The damn fae’s confidence is near absurd.
“Earn it, my light,” I counter in a slow, succubine drawl as I turn,mostly to hide the smile on my face.
I begin,for a second time, toward the castle, ignoring his chasing laughter. With a swivel of his foot, his toe catches mine and I stumble, flail, and fall—landing hard on my hands and knees.
In an instant, my rage returns.
“You taunt death, nyraphim,” I snarl over my shoulder.
But the devilish grin I’m met with threatens to chip away at my anger.
“Perhaps,” he replies, his eyes gleaming with the challenge. “No less than I deserve. Such is the fate of one ensnared by a siren.”
Tendrils ofhisamusement and delight burrow into my chest through our bond and wrap around my heart, cementing the scowl upon my face.
I’m going to smother this fae with a pillow while he sleeps.
“There she is,” he says, swinging his toe again. He taps the side of my boot in a playful manner. “There’s the demanding creature I met centuries ago. I wondered when the fabled demonic pride would make an appearance and what shape yours would take.”
He continues to swing his foot as I hold his taunting stare with a withering one of my own, tapping my boot in a steady rhythm. Within seconds it becomes clear it’s waltz-like in structure.
And Iseethe.
Is that what this is? A fucking dance?
“I’m surprised you’ve kept it hidden for this long,” he quips, pulling himself upright. He wipes his hands against the thighs of his pants. “You’ve managed to convince the entire castle your demonic lineage is a lie.”
Good.
With a dry scoff, I turn myself over, and drop myself into a seated position in the cold, damp grass. I need the cold to counter the heat coursing through me. Of course, it helps little.
“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I ask, throwing my arms over my pitched knees, as I slowly sink into the idea ofsparringwith Ryc.
I don’t know why I bothered to ask.
The answer’s plastered on his smirking face.
“Nope.” He bites at his lower lip, stifling both a grin and hislaughter.
With the flash of his fangs and the desire lingering in my veins, it’s hard not to imagine the feel of his teeth against my skin.
Bastard.
I heave a resigned sigh. “I will not spar with Cyran.”
He bursts into golden laughter, shaking his head.
“You’re right. You absolutely will not,” he says, lifting a hand to wipe at the last bit of silver clinging to his lip.
Whatever damage I’d done, there are no signs of it upon him now. He heals quickly, even for fae. He draws his hand back to look before meeting my stare.
“If this,” he shows me the smeared silver on his fingers, “is your means of defense, I forbid it. Regardless of its… effectiveness.”
Darkened delight quickly usurps my irritation.
“Green looks good on you, nyraphim,” I tease, arching a brow.
He chuckles. “Nay, you’re free to seduce whomever you like, little death. But Cyran wouldresignwere you to pull a stunt like this with him.” His smile grows sanguine. “And I need Cyran.”
