Page 86 of Of Flames and Fallacies

His pacing stops behind me, out of sight. He hums thoughtfully.

I give in, glaring at him over my shoulder. “Spare me the theatrics and get to the point.”

“You have lovely legs…” he whispers under his breath. “But I can think of better places they could be.”

I roll my eyes. “Have I given you any reason to think you can be as suggestive as you are with me? Because I assure you, I’m not interested.”

He snickers, edging dangerously closer to me. I turn forward to face away from him, picking out nervous stares from the rest of the squad positioned in front of us. Part of me is glad I can’t see Cole from this angle—he might beat Darian into the ground if I shoot him even one nervous glance.

Darian’s whisper brushes the hair on the back of my head, “Just trying to help. Your stance isn’t—”

“I don’tneedyour help, asshole—”

One second, I’m standing with my back turned to Darian. The next I’m knocked to the ground. He swept my legs out from under me in a lightning quick move. The muscles in my side groan in pain at the sudden collision with the earth, and I scramble to my hands and knees, shooting a daggered glare at him.

I scramble to my feet and swing a punch toward his face.

He catches my fist in his hand, his fingers wrapping around my knuckles far too easily, trapping me. “You missed, kitten.”

I snatch his throat with my other free hand, a frustrated growl escaping me. My fingers are ridiculously thin around his thick neck, but I squeeze as hard as I can.

The tip of his tongue flicks across his lower lip before he smiles deviously. “Harder.”

“What?” I hiss, flinching in bewilderment.

“I said,harder.”

Digging my nails into his skin and gritting my teeth, I sink my fingers into his throat as hard as I can.

He gazes down at me, a sneer pulling at his expression. “Really? That’s it? Pathetic. You’ll never last more than a minute.”

Did I have anger issues? Before this moment, I would have said no. But something about Darian unlocks a side of me I’ve never experienced. Never knew existed. A wild, unfettered temper I’m finding hard to comprehend. “I hate you,” I seethe.

He snorts, clearly unbothered. “Get in line, sweetheart. The line starts behind me.”

With wicked speed, he seizes the wrist of my hand wrapped around his neck and twists me into submission. I fold down, pain roaring to life in my wrist, and terror steals my breath that he might break me. But instead, he spins me to face away from him. He rips me into him, pinning my back against his chest, and restraining me with his arms.

I squirm, trying to wriggle free from his hold. When that proves futile, I throw my head back and connect it with his jaw, a new flare of pain rippling in my skull. His grip on me falters, but he hooks a leg in between mine and tears me down to the ground. Before I can roll away, he pins me onto my back. He traps my hands above my head, and my injured wrist screams under his hard grip. His hips straddle my own—it’s even more intimate than the last time we fought.

I bite my tongue to keep myself from blushing, raking my heated gaze across his barbarously smug face. Attempting to dislodge him, I buck my hips up, and he laughs.

“Must be over-compensating,” I grit out as I wriggle and strain underneath him.

“Is this you asking to test that theory? Because,” he leans down, his smooth, shaved cheek gliding against mine as he whispers into my ear, “I would be happy to oblige you.”

“Let me go,” I demand.

“Only if you beg me.”

“Fuckyou,” I spit.

“Mmm, I love that filthy little mouth of yours,” he says with a wink.

I exert all my strength and energy into rolling him to the side, but he braces against me. I’m trapped, and each of my attempts to escape is unsuccessful. Everyone stares, their attention as heavy as if it were bricks weighing me down. Embarrassment heats my cheeks, and with that triumphant grin of his, there’s no doubt he recognizes it.

Asshole.

“We’re done here,” I hiss.

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