I resist the sudden singing of my blood with the promise of power. “I know how to defend myself,” I shoot back, my tone cutting. “I’m capable of handling situations as needed.”
Best case and example:escaping the hells.
He shrugs. “Prove it.”
“I do notsparwithmortals,” I counter, the words vitriolic.
He throws his arms wide in open invitation, laughing. “A nyraphim then?”
I smother the rising groan in my throat.
I should have seen that coming.
“No,” I answer flatly.
His hands drop to his sides as he shakes his head in a rueful toss. “I expected you to be reluctant.”
“Add my departure to your expectations,” I counter, moving with a swift step past him to return to the castle.
With a damnable grin on his face and a speed I should have also expected, Ryc snatches my wrist, and I whirl. A low snarl rips itself from my throat as our eyes lock. Warm golden eyes meet my scowl.
“Put your pride away, little death,” he urges gently. “I will foreverbe on your side.”
Damn him.
Damn him and this damned bond and the damn leak of emotions through it. Ifeelhis worry. It’s rooted in genuinecare. He likely feels my reluctance, and while it’s certainly tied to pride—it’s driven byfear.
Ifoughtfor centuries to learn control of my innate.
I relied upon it to defend myself.
It kept me safe and sane through times meant to shatter. Times Netharis has scrubbed from my memory, of which only pieces have been recovered or remembered.
Sparringwithout it meansacceptingI no longer have that part of me.
I’m not ready for that.
“Release me, nyraphim,” I demand, using the same cold and commanding tone I’d often use in the hells.
Surprise streaks through his eyes, but he otherwise remains unaffected, a smirk firmly planted on his face. He studies me for a moment, likely sensing for telling emotions through our bond.
“Free yourself, demon,” he counters in a low challenge. He lifts my wrist, dangling it between us, his grip firm but not painful. “Show me how you defend yourself.”
“Light take you,” I growl in Malbolge.
Lowering my wrist and quirking a brow, he quips back—in Yggdrasil.Singsong words I’ll never understand nor have the desire to.
Grimacing against the sudden wash of coarse power rushing over my skin, I turn my face away. And leaning into my rising irritation, I snap to the side, ripping my wrist upward, freeing it from his grasp in a fluid motion. Without waiting, I begin toward the castle once again.
“I know you’re not defenseless,” Ryc calls after me, laughing. “Yet you act like you are. Why?”
Because without my innate, I might as well be.
I remain silent as I stalk toward the guards standing beside the north lawn entrance. They watch me, whatever thoughts they may have hidden behind their stoic faces.
Cyran’s trained them well, I see.
“Is all this part of your particular demonic deception?” he asks and my jaw tightens. “Lure prey by appearing helpless?” he raises his voice slightly, ensuring I hear him as the distance between us grows.
