Page 21 of Hell Fae Captive
“Oh, you shouldn’t trust me, little angel,” he murmured. “Not one bit.”
“Right.” I drew out the word, my lips pursing to the side. “Maybe I should just stay here until midnight, then.”
“You could,” he agreed. “But I wouldn’t recommend it.”
“The Warden didn’t recommend staying out after curfew either.”
He nodded, causing his blond-brown strands to tickle the edges of his perfectly carved face. “With good reason. Which I suppose is cause for you to allow me to sneak you back into your room. No trust required, just pure common sense.” His multicolored eyes glanced over my shoulder to the book on the table. “Something I assume appeals to you, given your choice of reading material.”
I chewed my lip again as I debated my options.
Hell Fae Rule #4: Don’t Trust Anyone.
If I listened to my father’s training, I wouldn’t go anywhere with this sex on a stick, no matter how gorgeous he was.
Nothing in this place is what it seems,I reminded myself.
Which meant that I definitely shouldn’t go with him.
A ferocious growling shuddered the shelves, making me jump to my feet, a chill skating down my spine.
That can’t be a good sign.
The impossibly handsome fae chuckled, the sound emitting from deep in his throat. “Tick-tock, little angel. What’ll it be?”
CHAPTERSIX
AJAX
“What the fuck was that?”Az demanded as he straightened into a standing position. “You never go down that easily.”
“I’ve had a long day,” I muttered, leaping back up to my bare feet on the mat.
“Really?” Az drawled, folding his arms over his bare chest. “Or do you just want me to put you on your back and get it over with?”
My eyes narrowed. “No.”
“Then make me fucking work for it,” he snapped.
“Fuck you.”
“I intend to,” he returned, his hands falling back to his sides. “We’ve only been at this for an hour, and all you’ve done is piss me off. You need to give memore.”
I glanced at the shadow dial on the wall, which showed it was an hour after curfew. “Flame,” I cursed, flexing my fingers. “Feels like a lot longer than an hour.” Which said everything about my poor sparring performance. I usually enjoyed fighting with Az.
But not tonight.
Az rolled his shoulders, sending his phoenix tattoo stretching over his chest. A light sheen of sweat glistened over his abs, drawing my attention downward.
“Whatever it is, shrug it off, Ajax. I want a challenge, not a pathetic fuck.”
“Asshole,” I muttered.
“Pansy,” he returned, making me crave my wand. He wouldn’t be calling me a “pansy” then.
But that wasn’t how we played this game.
Az began pacing, his black track pants hanging low on his hips, just like my own. He was ready, muscles flexing, wanting to spar. Hard. Fast.Fiercely.
