Then he attacked again.
This time he went low, aiming for Fenric’s legs with a strike that was meant tohurt. Fenric jumped back, boots skidding in the dirt, barely maintaining his balance as he scrambled to keep distance between them.
It wasn’t working.
Varyth was on him like a storm given form, like wrath wrapped in silk and steel. Each strike was more brutal than the last, and there was something almostpersonalabout it.
He was systematically dismantling Fenric, finding every gap in his defence, exploiting every weakness, herding him back and back and back until Fenric’s shoulders were nearly against the wall and there was nowhere left to run.
“Okay,” Fenric gasped, arms shaking with the effort of blocking, blade trembling. “Okay, I’m sorry for whatever I?—”
Varyth swept his legs.
Fenric went down hard, blade flying from his grip to clatter across the stones. Before he could even think about getting up, Varyth’s boot found his chest, pinning him to the ground with enough force to drive the air from his lungs in a pained grunt.
For one long, breathless moment, Varyth stood over him, blade raised, breathing steady despite the exertion. His expression was carved from ice. Perfect control.
Except for his eyes.
They were burning.
“You yield?” His voice was soft. Deadly.
“Yes,” Fenric wheezed. “Fuck yes, I yield.”
Varyth released Fenric, stepping back with that eerie stillness that meant he was either perfectly calm or contemplating murder.
Fenric scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt from his training leathers like dignity could be restored through small, pointless gestures. “Right. Well. That was educational.”
“Glad to be of service,” Varyth said, empty of anything resembling actual gladness.
Darian’s grin spread wider, a slash of pure mischief across his face. Then he opened his mouth and called out loud enough for the entire yard to hear. “So Varyth, does that mean you’re warmed up enough to spar with Isara next?”
The silence that followed could have suffocated gods.
My fist connected with Darian’s shoulder before conscious thought caught up. Hard enough to make him grunt, to knock him sideways into Eilrys, who immediately clamped a hand over his mouth with the kind of exhaustion that confirmed this wasn’t the first time she’d had to physically restrain her mate from starting fires he couldn’t put out.
“Ow—fuck—” Darian’s protest was muffled beneath Eilrys’ palm, his eyes shining with suppressed laughter even as he rubbed his shoulder.
Varyth was staring at me from across the training yard with an expression I couldn’t parse. Couldn’t name. Something sharp and hungry that made every hair on my body stand at attention.
I was not enjoying whatever the fuck had everyone so worked up. Not enjoying the knowing looks, the grins, the way they were all watching us like we were the main event at some sadistic entertainment they’d paid good money to see.
“I’ll spar if you want,” I said, the words coming out hard, like I was daring him to refuse. “Unless you’re too tired after destroying Fenric’s will to live.”
Fenric made an offended noise from where he’d collapsed on the ground. “I can hear you.”
“Good. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
Varyth’s jaw clenched. For a moment, I thought he might refuse. Might turn and walk away and spare us both whatever this was building toward.
Then, “Hand to hand?”
Every smart part of my brain screamed to say no.
“Sure.” The word tasted like recklessness and poor life choices. “Hand to hand.”
Varyth’s eyes flashed—something dark and molten that sent heat racing down my spine. “Alright then.”
