Page 41 of Daring the Drakarn Warrior Lord
I shifted to block her path, wings spreading slightly to fill the space. "Don't make me stop you."
"Then don't stand in my way."
"I'm the final guardian, Terra. This is my duty."
"I know." Her hand dropped to the blade at her hip. "Which is why I'm not asking you to step aside."
The sight of her drawing that weapon, the one I'd helped her choose, the one we'd trained with together, it did something complicated to my insides.
She was going to fight me.
Actually fight me, here in the sacred sanctum, with the blood-flame as witness and the weight of tradition pressing down on both of us.
I should have felt outrage. Offense at the challenge. This was my role, my responsibility, and she was forcing me to fulfill it in the worst possible way.
Instead, I felt something closer to anticipation.
"Last chance," I said. "Yield now and walk out with dignity."
She snorted. "Make me."
Then she attacked.
Not recklessly. Not with the wild desperation of someone who had nothing to lose. She came at me with technique, with strategy, using footwork I'd drilled into her during countless sparring sessions.
I parried her first strike, redirecting the blade rather than meeting it head-on. The screech of metal on claw echoed off the sanctum walls. She flowed with the deflection, already moving into her next attack before I'd fully reset my stance.
She'd gotten faster since we'd started training together.
Her blade swept low, aiming for my knee. I lifted my leg, letting the strike pass beneath, and countered with my tail. She jumped it, barely, and used the momentum to spin away before I could grab her.
We circled each other in the confined space. The dim red light painted her in shades of fire and shadow. Sweat cut tracks through the dust on her face. Her breathing came hard but controlled, measured in a way that spoke of discipline rather than panic.
She'd learned. Adapted. Taken everything I'd taught her and made it her own.
Pride swelled in my chest, fierce and unwanted.
"You've improved," I said.
"I had a good teacher." She feinted right, then went left. The blade came up toward my ribs.
I caught her wrist before the strike could land, my claws gentle despite the combat. Held her there, close enough to seethe gold flecks in her green eyes. Close enough to smell blood and sweat and the underlying scent that marked her as mine.
"This doesn't have to happen," I said quietly.
"Yes, it does." She twisted in my grip, using a joint lock I'd shown her just last week. The move should have broken my hold.
Would have, if I'd been anyone else.
I was twice her size with natural advantages she'd never possess. Strength. Reach. Scales that turned aside blades that would cut human flesh to ribbons.
But I didn't use those advantages. Didn't crush her wrist or throw her across the chamber or end this with the kind of overwhelming force that would leave her unconscious on the sanctum floor.
Instead, I released her and stepped back.
She came at me again immediately.
The fight became a dance. Her attacking, me defending, both of us moving through patterns we'd practiced until they were muscle memory. She knew how I'd respond to each strike. I knew how she'd flow from one technique to the next.
