Clenching my teeth, I swung the axe, its curved edge pitching downward—then slamming into a barrier. Two steel objects crossed in front of me, blocking the rim of my blade.
Pommels. Double-edged. Tapered points.
Broadswords.
The wielder had spun them my direction before I was on him, the movements smooth and swift. Either he heard me coming or… or nothing. No other explanation made sense, his reflexes as quick as lightning.
The murk clouded his features, only the flash of his swords visible. One of Rhys’s peons. Maybe this scumbag had stayed behind to make sure the entourage wouldn’t be followed.
The male spoke, his voice muffled by the violent rush of blood to my ears. Seething, I ripped into the shithead. Executing a sequence of deft flips, I veered the axe and struck from the opposite angle.
His weapons stalled my next attack. We flung ourselves into battle. Rage powered my limbs as I sheared toward him again, swiping my hatchet to spill his intestines. My opponent vaulted out of the blade’s path like a tornado. Spinning away, he grunted and lanced one sword backward over his shoulder, catching the fatal swipe of my axe.
More shouts carved from his mouth. More stuff I couldn’t hear.
Our weapons crashed together, him playing on the offensive, me doing nothing of the fucking sort. Every collision thrust a hot, sharp streak up my limbs, and not just because he had about fifty pounds on me. Since the pain rarely went away, I mashed my lips together, weathering the spasms, fighting through them.
But Seasons strike me, he was too proficient to be some pissant minion, each thrust cutting, sleek, militant.
No, this was a warrior beyond my level. He moved as if he’d invented the wind itself, battling with the grace of a hawk. His weapons sliced the air, his toned arms inflating like boulders through a fitted jacket, the supple material stretching to accommodate every pivot.
Critical details triggered my awareness. The speed. The strength. Plus, he held back, trying to stop me rather than skewer my carcass.
I shook off the notion. Despite the darkness, my vision burned a hole in the motherfucker’s cursed face. Snarling, I charged, my hatchet diving for his throat.
“Fucking Seasons!” the male growled, whipping up his swords and thwarting me again. “Aspen!”
I froze. Our weapons collided overhead, the length of his broadswords kissing my handle. Clarity blasted through me like ice water, rinsing away my fury with the velocity of a tidal wave. His baritone sheared through the night, clearing the debris that had clouded my senses.
I knew that voice like I knew my own breath. For years, I had been memorizing every murmur, grumble, and whisper he uttered. Like a hoarder, I collected each sound, replaying them before and after dreams.
As my vision refocused, the man stepped closer. The gesture drew his features into stark relief, a shaft of moonlight casting across his chiseled jaw. Shock, annoyance, and concern blitzed through his pupils.
Layers of ashy hair down to the nape. Irises the color of a twilit sky. The spidery scar that webbed beneath his left earlobe, earned from a chained weapon during battle. And the glimpse of raptor tattoos beneath his cuffed sleeve.
A gasp pushed from my lips. “Aire.”
2
Aspen
First Knight of Autumn. Trusted soldier of our clan.
The only man with the power to shake me off my foundation.
With our weapons locked, the proximity forced my tits against Aire’s chest. Our lungs pumped oxygen. We gaped through the vent of our upstretched arms, his thunderstruck expression mirroring my own. Shit, I’d almost lobbed off his head and capsized his ass like a redwood.
He scanned my expression. Although a set of tassels kept my hood in place, those blue eyes breached that barrier, as they did with everyone. Nobody was safe from him.
Prying my gaze away, I glanced at our surroundings. When I heard those leaves crunching under someone’s boot, it was him. But that didn’t mean we were alone.
“Look at me,” that deep voice urged. “Aspen. Look at me.”
I swerved back to him. He didn’t know, he just didn’t know. I always looked at this man, hadn’t stopped looking since the moment I first saw him.
Thankfully, he hadn’t heard or witnessed my chat with Rhys. Otherwise, this lion-hearted knight would have stormed into the scene. Another minute in Summer’s presence, and all hell would have broken loose.
Yet it didn’t take Aire’s powers of perception to see the mayhem gripping my face. I must look all kinds of savage,because those eyes flared with vigilance, his gritty snarl liable to saw through iron.
