Stark gestures to the books. His usual glower is gone, and there’s an unfamiliar spark in his eyes.
“Leadership requires both knowledge and strength,” he says. I force myself to straighten, but I swear I can hear my ribs creaking. “But you’re weak. You have neither.”
My mouth drops open in indignation. It stuns me more than the literal punch he just threw. Just because I don’t have a personal library and years of fancy training doesn’t mean I’m?—
Stark’s fist flies towards my face again. This time, I sidestep and smack his wrist with the flat of my hand as it whips past myhead. If he were a stupider opponent, that would have created an opening.
Instead, he ducks under my returning blow and does the exact same countermove to me. The spark in his eyes is a bonfire now, lit with intense focus. “You have good instincts.”
“Thanks,” I grit out.
“It won’t help you against a Siphon,” he says.
Then there’s suddenly cloth in my eyes, a fluttering swath of darkness that has me stumbling backward. I barely have time to process it—Stark threw something—and lift my arms defensively before his blow lands.
He doesn’t go for the same attack, directed at my torso. Instead, his foot whips out and the toe of his boot lands squarely on the side of my knee. I shout and thud to the ground, catching myself and rolling away instinctively even though he doesn’t press the offensive.
“You can’t trust your eyes with a Siphon. You can’t trust what you already know.”
I hiss out breaths, turning the pain to my advantage, using the anger to fuel my focus. Then I wash it from my face, replacing it with fear. I let my eyes well, let my arm tremble as I reach up.
“Okay,” I breathe, nodding. I sniff. “Help me up. I’ll try again.”
Stark stares at me for a long moment, then his brow pinches slightly. My knee throbs as I kneel there, my hand still outstretched. He steps forward, reaching for me.
And just as he’s close enough, I grab the cloth he threw in my face right out from under his foot. His breath rushes from him as his balance is compromised, and I lash towards him like a snake, aiming for every man’s greatest weakness.
But instead of trying to reassert his footing, he leans into the fall, lifting the foot I stole from him and spiking his knee towards my face. I pull away at the last second, thudding onto my back.
Before I can move, he lets himself fall on top of me. His heavy, muscled legs wrap around my hips, pinning my pelvis in place so I can’t kick him again, and he presses a forearm against my throat—hard, then harder.
Psycho. Fucking. Asshole.
I’ll show him.
But then his fingers come up, pressing callouses against my lips.
“Thinking about spitting in my face again, princess?” he says, dark amusement in his eyes.
Oh good, so no one here’s forgotten that moment.
Suddenly, I realize what a vulnerable position I’m in. We’re alone; everyone else in the castle is still sleeping. This violent butcher who hates me has me pinned and choked. A spasm of fear ricochets through me and Anassa perks up on the other end of the bond, though she doesn’t say anything.
He could kill me. Hemightkill me.
Stark tilts his head slightly, as if listening to something—maybe his wolf, demanding he finish me off for good. But then, to my utter surprise, he lessens the pressure on my throat, removes his rough fingers from my lips.
He blinks down at me, a slight frown flickering across his face, then rolls off of me and stands up.
Probably would piss his mother off if he murdered the newly named Alpha.
“Decent attempt,” he says.
“Decent,” I grumble spitefully, pushing to my feet. “How did you get the upper hand? Did you know?”
“I’ve seen you take much harder hits than that without whining,” he says, gaze steady. “And I am always ready, even when my opponentplaysat weakness.”
Because he’s merciless. I cross my arms. “Youjustfinished calling me weak.”
