I spat out what felt like half the river, shoving my wet hair out of my face. My boots squelched in the mud, every step sounding wet and squishy. Beside me, Malakai looked annoyingly unfazed, of course he did, he never seemed bothered by anything but me.
He raked a hand through his hair, the white strands becoming messy, and water droplets ran down his jaw onto the red ink of the demon markings curling over his neck and disappearing underneath his shirt. I tore my eyes away before he caught me staring.
“We should get out of these clothes before we freeze,” he said, already tugging at the straps of his harness on top of his shirt.
“Excuse me?” My voice cracked in a way that wasdefinitelythe water’s fault.
“Relax,” he drawled, undoing a buckle with maddening leisure. "Unless you’d rather I catch a cold and die. That would solve your problems nicely, wouldn’t it?"
“You’re impossible,” I muttered, trying to focus on wringing water out of my top.
He smirked, peeling the soaked shirt from his shoulders, muscles flexing as the fabric slapped wetly against the ground. “You could use that fancy fire magic of yours, you know. Heat us up, dry the clothes. Unless you’d rather keep watching?”
Heat rushed up my neck faster than any spell I could conjure. “I amnotwatching!”
“Sure you aren’t,” he said, voice low with that infuriating half-laugh.
I spun around to face the forest instead of him. “I amnotwatching. And I’m not using my…” the words got stuck in my throat briefly. “Magic.”
“Why not?” His voice was maddeningly smooth, like he already knew my answer.
“Because I don’t want to use it,” I said sharply, shoving dripping hair over my shoulder, trying to wring out the worst of it.
“You’d rather be cold than save us both?” He made it sound like a joke, but there was something sharper underneath.
I refused to answer, which was apparently answer enough.
He chuckled low in his throat, and I heard wet boots dropping to the ground. “Relax. It’s not like I’m taking my pants off.”
I whipped around before I could stop myself.
He stood barefoot in the mud, shirtless, water tracing over muscles and those red markings, curling around his arms, past his collarbones, and to the middle of his chest. They still had a slight glow. The smirk on his face said he knewexactlywhat I was looking at.
“You—!” I choked on my words, snatching the dagger from myholster.
He tilted his head, utterly unbothered. “Careful, kitten. I’m unarmed.”
“You should be dead,” I snapped, anger rushing in to cover up the heat in my cheeks. “Your kind shouldallbe dead.”
“And yet here I am.” His grin widened. “Maybe you just like keeping me alive.”
That was it. I lunged.
Steel flashed as I slashed at him, aiming for anything I could reach. He caught my wrist, twisting enough to force me to drop my blade, and spun me so my back hit the nearest tree.
“Better,” he said softly, dangerously. “Finally putting that rage to good use.”
I kicked at his knee, grabbing my sword, and this time he laughed, actually laughed, as he dodged, circling me like it was some kind of game.
“Stopplayingwith me!” I shouted, striking again.
“But you’re so cute when you’re angry.” He ducked under my strike, caught my blade mid-swing with his own dagger. Where had he even gotten that? He twisted us until we were chest to chest, blades locked.
I glared at him, breathing hard, water dripping between us. “One day Iwillkill you.”
His grin was all teeth. “Then today isn’t that day.”
He let go suddenly, stepping back as though the fight had been nothing more than sparring practice. He was still smirking.
