29. Danica

Danica

29

R hyland saunters into the clearing, that wolfish grin already plastered on his face like a billboard advertising his cocky confidence. "Ready to get your cute little ass kicked again?" he taunts, his voice dripping with playful arrogance.

I roll my eyes but can't help mirroring his smirk, the thrill of the challenge already coursing through my veins. Twirling my daggers with a flourish that's half skill, half showmanship, I sass back, "Keep dreaming, Nordi-licious. I'm so gonna wipe that smug look off your face."

We've been going head-to-head all week, sparring and honing our combat skills to a razor's edge while awaiting that fateful summons from the Sun Court. And now, with the arrival of that golden envelope at dawn, the stage is set for today's battle—a final test of our mettle before we embark on the next leg of our journey.

Keeping the crown concealed is second nature now, the weight of it a constant presence in the back of my mind. I've also woven it into my hair on days I want to show it off. The glimmering strands plaited into some badass warrior braids that make me feel like a goddamn Valkyrie. This power has melded into my very being, a part of me as much as my own heartbeat.

Rhyland circles me, his eyes roaming over the daggers, spinning through my grip with a predatory gleam. "Those little knives won't save you, sweetheart," he taunts, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down my spine.

"We'll see about that, won't we?" I pivot on the balls of my feet, mirroring his predatory movements with a grace born of hours of practice and a healthy dose of adrenaline.

The forest seems to hold its breath as we stalk each other, the air thick with tension and anticipation. My pulse thrums with the intoxicating fusion of fear and excitement that only Rhyland can inspire, a heady cocktail that makes me feel alive in ways I never knew possible.

He strikes first, his sword cutting through the air with blinding speed. But I'm ready for him, deflecting the blow with an upraised dagger. The clang of impact reverberates through my bones like a bell.

"Too slow, baby," Rhyland rumbles, grinning as he unleashes a furious combination—jab, cross, hook—that would have laid me out flat a week ago.

But I'm not the same girl I was then. I weave away from his blows like a dancer, his knuckles hissing past my cheek with a whisper of displaced air. Twisting at the last second, I rake my blade toward his ribs, seeking to slip past his guard and score a hit.

But he's already clear, the deadly arc of my dagger finding only empty space. Damn, his lightning reflexes.

"Gonna have to try harder than that," he tsks, circling again with that damn sexy swagger of his that makes me want to kiss him and kick his ass in equal measure.

Fine, if he wants to play, then play we shall.

I charge with a feral yell, my daggers whirling in a blur of silver death. Rhyland backpedals, deflecting each lethal slice with his lightning reflexes, his own blade a streak of gleaming steel in the dappled sunlight. Our blades clash and part, the staccato rhythm of combat echoing through the trees like a savage symphony.

Then Rhyland overcommits on a swipe, exposing his flank for a single, precious breath. I seize the moment and drive my heel toward his exposed ribs, putting every ounce of strength and speed into the blow.

Rhyland twists away, but not quite far enough—I feel the solid thunk of impact against his side, a glancing blow that nonetheless sends a thrill of satisfaction through me.

"Sonuvabitch!" he grunts, stumbling back a step, his hand going to his ribs. Pride surges through me at drawing first blood, so to speak, a fierce joy that's almost primal in its intensity.

Of course, I should've known better than to let my guard down, even for a moment. In a heartbeat, Rhyland recovers and charges back like an enraged bull, his fists thunderous pistons loaded with enough force to shatter bone.

I duck and dodge, curving away from the onslaught with a dancer's grace. Still, he's inexorable, driving me back toward the treeline with a relentless fury that's both terrifying and exhilarating.

A vicious punch wings past my ear with a whistle of displaced air, close enough to ruffle my hair. Rhyland crowds me, his body a solid wall of corded muscle and Viking ferocity, his eyes blazing with a savage light that sends shivers down my spine.

I feint left, then cut right, aiming desperately for his face with a slashing blow that would lay open any normal man's cheek to the bone. But Rhyland is no normal man, and he bats my blade aside like an annoying gnat, a dismissive gesture that only fuels my determination.

And then, with a savage grunt, he's on me, his body slamming into mine with the force of a freight train. We crash together, all tangled limbs and savage grappling, our breaths mingling in harsh pants as we struggle for dominance.

His iron grip captures my wrists, holding them apart as I struggle against his superior strength, my muscles screaming with effort. Our faces are bare inches apart, my breaths coming in ragged gasps that fan across his chiseled cheeks, his eyes boring into mine with an intensity that steals the air from my lungs.

"Not...bad..." he rumbles, his voice a low growl that vibrates through my bones. "But I'm still holding back, baby."

"Oh yeah?" I bare my teeth in a feral grin, my heart pounding with a fierce, savage joy. "Well, I'm not."

And with that, I call upon that blossoming power within me, that strange and wondrous gift that's become as much a part of me as my own heartbeat. I feel the world downshift around me, time slowing to a viscous trickle as my senses expand outward, taking in every detail with crystal clarity.

