Page 49 of Alien Viking's Passion

Damn. She could do without an audience. “Are we finished?”

“No,” Craxon said and stabbed out at her.

She recoiled and slashed at his blade as it whizzed past her ear. “That’s getting too close, Craxon!”

“I must be sure that you can take care of yourself,” he said, and his eyes were hard. “I leave tomorrow. And you will stay here.” He lunged at her, and she had to use the parry technique he’d taught her.

She wanted to attack him again, but then his words hit her and her arms went weak. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I will leave, and I can never protect you again. Watch out!” He lunged again, the tip of his sword piercing the air soclose that again it triggered Aretha’s reflexes and she hit his blade away.

“You said there would be a way,” she said as the disappointment started to descend on her mind.

“I was wrong.” He took aim and slashed again.

Aretha parried, then immediately struck at him. “You said you would never leave again, like you did that first night!”

He looked like he would let her hit, then parried casually at the last moment. “I was mistaken. I wanted it to be true. I hoped it could be. I showed everyone our love. But I can’t stay. I can’t love. I should not have promised anything. I apologize for that.”

More people were coming to watch, probably thinking it was just a friendly training fight. But it had turned into something else. Aretha didn’t dare relax and let her guard down — Craxon was in a strange mood and might actually cut her head off.

“Can westopthis?!” she pleaded, getting afraid.

The prince made a chopping motion, but Aretha knew it for a feint and prepared for the real attack. When it came, she was ready and hit his blade away with a casual slash.

A murmur went through the crowd.

“Ithasstopped,” Craxon said and attacked once more. “It was wonderful, Aretha. I have never been happier, and I will never be as happy again.”

She deflected his blade, but he didn’t stop — he came at her with a series of attacks she had to deflect with hard clangs as their blades collided again and again. This was getting serious. Was he actually trying to kill her?

Fear and anger got the best of her, and she launched into her own flurry of slashes and strokes. She managed to push him back, but he didn’t stop.

He came at her again, their swords shooting sparks as they clashed. “I love you, Aretha. But love is a luxury no prince of Ragnhildros can allow himself. And so this is the end.”

She was getting scared for real. Had he gone crazy? His sword was so close now she felt the wind from his blade as it swished past, an inch from her skin.

“Stop it!” she yelled, scared but grateful for the help from her lace. She was moving fast; the sword was becoming a part of her.

“Make me,” Craxon said and wound up for a hard slash.

Another murmur went through the growing crowd, now tinged with worry.

His sword came at her, and it was not a practice move. It was meant to hit. This was a Viking prince in battle mode, his face pale and as grim as death.

Aretha stepped aside and let his blade cut the air where she had just been standing. Okay, he wasactuallytrying to kill her.

She couldn’t turn her back, and she couldn’t let her guard down. She couldn’t involve the onlookers and put them in danger.Shehad to finish this.

She feinted and stabbed at Craxon, but he sidestepped and chuckled. “Getting there. Not fast enough. I’ll take your ear off!” He chopped at her head, and she had to duck.

“Your Highness!” came a concerned yell from the crowd. “That’s not an enemy you’re fighting!”

Aretha got mad. Was he trying todisfigureher in front of these people?

She attacked again, for real this time, not holding back. The sword moved by itself, guided mostly by the neural lace, moving faster than the eye could see as she threw slash after slash at Craxon. She was distantly aware that he was chuckling, but now she was mad. Not only was he breaking his promises and his word, he was also trying to cut her to pieces!

Her furious onslaught was pushing him back until he was at the edge of the clearing, his back against a tree. Aretha set up for the killing blow he had taught her, putting her full weight behind it. Then she realized that he was not moving to parry. He had opened himself to her completely, not trying to defend, sword hanging by his side, chest bare and vulnerable, eyes full of pain.

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