Page 108 of An Empress of Fire & Steel

“Yes,” a deep hiss could be heard from the side as Torin approved of her move.

A grin formed on her face.

“Oh, it’s not over, Princess of Air.” Artem bent his legs into position. He was ready to attack, barehanded. He wanted combat. “You played dirty, Emara.”

“I am an Empress,” she said, lifting her chin as she crouched into a battle stance. “You just underestimated me. I found your weakness when you didn’t think you had one.” She shot him a glare. He would never have been so relaxed with Torin when sparring. He would never have let his guard down fighting a man.

A string of irritation dangled in her chest.

Cocky hunters!

Artem Stryker’s face went bright red, and he was silent for once.

He might spar with men every day, but he didn’t spar with women, and they also had their advantages. He was right, it wasn’t over. It was time for her to strike again.

She lunged forward, swinging the stick to hit vital parts of Artem’s body. She swung right and then left, then right again, like she would if this were a real weapon and him a real foe. But with each swing she took, his foot work and dives were quicker, more precise than they had been before. He had switched modes. He was no longer a guard playing with an empress; he was a hunter, and she was his demon.

He lowered himself to the ground and swung out with his foot. She jumped, his boot missing her ankles. As she landed, her knees bent, and she wobbled slightly. Looking up, Artem was already driving forward. Kicking at her had allowed him time to change from being on the defence to being on the offence.

He charged her, swinging those big fists. She blocked each one, backing further and further on the grass. She could hear Torin roaring for her to stand her ground and attack, but Artem was quicker this time. Grabbing the pole, he yanked it. She fell towards him, but instead of dropping the pole or finding herself locked in his hold, she dropped her body to the ground, sliding under his legs. Pulling and yanking as hard as she could, Artem’s torso came through his bent-over stance and his legs went over his head as the pole tripped him.

He practically somersaulted. She had used her weakness in height and turned it into a strength. And she had used his advantage in weight to throw him off balance.

She didn’t have time to think about what she had done as he rose behind her. She rolled, keeping her poles grip, and sprung to her feet. She had no idea how she’d managed it, but Emara now stood above him, her pole angled towards Artem’s throat to deliver the killing blow.

Both shock and respect shot onto Artem’s face, but mostly shock. It thrilled her to the core. A few gasps from the watching crowd had Emara’s senses tingling.

She had won. She had won. She had really done it.

“Did I never tell you I was good with a spear?” A jaw-aching grin arched in Emara’s face. “It must have slipped my mind.”

Her chest heaving from the effort it had taken to put him on his back, she finally drew in an icy breath of air. He wasn’t a small creature by any means, and she certainly didn’t have the power that he did. So she had to be craftier, play to his weaknesses, use the element of surprise.

“No.” He laughed, raising his hands in the air. A surrender. “I forgot about your abilities with a spear.”

A horrible flashback hit her mind of the last time she had held a spear. Blood, screams, and Taymir Solden’s face appeared in her mind. She dropped her training weapon instantly and took a few steps back. She took a breath, trying to gather herself.

Artem laughed, unaware of what memories he had just triggered in her mind. “I don’t think a witch has ever put me on my back before.” He looked thoughtful. “In fact, I take that back, there have been a few that have—”

“I don’t need to know.” Emara closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I. Do. Not. Need. To. Know.”

Artem put his hand out for her to take it, a truce in their sparring, and she took it, hauling his mass up.

“Nice work,” he said as he stood. “I am impressed.”

“As am I.” A rich, sensual tone drove a tingling sensation deep into her core as it arrived from behind her.

She turned to Torin, pride splashed in every part of his face.

“That,” he said, with both dimples showing, “was fucking marvellous.”

She couldn’t help but let a gleaming smile form on her lips too.

He had coached her and pointed out where she needed to work. Where she needed to get better. Always pushing her…

Artem laughed. “She clearly has a great mentor.”

“Was that a compliment, Stryker?” Torin hit the shoulder of his best friend.

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