Page 20 of Secrets of the Six

Ignoring his comment, I point to his weapon. "Are you planning to use that?"

He shrugs his shoulder lazily. "If I must."

"You'll need more than that rapier to stop me," I scoff, amused by his non-intimidating tactics.

Salvador clicks his tongue. "Doubtful."

"You flatter yourself."

"Tell you what, Vibora. I'll make you a deal." He takes another step toward me, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "If I best you in a duel, there will be no more unsupervised late-night rendezvous in the city."

I match his step with one of my own. "And when I kick your ass?"

He smiles down at me and says so lowly I almost miss it. "I'll give you a friendly boost over the wall. Do we have a deal?"

"Your funeral." I unsheathe my rapier, and to his credit, the sudden movement doesn't rattle him.

His eyes dart to my hips. "Your pistols."

"What about them?"

He jerks his chin toward the garden table. "Put them down."

Cocking my head to the side, I purse my lips to keep from grinning like a fool. "Afraid I'll shoot you?" I tease.

He shakes his head, but his eyes remain fast on mine. "Afraid you'd shoot me to win."

"I resent that comment." My nostrils flare. "I may be a lot of things, but I've never cheated in a duel."

"There's a first time for everything."

I grit my teeth. "Fine." Although, the notion he fears I would cheat to win, when I know I can best him with my eyes closed, boils my blood, I wrench my pistols free from their holsters and place them on the black garden table. "Happy?" I ask, stepping away from them to take my dueler's stance ten paces in front of him.

"Very."

Typically, I don't like waiting for my opponent to get the drop on me, so I strike first, thrusting my rapier out toward his chest, but he easily blocks the blow and swipes my blade to the side. My left brow lifts and I smirk, excited for the first bit of physical activity I've seen in months. I shift to my right, and he matches the movement until we're circling across from one another.

His eyes are trained on mine, but his thoughts are hidden from me. He carries himself with confidence, a presence that would rattle all who oppose him. But not me. I know my abilities and he doesn't stand a chance.

I lunge forward, jabbing my sword at him, instigating a second bout.

He engages, and the clash of our blades echoes as we parry. He's quick on his feet and his reflexes are impeccable, I'll give him that.

Dropping to my knees to avoid the swipe of his rapier, I spin my back to him and slide my weapon behind me to block the attack. I sweep my leg out, but he hops over the kick.

Our swords meet again. When one of us moves forward, the other retreats. This isn't so much a duel as it is a dance. There is a fluidity and grace in our combined movement – a battle of wills.

Finally, I see an opening and I take it.

I plunge my rapier toward his arm and slice his sleeve. I don't draw blood; my intent is not to harm him.

He pauses to glance at the flayed fabric.

Despite the mask covering most of his face, I can't help but imagine the smirk he sports is highlighted by crow's feet alongside his golden-brown eyes.

"You're skilled," he says, wiping imaginary dirt from his ruined sleeve.

"You seem surprised."