Page 60 of Reign of Light
“No.”
Veck laughs and holds his hands up in a mock surrender. “Whatever you say, Captain.” The group mutters and laughs, and taunts about who would beat each other in a real spar make me smile, especially once they place bets on it.
“Let’s go, princess,” Weston yells, and I groan loudly, snatching my swords off the boards below and getting my feet back into position.
The weight of the swords feels heavy on my overworked muscles, and my clothes are damp and sticking to my skin. I can only imagine how wild my sweat-soaked and windblown waves are after spending hours on deck, but the way Weston still looks at me with heat in his gaze tells me he doesn’t mind.
Raising my blades, I watch him, waiting for his first move. He hasn’t used the same one since we started sparring, and constantly varies his approach so I can’t pick up on any patterns or slack off.
When our eyes lock, his lips curl into a smirk. He straightens, his shoulders relaxing, and his arms falling out of his fighting stance. I eye him warily. I can’t trust that he’s taking a break, not after he just scolded me for wanting one. No, he’s up to something.
I track his movements, watching as he takes both hilts into one hand, as if he’s changed his mind about the attack. His free hand drifts to the hem of his shirt, which already sticks to his taut muscles beneath despite being halfway unbuttoned and exposing his glistening chest. My eyes follow his movements as he reaches the hem and tugs it from his waistband. He lifts it slowly, exposing every curve of his abdomen, his raised scar, all the way up to his chest, and uses the fabric to wipe the sweat off his brow.
My mouth parts slightly, and I can’t pull my eyes away. A bead of sweat rolls between the muscles, and I catch my lip between my teeth. My muscles are tense from holding this position, but all I can think about is stripping that shirt the rest of the way off him.
I don’t catch his attack until the last second, and barely have enough time to react. He darts across the deck, swords back in each hand, and swings both of them at me in a downward blow. I throw my arms in the air with all my strength, just quick enough for our blades to crash together. My muscles quake from the amount of strength that it takes to hold him off, but he just grins at me in the space below the intersection.
“See something you like, sweetheart?”
I glare at him. “You did that on purpose.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he says, a devious glint in his eye.
“Asshole,” I mutter and continue to stare him down between our raised arms.
He lowers his head, the grin still irritating as ever, yet it still makes my stomach flutter.
“We’ve already covered never letting your guard down, so here’s the next lesson. Never let the enemy distract you. They’ll use anything they can against you, and you can’t let it affect your goal: to stay alive.”
He presses a quick kiss to my lips then steps away, the metal of the blades singing as they slice down each other and separate.
“Again.”
“That wasn’t fair,” I say, narrowing my eyes and pointing the tip of my blade at his chest.
“Enemies don’t play fair.”
I look around the main deck, which has remained empty except for the boys still watching us train.
“I still don’t see any enemies,” I say. “But I guess if we’re playing games…” I reach up to the top button of my shirt and pull it open, watching as his eyes are now the ones tracking my movements. “I am getting mighty overheated.” Tugging the fabric away from my chest, I fan myself with it, letting the air cool me down as I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow at him. I slide my fingers down the fabric to the next button, ready to tug it open, when the flat of his sword slaps the top of my hand.
“Don’t you dare, princess.” He jerks his head to the side, toward the rest of the crew. “They don’t get to lay eyes on you. You’re mine.”
“Well then don’t play dirty,” I say, leaving that top button undone, knowing that the curve of my breasts peeking out from the top of my shirt is going to be enough of a distraction for him, and may even end this training session early.
“I’ll save that for later.” He swats the curve of my ass, and I yelp, my head snapping to his only to find a deep smirk and playful eyes as he steps back and raises his swords again.
“Will you two stop flirting and get back to the fighting? I’ve got a lot riding on this next spar,” Ryum yells, and Weston smiles widely, his gaze falling to the floor as if he’s trying to hide his moment of happiness, and my chest swells.
“Again,” he commands, raising his eyes to fix on mine once more, and I lift my blades. He doesn’t try to distract me this time. I’m ready for his attack as he steps toward my side, circling around me and forcing me to use the footwork he’s been correcting and adjusting all afternoon.
“Are you ever going to tell me?” I ask over the clash of metal. The movements feel natural, more natural to me than when I only have one sword, but I don’t know if that is just because I’m better using both hands, or the superiority of Weston’s teaching.
“Remind me what I’m supposed to tell you?”
“About Dane. You promised you would explain what I don’t know.”
He steps back, avoiding a swipe I thought would hit home, before barreling forward at me again, forcing me to back up quickly and defend.
