He didn’t rise to her bait, but he did growl, as if restraining his anger was getting harder with each passing second. “Clay,” he called out to his best friend. “The Fire Dancer wants to play.”
Shit.
Shula didn’t take her eyes off Julius even as she heard Clay prowl near her. The slide of a sword against its sheath. His even breathing.
Her feet slowly edged to the side so she could catch a glimpse of Clay in her periphery. They were circling her, going in for the kill.
Clay was dancing on the balls of his feet, impatient and eager. He was the one who attacked first, running towards her with his sword raised and ready to swing. Shula twirled, raising her shield as the blade of his sword came down against it. She cried out as pain radiated up her arm, but then bit the sound back by gritting her teeth.
As he bounced back, she lowered her shield, swinging her sword. Their blades clanged together, just like she knew they would. She ducked away, dropping her sword. Using her now free hand, she yanked the heavy shield from her arm and swung it at Clay’s back. He didn’t see it coming, the force of the hit sending him sprawling to the ground.
Shula jumped onto his back, digging her heels into his spine, and leapt over him, diving for her sword just as Julius sprung.
She grabbed the hilt and brought it up in time for their steel to come together. It took every last ounce of strength left within her to hold her blade steady and keep it away from her face.
“Give up, Fire Dancer,” Julius growled.
With a cry, she pushed against his blade and rolled. When she jumped to her feet, she felt the heel of his boot slam into her back. Pain zinged down her spine, and then against her front as she fell and hit the ground, tasting grass and dirt on her teeth. The wind left her at the impact and the tears came.
This time, she felt like she couldn’t get up.
Her palms dug into a thin layer of snow as she tried to push herself up, gasping for breaths that wouldn’t come.
“You’re getting better.” Julius’ voice sounded far away. “But you aren’t good enough yet.”
The sting of tears was the worst part. Not the losing, but the evidence of her failure burning a path down her cheeks.Thatpain was almost too much to bear.
Julius never went easy on her. None of them ever did. So far, the only one she’d ever been able to take down had been Clay, and sometimes she had a feeling he let her win out of pity.
“Here, Fire Dancer, let me—” She felt Clay’s touch against her shoulder. A touch that left as soon as a growl sounded.
Then Ryker was there, lifting her into his arms and turning her. She heard him curse, but everything else started to fade as the pain tried to drag her under.
“Breathe,” Ryker ordered, palming her throat.
At the first kissing sting of his magic, she started to push him away. She hated when he tried healing her without warning. If only because she didn’t want to inflict this on him. But it was too late. The golden-white glow of his healing magic enveloped her and her lungs opened, allowing her to suck in a breath. Every bruise she’d sustained in the past hour of training disappeared; every cut, every scrape, Ryker took into his own body and winced.
“You fucking shit.” He whipped his head in Julius’ direction. “You hurt her.”
Julius waved Ryker’s anger away with quick flicks of his wrist. “Yeah, yeah. Fuck off, Ry. She has to learn to fight somehow.”
Before Ryker could retort, Shula pushed herself up from his hold and stood on newly energized legs.
“Again,” she demanded.
Julius took a look at her then at Ryker’s scowling face. “No, I think that’s enough for today.”
“I saidagain.”
“No.”
She blew out a frustrated breath. “If you’re denying me because of Ryker, then I can tell you right now, that asshole has no bearing in what I decide to do.”
She heard Ryker’s responding growl, felt him stand up. “What the fuck did you say?” he rumbled.
She whipped around to glare at him. “You heard me, asshole.”
They were walking on the edge of that blurred line that separated what they were then and now. Perhaps they’d always balance on that delicate edge, unsure if they should fight or fuck. Or drown themselves in both equally.