Rhyland's crushing grip now moves at a snail's pace, his preternatural speed rendered impotent by my newfound abilities. With almost languid ease, I twist free of his grasp and whirl behind him, a ghost slipping through the frozen flow of combat.

As the moment reasserts itself, I drive my elbow toward the base of Rhyland's spine with every ounce of momentum I can muster, putting my body's full force and power behind the blow.

He jolts forward with a surprised grunt, staggering away as the world returns to its normal speed, his hand reaching the small of his back. Whirling to face me, disbelief wars with delight across those chiseled features, his eyes wide with a mixture of shock and admiration.

"Well, shit!" The curse is tinged with a breathless laugh. "Where'd you pick up that nifty little trick?" Rhyland shakes his head, a rueful chuckle escaping his lips. "Damn, woman," he says, his voice tinged with a fierce pride that warms me to my core. "You never cease to amaze me."

I blow a stray lock of hair from my eyes, grinning at his reaction. "Just one of my many talents, babe. You should see what else I can do."

"Oh, I can't wait." Rhyland shakes off the momentary shock, hunger flaring in those azure depths as he stalks toward me again, his movements low and coiled like a panther.

Our dance resumes with fevered intensity, attacks and counterattacks unfolding in a lethal ballet—the kind that could only exist between two warriors so intimately attuned. I channel that strange power, manipulating time to eke out the slimmest advantages, while Rhyland counters with sheer ferocity and preternatural reflexes honed over centuries of combat.

We're both gasping, sweat-slicked bodies glistening as we batter against each other's defenses. Yet there's an electric undercurrent, a primal tension that has nothing to do with our spar.

With a well-timed pivot, I manage to slip inside Rhyland's reach. My dagger flashes up in a decisive arc, the razor edge drawing a thin line of crimson against the sculpted plane of his chest.

He hisses through his teeth, more in surprise than pain, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second. I freeze for a beat, regretting my savage intent, wondering if I've gone too far or pushed too hard.

But then his lips curve in a slow, predatory smile, and the hunger in his gaze robs me of breath, stealing the air from my lungs and the thoughts from my head.

"Well, well..." That velvet rumble caresses me like a physical touch, sending shivers of anticipation down my spine. "Looks like my Angel has some fire after all."

I open my mouth to reply, to toss back some witty retort or sassy comeback, but any words die stillborn as Rhyland closes the gap between us in a blink, his body a blur of speed and strength.

My daggers clatter to the ground, forgotten, as his powerful arms sweep me against that roped expanse of muscle and scorching skin, his heat enveloping me like a furnace.

Our mouths clash in a searing kiss that tastes of desperation and desire, of passion and promise, and something deeper that smolders with the promise of so much more. I melt into him, yielding beneath the onslaught of sensation—the slick heat of his tongue, the dizzying taste of him, the merciless strength that pins me immobile yet threatens to unravel me from the inside out.

When we finally part, I'm dizzy and reeling, my head spinning and my heart pounding like a drum. Rhyland's forehead rests against mine, his breaths coming in harsh pants that mirror my own ragged gasps for air, our chests heaving in unison.

"I've got you," he rumbles softly, his voice a low chord strummed just for me, a promise and a prayer all in one.

And I hear the layers in those words, the silent promise that stretches far beyond our playful skirmish and into love, loyalty, and connection. A promise that says he'll always be there and always have my back, no matter what challenges we may face.

I give his chest a playful shove, hamming up the drama with mock annoyance that clashes with the grin I can't hide.

"So it seems," I admit, even as I fight to suppress a smile, my lips twitching with the effort. "But only because you cheated with vampire speed."

He flashes me a grin, a picture of smug satisfaction. His eyes dance with mischief and something deeper, something that makes my heart skip a beat.

"All's fair in love and war," he quips, echoing a truth as old as time yet never quite so literal—or thrilling—as it is in this moment between us, this perfect, shining moment that feels like a gift. "Not bad for a cute human," he husks out, the words both teasing and reverent, a contradiction that sends a thrill through my veins.

Mustering what little defiance I can, I shoot him a look from under my lashes, my eyes narrowed in a playful glare. "I'll show you cute, Mister Fang-and-Claw," I growl, my voice a low purr that's half threat, half promise.

His only response is a low, rumbling laugh that sends delicious tremors coursing through me, a sound that's equal parts amusement and anticipation. And I know, in that moment, that the game's far from over between us, that this is just the beginning of something wild and wonderful and wholly our own.

In the distance, the trees rustle in the cool forest breeze, spectators to the next thrilling round of our eternal spar, our endless dance of love and war, and everything in between. As I gaze up at Rhyland, the man who holds my heart and future in his hands, I feel a fierce, wild joy rising inside me, a joy born of love, laughter, and the thrill of the fight.