Page 78 of Warlord's Plaything

"Are we going to fight or are you just going to talk?"

His lips curve into a slow, knowing smirk.

"Impatient?"

"Bored."

A lie.

A fucking lie.

Because right now, standing here with him—I feel anything but bored.

The moment shifts.

A whisper of air, a flicker of movement—and then he’s on me.

Fast. Hard. Merciless.

I barely block the first strike, the impact shuddering through my bones.

But it’s not just the force of his attack.

It’s the way he moves.

The way he’s always too fucking close.

The way his breath brushes my skin as I twist out of reach.

I strike—he counters.

I shift—he follows.

It’s a dance.

A war.

A fucking game of control.

"Too slow, Hira."

"Fuck off."

His chuckle is low, dark.

And then he moves again—fast, too fast.

I barely register the shift before I’m pinned, sword knocked from my grip, his body pressing me against the wall.

Fuck.

My breath is ragged, my pulse hammering.

He leans in, just enough for the heat of him to sink into my skin.

A mistake.

Suddenly, I don’t feel like myself anymore.

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