It wouldn’t matter that Devon had barely enough strength left to grasp his practice blade.
All Devon cared about was creating a favorable impression on Graydon.
If it had been any other time, Graydon might have been tempted to test how far the other man could go.
But now wasn’t that time.
Graydon had too much pent-up energy to risk engaging Devon in battle. It would be too easy to miscalculate and injure him by accident. With how exhausted Devon already was, he wouldn’t have the strength to get himself out of danger if that happened.
Torvald patted Devon’s shoulder. “You’re not his match today.”
Standing next to Devon, the resemblance between father and son was more pronounced. Undeniable.
Torvald moved around his son, eyes the same color as Devon’s observing Graydon with an amused gaze. “My Storm, I’ll be your opponent this round.”
Graydon’s body had a predatory stillness as he considered Torvald’s offer.
A merciless smile formed as Graydon prowled forward. “I wouldn’t want to put you out. After all, you seem tired. Did my yer’se wear you out?”
Torvald’s eyes showed amusement as he watched Graydon approach. “There’s no need for taunts, little Storm. I’ve already agreed to give you what you want.”
Torvald’s movements were subtle as he mirrored Graydon, turning to keep him in sight as Graydon circled him.
“How do you want to do this?” Torvald asked.
“No ki.”
Graydon’s control wasn’t what it should have been. He couldn’t chance what might happen if it got away from him.
Torvald would likely be unharmed but nothing in this world was definite.
Besides, what Graydon was really looking for was the physical release of a no-holds-barred, drag-out fight. The kind where winners and losers didn’t matter. Only the ache that came afterward.
“As you wish,” Torvald murmured in a way that said he’d been hoping Graydon would choose that option.
The oshota standing on the edges of the room drew closer in anticipation, knowing they were about to watch something momentous as Graydon and Torvald stopped moving in the center of the room.
Torvald was motionless. The type of stillness that made you forget the other was a person and not a statue made of stone or metal.
The hairs on the back of Graydon’s neck lifted, his primal self knowing the danger before his brain did.
Graydon stepped to the side, Torvald’s en-blade cleaving the air where he’d stood.
Graydon’s body reacted without any input from his mind. One hand unleashing his en-blade before swinging it up to block Torvald’s follow up attack.
A second’s delay and Torvald would have decapitated him.
It seemed Graydon wasn’t the only one who was feeling pent-up and frustrated.
“You’re being a little harsh, aren’t you?” Graydon observed.
Torvald’s expression was slightly deranged as he bared his teeth at him. “You’re the one who asked for this.”
Torvald bore down with his sword, using his larger stature to try to break Graydon’s defense.
Graydon’s muscles screamed as he held his ground.
“I may have been a tad presumptuous in my request,” Graydon said through gritted teeth.
