A spurt of panic finally unlocks the strength and speed I need. I leap out of his reach as he abruptly comes into such sharp focus that I can see every twitch at the corner of his mouth, every subtle flick of his amber eyes, every dot of sweat lining his brow.
Revitalized, I launch into an all-out assault. My next hit vibrates up his arm, and my heightened senses soak up his sharp inhalation like a victory.
Bale fights me off, then rolls his shoulders, eyeing me with increased vigilance. We circle again. I stay focused, my body coiled for action. In a real battle, my utter concentration on Bale would make me vulnerable to attacks coming from elsewhere. I’d have to widen my perception, but right now, he’s my only opponent.
“What changed?” He draws his second blade, and satisfaction thumps harder than my whomping heart.
“I’m pretending you’re the only thing that goes bump in the night.”
His steps unexpectedly slow, and I nearly skewer him. I twist away as he strikes back, his blade whistling past me.
His breathing is labored—more so than usual. I must be making him work, and that makes me absurdly happy.
“If I were your enemy, would you be scared of me?” he asks.
“Why would you be my enemy?” I counter with words and powerful hits, driving him back until he uses brute strength to throw me off him.
“Hypothetically,” he grinds out.
“I know you. It’s hard to be hypothetical.”
“Why? Aren’t I scary?”
“Do you want to be?”
He barks a loud laugh, the rare sound engaging all my senses. He jumps in, his blade at my throat before I even see it coming. I go utterly still, my eyes widening.
“Don’t get distracted by conversation,” he says sharply.
Bloodpit. Was that a lesson? “You asked me a question,” I grumble.
“So could a werebear. Or a vampire.”
Fair enough. Gripping my blades until my knuckles ache, I get back down to business.
We spar like we want to cut each other to ribbons, but neither of us lands a hit. Avoiding injuring each other is also part of training—the precision part, knowing your intent. The harder Bale pounds at me, the more I know I can’t match his strength, even at my best. His constant hits rattle up my arms, numbing me to the shoulders. He knocks one sword from my hand, throws his second blade aside, and continues with one, coming at me so hard he forces me backward.
Our clashing swords heat the air. We both move so fast we blur. He drives me across the clearing until my back hits a tree, the hard thud knocking a grunt from me. His free hand shoots out and grips my neck, holding me against the trunk and forcing my chin up. His other hand pins my sword arm against the bark at my side, squeezing my wrist until I drop my blade.
His eyes burn. He smells like a lightning strike, and shadows bleed from him. The dark tendrils swirl over me, soft and warm. Bale’s starborn magic seems to draw us close, linking our bodies, and arousal thumps low inside me.
Breathing hard, he stares at me. “And you’re dead.”
My lips part, my chest rising and falling so violently it brushes his with every breath. I don’t think I’ve lived yet. The thought comes from out of nowhere as Bale abruptly backs off, ripping his shadows from me. Shivering from the loss of both, I don’t move, even after I’m free.
Bale watches me from under lowered brows. He rakes his fingers through his hair, shoving it back. I think he shoves his shadows, too, because they disappear entirely. “I thought you’d last longer.”
I can’t tell if he’s teasing and decide to take that badly, his gruff words like a winter storm dropping cold rain on my head. “That was just the warm-up.” I look him up and down like he’s mediocre instead of the most powerful and captivating man I’ve ever seen. “And I thought you needed a confidence boost.”
His teeth flash in a predatory grin. “Now that you’re warmed up, are you going to stand there all day, or fight like you want to win?”
“Win?” I scoff. “No one beats you.” Everyone knows Bale is the best—in any form. The only one who’s ever come close to defeating him was the Vampire King, and no one knows how Rannigan Bloodthief managed to get close enough to rip through those chest scales.
My body cooling in a way that’s good for my heart but not good for my fighting focus, I step away from the tree and retrieve my blades.
“What did I do wrong?” I still feel the weight of Bale’s hand around my throat and his chest pressed against mine. I want to ignore the lingering sensations and bursts of heat, but I can’t. If he scented my desire when he pushed me up against the tree, his shadows licking over me—or if he reciprocates it—he doesn’t show it. Maybe he’ll chalk it up to danger lust.
Ugh, I hope so.
