She let it slip from her hand until she was holding it much the same way he had been—though she was certain he hadn’t possessed even a drop of the unease working its way through her. “This is not?—”
“Are you planning on telling the witchling that she’s holding it wrong, or are we letting her learn the hard way?”
Lunara froze at Magnus’s voice rumbling directly behind her. The flush creeping slowly over her skin was a pale insult to the panicked thump of her heart stopping and restarting.
Ten gold coins says the Wolflord is judging the ever-living shite out of you.
She couldn’t bring herself to turn around. Couldn’t bear it.
There was no mercy to be found in the twins. Even if they noticed her pleading look, it wasn’t as though they could wave their hands and make her invisible.
No, but you could. Leave your likeness standing here in a drooling stupor. They’ll think you’ve gone catatonic and won’t bother with you anymore.
Perfect. Wonderful advice. That wouldn’t make it worse at all.
“You know…”
Oh Sisters, why?Why?
Brand sidled up to her, his words hardly more than a gravelly breath in her ear. “If you reach your arm out just a little further, you stand a high chance of landing the tip in the top of Faldir’s foot. He’d probably deserve it, knowing him.”
Why did he have to smell so good? Sound like that? Even if she’d never laid eyes on him, it would have been enough to draw her in. To tempt her into silly things like wondering what he felt like in the dark or whether he might be willing to protect her from those she feared most in this world.
Shitting stars, why did he have to be here?
Lunara had avoided him since their interlude on the mountaintop, successfully hiding in between her training. Everyone had to be aware she was the reason their trip to the Westrealm was delayed—she wasn’t completely out of touch, after all. But facing them, knowing they knew, was another matter. How could she look them in the eye when she felt so… so…
Incompetent. Inadequate. Like the bumbling nincompoop you are.
Hedda had said she was nothing more than a pretty liability. In front of them—him—she actually felt like it.
Dammit. How long had they been there?
A nervous laugh escaped her, a plea in its own right. “I don’t suppose you saw the part where Isuccessfullycountered his attacks?”
“We did,” he said, rounding her fully. “Anyone you come up against will have quite the surprise on their hands. You don’t often see Nachthellians employing the Straelani fighting style.” He tilted his head, half smile in place. “Forgive me, Lunara. You seem”—His eyes darted to the dagger—“uncomfortable?”
That was an understatement, if she’d ever heard one.
You’re also still holding it out like a soiled nappy.
Without thought, she dropped the blade and snapped her hand away as if it had burned her, her mind too slow to stop her from doing something so rash. Careless.
Brand side-stepped and swooped down, catching it without so much as a blink.
“I did sayFaldir’sfoot.”
There was no censure in his tone, but Lunara still cringed. “I’m so sorry, I just?—”
“No apologies needed.” Gripping her hand in his own, Brand turned her palm upwards. “It’s normal to feel nervous when you truly understand the damage that can be done with even a weapon as paltry as this one.” He wrapped her fingers around the handle, adjusting them into the grooves there, and placing her thumb tightly atop the others. “I’m sure you’ve seen what happens on the other end of a blade often enough in your healing. Knowledge isn’t always as helpful as one would assume.”
The others were fooling around, trading insults and challenges, but all of her attention was on Brand. The way his callouses grazed over the softness of her own skin. The goosebumps crawling up her arm. The tenderness in his voice and touch alike.
He gave her hand a final squeeze. “There.”
That one word was like a lightning strike. She’d nearly stabbed him, and he still offered her reassurance. Encouragement. Confidence.
All she had to give him in return was her honesty.
