Page 40 of Kissed By the Gods
Leif, arms crossed, nods slightly. “Relentless.”
Caius exhales, jaw tight. “Brutal.”
Kiernan shifts on his feet, glancing between them uncertainly. “Overwhelming.”
Faelon isn’t smirking. His gaze is distant, like he’s recalling something unpleasant. “Sadistic.”
“Merciless,” Nyrica’s answer lands heavy. Each word paints a picture I don’t like.
I swallow hard. “Great,” I say. “He sounds just … great.”
Nyrica claps his hands together. “Now for the fun part—how to kill him.”
Thalric’s tone is measured as he answers first. “He’s heavy-footed.”
Leif nods. “He telegraphs his moves.”
“He’s quick to tire and slow to think,” Caius says.
Kiernan, despite his inexperience, speaks with certainty. “He expects fear. Don’t give it to him.”
Faelon smirks now, but it’s distinctly not flirty or friendly. It’s bitter. “He doesn’t just expect fear. He needs it to feel in control. Take that away.”
Ryot’s gaze meets mine. “He’s mortal. He dies like anyone else.”
I turn their words over in my head. Slow. Predictable. Stamina. Fear. Control. Mortality.
Thalric rakes his eyes down me. Not in a sexual way, but in a methodical way. “We need to play to your advantages, Leina. What do you think those are?”
I’m not as strong as these hulking men. Not even close, even with my Altor gifts. I’m not disciplined like they are, not honed into a weapon through years of training.
But I do know how to survive. I know how to take the hits that won’t stop coming, how to grit my teeth through the pain and the grief and keep moving. I know what it means to endure.
I lift my chin, squaring my shoulders, trying to push away the doubt. “I’m smaller,” I say. “Faster. He doesn’t expect me to last long, and he isn’t taking me seriously.”
Ryot nods, encouraging. “Good. What else?”
I flex my fingers against the hilt of the training sword. “I can think on my feet. I have to be smarter than him.”
Faelon lets out a low whistle. “That’s not a high bar.”
Caius smirks, letting out a sound that’s a mix of a laugh and a grunt.
Ryot ignores the interruption. “Maxim’s going to taunt you, wear you down, try to make you scared. That’s his game.” His voice hardens. “Don’t play.”
Thalric gives a short nod. “Use his arrogance. He expects you to be weak. Let him believe that—until you strike.”
Kiernan, standing on the edge of the group, shifts on his feet before speaking up. “If he swings wide, he’s open. You could use that.”
I exhale, taking it all in.
I’m not walking into that arena to beat Maxim. I’m walking in there to survive him.
Thalric steps back, nodding toward the open space in the training yard. He gestures Nyrica forward. “You’ll face Nyrica first. His fighting style is the most chaotic, probably the most similar to Maxim’s that we have in our cast.”
Nyrica walks toward me with easy steps. “Let’s see how you move, Leina,” he drawls, with a flash of his dimples. Then he swings his arm around and an axe that was propped against the stone wall leaps to his hand, as if they never should have been separated. Then he’s raising it high over his head and slamming it down. I leap back, breath already heaving. The axe crashes into the dirt where I’d been standing with a force that shakes the ground beneath my feet. The packed earth doesn’t only give way—it explodes in a shockwave of dust and loose gravel that’s blinding. I close my eyes against the grit, and I’m immediately shoved into the dirt, a booted foot on my back pressing me into the ground.
“Let her up,” Ryot calls from beyond the cloud of dust. The boot lifts from my back and I drag in a desperate breath, coughing on the dirt that I inhaled from the ground.
