I whirled, hammering the knob of my axe into his side, then landing another to his toned ass. Aire gawked like an offended virgin, his capillaries bursting. And finally, this part-time gentle giant put his back into the fight.
Our weapons ground together, sparks dashing into the night, our bodies heaving into another. Sweating, panting, shoving, retreating. His exhalations beat against my neck, perspiration dampened the tips of his hair, and my molars ached to break his skin.
Compared to the last evening we did this, neither of us held back. Performing a feint attack, he simulated two quick strikes, the deceptive move forcing me to parry.
I ducked and spun. My hair grazed his open vest, the axe’s rim whistling near his balls.
The squad cackled, slapping one another’s shoulders. They respected their commander, but I’d taught them to have fun every now and then. And yes, I missed Aire’s nuts on purpose. I might be pissed off, amped up on adrenaline and embarrassment from those early years of unchecked, unrequited puppy love. But I wasn’t about to chop off a fine set of grenades.
His expression toggled between insulted and impressed. He used the flat of one sword to shove me back. Not violent, but firm enough to dominate more space.
Regaining balance, I kicked up a spray of leaves. As we sidestepped one another, a mercenary noise sawed across my tongue. I bounded to the left, then jabbed the axe toward his sternum.
Aire launched his weapons vertically. The blades trapped my hatchet, jolting me into him, my breasts crushing against his whipcord pecs.
We stalled. The world dissolved, and the wind spiraled between us, sealing me and this knight in a globe. Our nosestapped, my lips a scant inch from his own, every punch of air hot and rapid.
His eyes dropped to my mouth and stayed there, his pupils blackening. I refused to let my illicit mind engage. I would not allow my ovaries to react. That smoldering look was nothing but an illusion, a cautionary tale I’d learned years ago, a byproduct of my younger, stupider self.
Instead, I instructed, “Eyes up here.”
His pupils jumped to mine, seeing just how appealing I found his assumptions. He earned and deserved his rank, but that had shit to do with me. No one had the jurisdiction to decide which blokes were worth my training time, much less to scorn my choices or ridicule Rhun in front of his peers.
“You know? I’m disappointed,” I remarked. “At least my combatant didn’t hedge his thrusts.”
Aire’s lips peeled into a contentious sneer. “That’s because he doesn’t know where to aim his dagger.”
I belted out a sarcastic laugh, even as the First Knight scowled through his blush, registering the accidental innuendo. The tension snapped. He moved to fling himself backward and call it a draw.
Ah, ah, ah. Over my dead and buried carcass.
Dashing my leg beneath his, I took the alpha down, all two hundred-plus pounds of him crashing to the grass. Aire grunted, his back imprinting a crater into the earth, the broadswords slipping from his grasp.
At some point, we had forgotten the troops. They’d vanished, their chants going silent.
Now at last, our gaping audience materialized from the haze, a hush settling over the crowd. Then they bellowed, applause blasting across the field. Hundreds of knights slammed their palms together, severing the trance.
My fingers clutched the axe to stifle their trembling. My body hurt like a son of bitch.
Yet for once, I hadn’t felt a thing during the skirmish.
Aire scowled up at me. Maybe I’d delivered a cheap shot, but war and combat had nothing to do with fairness. Plus, seeing this lout sprawled on his backside, a triumphant smirk lifted the corner of my mouth.
“I mistook you for someone I used to know. An independent girl who didn’t require a man’s help in any capacity.”
Victory spiced my tongue. Hunkering over him, I nudged his tight jaw with the butt of my axe, honey sweetening my tone. “By the way, I’m not a girl.”
Straightening, I blew every hollering soldier a kiss. Then I gave Aire a mocking curtsy and murmured, “Welcome home, Noble Knight.”
I strutted off the field, the axe balancing cavalierly on my shoulder. Along the way, my back heated, his stare branding me to the core.
7
Aire
She walked away. The woolen skirt snapped around her limbs like a whip, the fabric swishing from beneath her cloak as the girl swaggered off to the applause of my troops.
Wrong. Not a girl.
