Page 85 of Wings of Ash & Flame
Perfect.
Alaire deflected his blows, her daggers crisscrossing to absorb the power of his strikes. Each impact sent vibrations up her arms, proof of his strength, even if he was off his game.
She stepped back, breaths quick but controlled, mind racing through her options. Ending this quickly was paramount; any prolonged effort against brute strength would only wear her down. When Caius raised his sword for another heavy blow, she saw her opening.
His moves were all aggression.
She ducked low, rolled across the mats, and sprang to her feet. Her left blade aimed for a vulnerable spot, slicing a shallow but precise cut that drew a thin line of blood. He swung in retaliation, but his greatsword whistled harmlessly past her shoulder.
“Looks like you’re dripping,” she chirped, glancing toward Professor Hawthorne. “First blood was drawn. Shouldn’t this be?—”
The look cost her. Caius yanked her braid, dragging her back as the tip of his sword pressed against her neck hard enough to draw a bead of blood.
His rage was personal.
Alaire went limp in his grip, letting him think he’d won, then twisted sharply, driving her elbow into his ribs. The impact loosened his hold just enough for her to duck under his arm and retreat.
“Cheat shot,” he rasped, rubbing his side.
“Effective shot,” she corrected.
His training finally began to override his emotional sloppiness, but the wrath of being bested—especially by a half-human female—fueled his movements. He swung again. She pivoted, avoiding the blade, though it sliced through her leathers without drawing blood.
She kept her daggers leveled at him, sprinting forward. His eyes widened as she slid through the space between his legs, tapping him lightly on the back with the flat of her blade.
Relishing the move, she didn’t see the blunt edge of his sword connect with her knee until she crashed to the mats, one dagger skidding away.
Rookie mistake.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kaia retrieve the blade and move toward the mat’s edge.
“Ms. Moore, there’s to be no interference,” Hawthorne said, eyes fixed forward.
“She’s bleeding. The fight should be over,” Kaia shot back, pacing the sideline.
“My classroom. My rules.”
Caius’s gaze snapped to Kaia. For a split second, his guard dropped completely, confusion—and something else, hurt?—flickering across his face.
Alaire seized the opening, hooking her foot behind his leg and shoving him backward. Off balance, he crashed to the mats with a grunt, the sound echoing across the room.
Before he could retaliate, her dagger was at his throat.
They stared at each other. Pride and anger warred in his eyes.
“Do you yield, or shall we continue?” she asked.
His glance flicked to the crowd, and she didn’t have to look to know whose eyes he sought.
“I yield,” he spat, turning away from the blade. “But don’t think for a second this is over.”
“Said every man who’s ever been bested by a woman,” she muttered, stepping back and letting her daggers fall to the mat. She offered a hand; he ignored it, rising on his own.
The crowd murmured, their earlier amusement now tinged with surprise. Caius stalked away, pride bruised.
“Well done,” Professor Hawthorne remarked, his gaze appraising.
Alaire wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm. “Thanks. Though I thought this was supposed to end when first blood was drawn?”
