Page 29 of Storm of Fury
Bryn’s breath steamed in the air, and she blinked, as if realizing exactly where she was. “Split further?”
She looked down.
Their predicament became clear.
Hard thighs straddled his own, her tight vest thrusting her breasts high. Gods, he wanted to touch them. And the rest of him wanted to make her acquaintance too. Which was clearly outlined against the remaining scraps of his leather trousers.
Bryn crawled off him, shaking her head and wiping the blood from her lip. “I had a knife to your throat and you were thinking with your cock?”
“Technically, it’s the smarter of the two of us at times.” He shoved himself upright. The cold breeze whispered past his groin. Damn it. “And I knew you weren’t going to kill me. Let me have a look at that nose.”
Bryn ducked away, wiping it with the hem of her sleeve. “It’s fine.”
He captured her face in his hands, holding her firmly in place. “You’re not—”
And then he blinked.
There was not a hint of blood on her lip. He was fairly certain he’d split it.
“I’m fine,” Bryn repeated in a dangerously soft voice that made him aware of how close they stood. “And I won.”
Turning away from him, she grabbed her sword.
“You won,” he repeated, rubbing at his beard. “Surely you’re not going to ins—”
“Oh, I am. Consider it penance for stealing a kiss you hadn’t earned. The beard goes, Tormund. I want to see those pretty pink cheeks.”
“Well, you may as well enjoy them for all of a day,” he grumbled. “My beard will be back before three days are out.”
“Then I will enjoy it.”
“Who taught you to fight?” He flipped the shield up into his hand with his boot, and then arched his brows when he saw the dents she’d made on the other side. “What the hell were you hitting me with?”
It wasn’t his imagination. Her hand faltered as she moved to sheathe the blade, before she rammed it home as if to prove there’d been no hesitation. “My mother taught me to fight. And I was only using a sword.”
Hell of a sword. He eyed it. Either its magic could dent solid steel, or she was as strong as three men. “She was good with a sword?”
“She was.”
“How old were you when she—”
Bryn whirled on him. “Enough of the questions. This was a waste of time. We’re not friends, and nor is there anything else between us. I don’t owe you any secrets. I am here to help you find Marduk, and then I’m going to take my coin and walk away.”
He fell into stillness, even as she backed away a step. Interesting. “Second rule of defense,” he told her softly.
When on the back foot, attack hard.
Bryn’s eyes widened. “I’m not….”
He arched both eyebrows.
“Son of a bitch,” she muttered, shooting him an angry look. Snow whirled beneath her boots as she stalked away.
Tormund sighed and fell back into the snow. “Prickly,” he muttered, as he swept his arms and legs wide, creating wings in the snow.
But he was not a man to admit defeat.
* * *
