Page 42 of Fear the Flames
“You won’t,” his voice is void of any apprehension; he truly believes I won’t miss. He has a way of validating me without even realizing he’s doing it, but satisfaction courses through me nonetheless. “Now, get on with it.”
My blood is pounding in my ears, and all my senses are tuned into the steel that’s strapped along my legs. The familiar fluttering feeling in my chest that always starts before I throw stirs into motion. It’s the type of feeling someone gets when they’re staring off the edge of a cliff. Wrapping my fingers around two handles, I survey the targets again before rolling my shoulders and neck.
My eyes fall shut; there’s nothing but me and my knives. The leash snaps on my anger, and I let it surge through me again. I grit my teeth as I replay Ailliard’s dismissal. I’ll prove he’s wrong to perceive me as less than Garrick through my actions, not make him believe he’s wrong through words. The little girl that got locked in a cell ran away and became a monster, ready to hunt. Garrick will beg for my mercy in the same way I begged for his.
I snap my eyes open and zone in on the first target, adrenaline surging through me as I throw the first blade. Without waiting to see where it lands, I spin on my heels and throw the next knife. Turning toward another target, I throw two daggers this time. My mind conjures the image of Garrick’s merciless, dark eyes, void of human emotion, as he stared down at me, bleeding out on his floor, urging his guards to continue their beatings. I repeat my actions until I become a hurricane of black and silver while silently counting off the targets in my head. Each knife thudding against a target is another note in a song that makes my blood sing. My chest heaves, and fire blazes under my skin. If anyone is spying on me, waiting for their turn to make a move, let it be known that I won’t walk meekly into death’s arms, and if I do meet death—I’ll drag them down with me. Whether it’s a knife, a shard of glass, my nails, or my teeth—I will always fight. I stop when all the targets have been hit, and the first sound I hear is a low whistle behind me. My head turns toward Cayden, and I watch him as he approaches while surveying the targets.
“You’ve provided quite the distraction this morning,” he nods over his shoulder toward his soldiers.
“It’s not my fault if I’m more interesting than your exercises.”
“You’re more interesting than most things.” He doesn’t give me a moment to register his words before he moves on, “Tell me, how many targets did you imagine as me?”
“Just one.” I don’t know if it’s the adrenaline pumping through my veins that makes me feel bolder than usual, but I place a hand on his chest and tilt my lips toward his ear. I can’t feel the ridges of his muscles like I could last night, but I still feel him stiffen under my palm. “That one,” I point to the target I imagined Garrick’s eyes on.
“Endearing,” he huskily mumbles. I hold his gaze while inching away from him and notice he’s holding two swords. He flips them in his hands, their hilts now facing me while he grips the blades.
“They’re dull blades for sparring.” He opens his fingers a bit to show me he’s not bleeding.
“You want to spar with me?” I ask while wrapping my fingers around one of the hilts, swinging the blade in my hand to get a feel for the balance.
“Someone has to correct your footwork,” he smirks.
“I don’t know if you’ll be able to handle me,” I sigh.
“Actually, Elowen, I think I’m the only man that can handle whatever you throw at him.” His hazel eyes fill with challenge as I untie the cloak and toss it aside. I’m beginning to realize that this may be our dynamic; who can push the other one more? It’s a constant battle of trying to figure each other out. Something nobody has ever been able to fully do, but neither of us back down from challenges; we chase challenges.
Before he can blink, I tighten my grip on the sword and swing it toward him. He blocks it, and our eyes meet over our locked blades. “Prove it, soldier,” I challenge before unlocking our blades and take a few steps back. We begin circling each other, waiting to see who will make the first move. I keep my steps precise, ready to defend myself if he strikes first.
“You said you don’t dance, but you’re dancing around me quite a bit.”
“I’m thinking,” he says.
“I’m sure that must be very hard for you,” I quip.
I can tell he’s biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. “How about we raise the stakes?”
The thought of fighting to win something against Cayden sounds very tempting. “A bet?” I inquire.
He nods, mischief written all over his face. “If I win,” he begins. My heart rate increases the longer he ponders what he wants. “I want a favor at a later date.”
That could mean anything; that couldbeanything. I weigh his words with the same precision I weigh the blade in my hand. He won’t do anything to physically harm me considering he needs me. Plus, the way he took care of me last night…no, he won’t harm me. Maybe he’ll hurt me one day, maybe we’ll be enemies rather than allies, but he’ll most likely just use the favor to do something to annoy me.
“Fine.” It’s not like he doesn’t annoy me every day. “I want the same if I win.”
“The deal is done,” he declares.
Not even a breath later, he cuts the distance between us and strikes. I shoot my sword up to block him. Our eyes lock over the blades again, and the clang of steel vibrates my bones. Using all my force, I shove him back and waste no time advancing. Moving forward, I strike once, twice, three times—he blocks them all.
“Are you going to tell me what Ailliard said now?”
“What?” I grit my teeth.
“What did he say?” Our blades separate and lock again. “I know he’s the one that upset you.”
“Stop,” I command.
“Did he call you a sheltered princess?” Separate and lock again. “Did he say you don’t know what you’re getting yourself into?” Separate and lock again. “Did he bring up Garrick?”
