Avery grasped Harlow’s hand and raised it above their heads. “I declare Harlow the winner!” As Harlow squealed her victory to the heavens, the witch’s gaze caught on his obvious erection, widened, and then darted back to Harlow, who seemed completely oblivious to his plight. Avery cleared her throat, cheeks flushing. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to find Xavier.” She rushed from the pit without another word.
Thank the goddess. He adjusted himself in his breeches and brushed pebbles from his clothing, watching Harlow through heavy, hungry eyes. She stopped jumping for joy as he neared. Her smile faded. Her eyes were warm honey and her lips parted, begging to be kissed. But before he could get within an arm’s length of her, she strutted toward the locker room.
“We start training tomorrow!” she called. “I’ll expect my payment up front.” She disappeared, leaving him hard, sweaty, and alone.
For the love of the goddess, Harlow was going to burst into flames. She changed quickly into her dress and hastened to her waiting carriage, thanking her lucky stars that Marius had vacated the arena. Holy dragon fire, the chemistry between them was off the charts. She couldn’t remember ever wanting someone like this. If he was hers, she’d have run her hands over his chest and traced every one of those symbols with her tongue. She’d reach into his breeches and learn exactly what that hard length under her would feel like in her hand.
And that was enough of that! She mentally slapped herself. This project was about training a fighter and making enough money to buy her independence. The last thing she needed was to muddy the waters with sex.
No way could she train that closely with him again, though. She’d end up a moaning mass of need. Which meant she was going to need help. And she knew just where to go to get it.
She knocked on the sliding door between her and the driver. “Take me to 13 Bellweather Lane in the quarry district.”
“It’ll be an extra dragmar.”
She did a quick calculation in her head. She’d have to walk or fly home, but it couldn’t be avoided. She nodded at the face beyond the window. The door slid shut and they were off.
Twenty minutes later, she pulled up to a simple home in a row of similarly simple homes on a quiet street lined with jewel dust and the occasional trundle tree. She paid her driver. It occurred to her that she should have sent a falcon. What if he wasn’t home?
Lifting her skirts, she navigated the weed-obscured stepping-stones to the front door and knocked. Inside, a baby started to cry. Harlow internally kicked herself again for not sending a falcon. She’d forgotten about the baby.
When the door opened, an exhausted-looking woman gave her a hasty once-over. Pieces of her brunette hair had fallen out of its bun, and she tucked them behind her ears. “Can I help you?” She bounced a whelp on her hip, and judging by the boy’s tearstained cheeks, he must have been the one she’d heard crying.
“You must be Aiden. Is Brantley home?”
“Who’s asking?” The woman scowled at her.
“I’m Harlow… of Darium, the doormaker. Brantley and I were school chums at Rawkfist Academy.”
Brantley’s oversized grin appeared in the space above Aiden, his dark blond hair protruding wildly from the crown of his head.
“Did I hear that Hairy Harlow has graced our door with her presence?”
She offered him a familiar smile. “Brant the brat. How the hell are you?”
He allowed the whelp to grab his finger and tousled the babe’s hair. “Pretty good, I’d say! Two strapping lads and a wonderful partner to help raise them.” He gave the woman a passionless kiss on the side of the head. “Have you met Aiden?”
“No. But you told me about her last time we spoke at the pits. Haven’t seen you there in a while.”
He shrugged. “Been a bit busy.”
Aiden blinked at her in such a way that Harlow wondered if she was sleeping with her eyes open. She adjusted the baby on her hip.
“Brant, is there somewhere we can talk privately? Just for a minute,” Harlow asked.
He whispered something in Aiden’s ear, and the woman drifted off toward the center of the house. He stepped outside and closed the door behind him. “Come round back.”
She followed him to a set of simple wooden chairs propped in an overgrown garden and took a seat.
“I’d offer you a tribiscal wine, but I’m afraid we don’t often splurge around here. Parenthood is expensive, and the quarry isn’t paying what it used to.”
“I’ve heard.”
“It’s the revolution. Now that markets are open, gold from Nochtbend is all the rage. People aren’t spending as much on gemstones.”
“It’ll come back. The economy is just adjusting to the new world.”
“Yeah.”
