Page 10 of Kissed By the Gods
Ryot takes a step back and raises an eyebrow, not even breathing hard.
“Are you ready to go now, rebel girl?” he asks.
I grit my teeth and charge again with my scythe angled forward, but he sidesteps my strike effortlessly. I narrowly avoid crashing into a tree and turn to face him—and he’s already there. The foot he drives into my chest throws me against the trunk with a thud that knocks the air from my lungs.
“You need training,” he says. “An untrained Altor is dangerous. You think you can protect your brothers from the hazards in this forest?” He snorts. “You can’t even protect them from you.”
His words land harder than his kick.
I remember Leo’s arm, bent at a sick angle. I remember his scream. The copper stench of our parents’ blood soaking into the wheat field.
I hesitate.
In that pause, he closes the distance. His hand locks around mine on the scythe and holds it in place. Then he kicks out again, this time to sweep my legs out from under me. I crash to the ground, and my head hits the tree behind me with a sharp, stunning crack. Pain radiates through my skull. The scythe slips from my fingers.
I glare up at him from the forest floor, my breath ragged. His face is hard but there’s something softer in his storm blue eyes. Without a word, he reaches down, grabbing my arm to haul me up. He leans in close, his voice brushing against my ear.
“Are you ready to come with me now?”
My body quivers not from fear, but from fury. I pretend to stumble slightly, one hand reaching for balance as he lifts me… but it’s a lie. My fingers close around the hilt of one of the daggers on his belt. In one motion, I twist free and press the blade to his throat.
He goes completely still. For a heartbeat, neither of us breathes. His body is taut under my touch, all tight muscle and restraint. The thrum of his pulse is steady against the blade. My breath rushes in and out, hot and fast, but my hand doesn’t tremble.
I could end him. I should end him.
But I don’t.
Ryot exhales. The sound is soft, almost a hum. Amused? Impressed?
“Well done, rebel girl,” he murmurs, voice low.
His words slide over my skin like the first drop of rain before a storm. And gods help me, I hate the way my heart responds. Itstutters, just once, but even that is enough to make me furious with myself.
His hand lifts—slowly, deliberately—and comes to rest over mine on the dagger’s hilt.
“Now, you could kill me,” he says. “Slide that blade in a little deeper and end this right here. But you won’t.”
“Don’t be so sure,” I whisper.
His gaze doesn’t waver. “If you were going to, you would’ve done it already.”
I press the blade harder, enough to breach skin. His breath hisses out.
The rhythm of footsteps pounding the forest floor break my focus. No battle cry. No shouted warning. Just the dry scrape of leaves and the raw, reckless heat of Seb’s fury rushing toward us.
We both turn. Seb is running toward us, sword raised.
“Seb, no!” I scream and jump in front of Ryot. Seb doesn’t stand a chance. An Altor could break him in half without blinking.
I try to shove Ryot back, but he’s already moving to intercept Seb. He knocks the dagger from my hand and grabs my arm.
“Stop,” he barks, whether to me or to Seb I don’t know. But as I twist against his grip, desperate to reach my brother, his hold tightens. There’s a sharp pop, and pain explodes through my shoulder.
I scream—a ragged, instinctive sound—and Ryot curses under his breath as he shoves me out of the way. I crash into the ground, shoulder useless, pain flooding my vision with white. The world tilts. Dirt grits between my teeth as my cheek hits the forest floor.
The dagger’s gone along with any pretense of control. I’ve landed near my scythe, though, and I scramble for it with my good arm, fingers curling tight around the worn wood. I dragit close and lever myself up with one arm, my injured shoulder screaming with every breath.
But I’m too late. Ryot has locked an arm around Seb’s neck and is holding the black tip of one of his daggers at Seb’s exposed throat. The sword is on the ground at his feet, not a drop of blood on the blade.
