Page 39 of The Blood of Gods and Monsters

Kalix groans. “I won’t kill her,” he promises.

Both of my brows shoot up and I glance from him to Ruen. “Let him fight me if he wants to,” I suggest. “I’m not going to lose.”

The grip on my wrist tightens and Kalix’s grin turns feral. His eyes flash something red and wicked before morphing back to the forest green I’ve come to know so well. “See that,” he says, directing the words to Ruen. “She’s up for it.”

“No.” Ruen reaches forward and deftly removes Kalix’s hand from my wrist. “I’ll not have you killing her with your tendencies—no matter what you say.”

Kalix sags in defeat, and for a moment, I’m struck with a bolt of confusion. Eyeing the two of them, I don’t say anything as Kalix turns and curses under his breath as he approaches an amused looking Theos. Theos, for all the world, appears as if this kind of exchange isn’t abnormal to the two and perhaps it’s not. I’d seen over the past few months just who made the decisions in their little group.

Ruen is their leader and Theos and Kalix fall in line … until they don’t. Even when they don’t listen to him, though, Ruen never abandons them. He simply deals with the fallout just as he dealt with me. Cold precision is his ability and I find that I want to see that mask of his break. I want to see what hides beneath the ice of his exterior and then I want to set it on fire and watch it burn.

“Does that mean you’re my partner, Ruen?” I ask, arching a brow as Theos grips Kalix’s shoulder and leads him away.

Ruen watches them go, being careful not to look my way as he answers. “Yes.”

My grin turns into a full-blown smile. I guess there are some things to be said for coming out in the open as a Mortal God. Now I have the opportunity to kick some Darkhaven ass.

“Sword or spear then?” I ask. “Which will you choose?”

Finally, he looks at me and meets my gaze. Flickers of something I can’t name spark in the depths of his eyes. I don’t dare look away from it.

“Neither.” Ruen’s voice is low, gruff. “I want to see what you can do without a weapon in your hand.”

I purse my lips and shrug as I step away from him before turning and striding across the arena until we’re far away from the others into one of the empty rings that has been drawn out in the sand. Only then do I stop and turn back, placing my hands on my hips as I wait for him to approach. Ruen narrows his eyes on me briefly before he moves forward, his stalking footsteps jerky and uneven as if he’s being led to the gallows rather than a sparring ring.

I snort and shake my head before reaching up and over my shoulder. I grip the white tunic I’d changed into for this class and quickly tug it off over my head. Despite the winter chill in the air, the arena down here never seems to get cold. Perhaps it’s because the sun is directly overhead, heating the stone walls surrounding us, or perhaps because the sand bakes for hours before we arrive and the warmth from it seeps up through the soles of our shoes.

Whatever the case, I know that after a few minutes in the ring, I’ll be coated in sweat and a loose tunic will do nothing but get in my way.

Lowering my arm to my side now that I’m free of the billowing fabric, I catch sight of Ruen’s face. Jaw slack and eyes wide, he’s focused on the front of my body and the leather I’ve revealed. It’s neither a corset, nor is it a true vest, but almost a combination of both. Specially designed for fighting in the Underworld, I notice several of the female Mortal Gods in the class eyeing me speculatively, their own gazes taking in the garment.

Their attention, however, is vastly different from the Darkhaven who stalks forward into the ring and doesn’t stop moving until he’s standing in front of me, nearly blocking out the sun. “What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, eyes burning with that untapped fury, and he might deny it, but attraction.

I don’t know why figuring that out makes me feel powerful, but it does. This dark cold man is attracted to me, and even if he doesn’t want to be, he can’t deny it. Seeing me like this, covered in leather and ready to do battle, does something to him.

When I toss the tunic to the edge of the ring and spot a Terra jolt away from the far wall, running to pick it up, I frown. “You don’t have to—” The Terra freezes halfway to my shirt and looks up at me, eyes wide in horror.

“Let him,” Ruen orders, gesturing a hand towards the Terra to continue his task.

“I can take care of my own clothes,” I snap back, glaring at Ruen as the Terra quickly lifts the tunic, dusts it off, and then returns to the wall.

“Worry about your fighting skills, Kiera, not your clothes.”

At that, I jerk forward and swipe my foot out, kicking both of his ankles together. His eyes widen in shock and a grunt leaves his lips as he stumbles, and I watch with sickening satisfaction as Ruen Darkhaven goes down in a heap on the sand.

“Why don’t you worry about your fighting skills, Ruen, instead of concerning yourself with mine,” I suggest sweetly as I take several steps back and don’t offer to help him to his feet.

A burst of laughter erupts to my left and I turn my head to see Maeryn in her own fighting clothes—brown breeches and a tunic. She covers her laugh with one hand but offers me a thumbs up that sends a warmth sliding through my chest. Sand sprays the tops of my boots and my attention swaps back to the man who gets up from the ground and towers before me once more.

I arch my brow, waiting for his response.

“Point to you, Kiera Nezerac,” Ruen states, eyeing me with more than irritation. There’s amusement in his stoic gaze. Whether he realizes it or not, I think he likes it when I surprise him. “But don’t think just because you caught me off guard that it means you’re the better fighter.”

“No, of course not,” I agree. “I’m the better fighter for other reasons.” Bait meet fish. I wait to see his response, but instead of outrage, Ruen merely arches one dark brow at me and takes several steps back, falling into a fighting stance as Axlan prowls closer—nearby, but just far enough to not involve himself.

It hits me that there’s another reason for these sessions. Axlan is a God like the rest—no doubt he’s under strict orders from the God Council to watch me and determine how powerful I actually am. Should I keep my abilities hidden? Or should I show them off?

Ruen jerks his chin in my direction and I meet his eyes. My breath catches as he tucks his head to the side and swipes it back and forth. The movement is so small that I know Axlan can’t see it from his position, but it gives me an answer to my internal debate. Don’t show off everything, but don’t appear weak.

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