No matter what it cost her.
Westley shot another handful of arrows at the trees.
They were so far away he could barely make them out with his Fae eyesight. His shoulder was sore from hours of unleashing his frustration with a bow and arrow instead of having it out with a certain Vanir female he couldn’t get out of his mind.
He’d jolted awake that morning, neck aching from the uncomfortable sleeping position, sporting the most painful erection he’d ever had. A blanket had fallen off him as he sat up straight. A blanket that he most certainly had not put on himself.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept so late and so soundly, even in that godsforsaken uncomfortable chair.
Solveig was not in her bed and the furs were cold. She’d been gone for a while. He wasn’t sure why he was disappointed. What had he been expecting anyway? The disappointment washed away with that thought, relieved they didn’t have to have some awkward interaction like strangers who planned on one night of passion but accidentally fell asleep.
Westley wished that had been the case.
Not just because he wanted her so badly—it was all he could think about—but because it would have been less intimate than what theyshared last night. He’d let his guard down and, eventually, so had she. He wondered how many people saw her like that.
He let another arrow fly at the mental image of her, drenched in sweat and terror. It made him sick to his stomach. He thought of the scene she had described, chained to the floor of a damp cave. The strength of his cold magic made him shiver. He wanted to do everything in his power to erase that haunted look in her eyes. If only he could—
A twig snapped and Westley whirled on the spot, shooting the arrow he had nocked in place. He meant it as a warning and hit the tree right next to where he’d heard the sound.
Leaning against the millennia-old pine tree was Solveig. His blood rushed with heat. He was impressed she hadn’t flinched as the arrow landed an inch from her face.
Those copper eyes seemed to see right into his soul. Westley arranged his features into a mask of nonchalance as she raised one full eyebrow at him. They stood like that for a few moments until Westley broke the connection and focused on his target.
He could still feel her eyes on him as he drew another arrow, hitting the centre of the target with ease. He may or may not have been trying to show off when, with one swift motion, he sent another arrow flying, splitting the first in two.
“Leave us,” Solveig said quietly. Westley’s head snapped to her, confused. Was that really what she came to say to him? To ask him to leave?
All at once three sentinels dressed in black and dark green dropped from the trees, each tucking throwing knives into sheaths on their arms and thighs. Two of them left without a word, but the third stopped in front of Solveig.
She had dark skin and her black hair was pulled into rows of tight braids. The sentinel gave Solveig a hard look and a subtle nod before following the other two back towards the gates.
“I didn’t know they were here,” Westley said with a huff, irritated by his own lack of awareness.
“If you’d known they were there, they wouldn’t be good at their jobs,” Solveig replied with obvious amusement. She still hadn’t taken her eyes off him.
Westley’s blood pounded in his ears and through his body. He didn’t know what to say, unsure whether to bring up last night. He would follow her lead and only mention it if she did first. But was she thinking the same? Did she want him to bring it up? He groaned inwardly. Gods, he felt like a youth. When was the last time he’d been this tongue-tied around a female? Probably in his eighties, around four hundred years ago.
One embarrassing moment passed through his mind.
Flora had been the prettiest female in their defensive manoeuvres class. He’d just had an amazing summer of training and was proud of his gleaming new muscles. Unfortunately, his ego had grown just as much, if not more. He marched right into class and straight up to Flora. Her eyes widened as she took him in, which caused him to panic and doubt his decision.
Instead of asking her out, he’d asked to be her sparring partner.
She agreed, throwing an excited grin towards her friends. It filled him with so much confidence that as soon as they were in the ring, he punched her in the face. He was so overcome by the hormones coursing through his body that he forgot to set ground rules for who would block and who would attack.
Her shocked expression and bloody nose still haunted him to this day.
The series of ass kickings he’d received from her friends in the following weeks was well deserved. From that day forward, he vowed that he would never let a lass drain all the blood from his head again.
As he took in Solveig, head empty, he knew why. She wasn’t a lass. She was a female. A strong, powerful female who was now studying him strangely. Right. He still hadn’t said anything.
“Sorry for shooting the arrow at your face,” he blurted out, immediately cringing at how stupid he sounded. Solveig chuckled quietly, a new mischievous gleam in her eye.
“You should be apologizing for your terrible aim. You missed,” she said dryly, tossing a pointed look at the arrow still stuck in the tree. He was about to tell her it had been a warning when he caught on. She was teasing him, which excited him more than he cared to admit.
He prowled to her, stopping a hand’s breadth away. He grabbed the arrow, keeping his eyes locked on hers, and yanked it out of the tree.
“Just repaying the debt, General. You threw a knife at my head,” he said, smirking as something flashed in her eyes.
