25. TWENTY FIVE

twenty-five

HURT THINGS BITE

Daeja stalks toward me, shadows swarming around her as she approaches. In the dim starlight, it’s a menacing view. One that would have caused anyone else to turn tail and run. She stops a few feet away, tilting her head to the side as she sniffs. “ You…smell…”

I snort. “ Well if that isn’t the most pleasant way I’ve been greeted—”

“Different,” she finishes.

Maybe because... I blush as I consider how to explain it to her. All day today we shared scattered gazes across the distances separating Cole and I. A flirty grin here. A lingering stare there. A brush of a shoulder and skittering fingertips across my lower back as he passed by. It was tantalizing. And unbearable.

If I struggled pretending to be his sister before...gods, was I struggling now. Every active effort to not stare at him and reminisce of our previous night was a strain.

Daeja’s eyes narrow in comprehension. “ The Red One.”

She closes the gap between us, and I pull her down toward me, leaning my forehead against hers. My eyes fall closed, and my breath deepens. I rub her favorite spot under her chin, and a purr roars to life in her throat. It’s so much deeper and rougher…my skin quakes at the thunder of her rumbling. I pull my head back, and her glassy white eyes meet mine. Her breathy exhale blasts my hair back from my face.

“Will the Red One come with us to the Dragon Lands?”

“Yes, he’ll come with us. Cole thinks it’s about a three to four days’ trek from here to the border. Once we have a map, we’ll have a better idea of what our path will be.”

She staggers back from me with dragged blinks and sneezes. Dragon snot splatters my face, and I wipe it off with my hand.

She ducks her head. “Sorry.”

I fling the fluids off my hand onto the ground. If I fall into the lake tonight, it’d save me from a bath. Although, with our recent flight exercises, I have yet to fall into the lake again.

Yet.

My days have mostly consisted of training. Well, more like cleaning and errands with Marge. And practicing sparring in the afternoons. A few days ago, we worked on shield work. Unsurprising to me, I struggled to keep a shield up with one forearm and swing a sword with the other.

A separate day we worked on archery. As I drew the string back, the familiar wobble of my arm clutching the bow resurfaced. Immediately, I remembered the last time I attempted it: with Cole wrapped around me, his breath whispered against my neck after he restored and gifted me my mother’s bow. After I released the arrow, I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder at Cole. He was already watching with a grin, as if he was remembering it, too. And just like all my previous attempts, I pathetically missed the target.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Since injuring Nolan’s leg, Darian had been moderately tame. Whatever hold Marge had over him was clearly convincing. Then again, if Marge had so much as threatened me, I would have done cartwheels naked through the center of camp if she demanded me to.

Today is the first time we spar with nothing but our fists and feet. I still struggle to convince Archie to use more force against me. I’ve reminded him time and time again holding back doesn’t do me any favors—I have to learn somehow. While every day seems a little bit better, he’s still taking it easy on me.

“I challenge.” Darian’s voice rings out across the clearing as he nears the center where Archie and I concluded sparring. Darian sure loves to make a scene and do whatever he can to piss Cole off.

Cole glares. “No.”

Darian laughs. “Quite the protective big brother, aren’t you Red?”

“I mean it,” Cole growls. A muscle jumps in his jaw, and everyone in the crowd falls silent at the uncharacteristic threat in Cole’s voice.

“It’s fine, Cole. I can handle it myself,” I attempt to diffuse the situation. “Besides, last time we were in this circle I got the win, remember?”

Feigning confidence, I stare Darian down with clenched fists and hope it’s enough to convince everyone else I’m not scared. Maybe even myself.

“I love the confidence in this one,” Darian goads.

I jut my chin at Cole, irritated he still hasn’t moved from his spot. Reluctantly, he drops back to the edge of the audience. Rather than taking a seat like many of the onlookers, he stands next to Archie, the both of them at the ready. Like at any moment they’ll spring to my aid.

I center my breath and power my stance, clenching my hands into fists. Darian lazily walks around me, his hands open and relaxed. But the way he stalks circles around me—determination lining his steps—it’s as if he’s hunting me. A hidden hunger burns in his eyes, like he hasn’t eaten in weeks and here I am—an easy catch.

I search for a way to get myself out of this situation. With wolves, you raise your arms above your head to make yourself larger and intimidating. And with bears, you remain calm and slink away, as running will trigger their instincts. I take the latter approach and stare back, stillness rooting my feet to the ground despite every nerve screaming at me to run. My skin crawls every time he slips out of my periphery and slinks behind me, but I refuse to play his game by following his every move.

He wants me to be scared.

He wants me riled up.

As soon as I give into his intimidation is when he’ll strike. I just know it.

Hushed questions rise in the crowd, and confused looks are exchanged as Darian circles me again and again.

His pacing stops behind me, out of sight. He hums thoughtfully.

I give in, glaring at him over my shoulder. “Spare me the theatrics and get to the point.”

“You have lovely legs…” he whispers under his breath. “But I can think of better places they could be.”

I roll my eyes. “Have I given you any reason to think you can be as suggestive as you are with me? Because I assure you, I’m not interested.”

He snickers, edging dangerously closer to me. I turn forward to face away from him, picking out nervous stares from the rest of the squad positioned in front of us. Part of me is glad I can’t see Cole from this angle—he might beat Darian into the ground if I shoot him even one nervous glance.

Darian’s whisper brushes the hair on the back of my head, “Just trying to help. Your stance isn’t—”

“I don’t need your help, asshole—”

One second, I’m standing with my back turned to Darian. The next I’m knocked to the ground. He swept my legs out from under me in a lightning quick move. The muscles in my side groan in pain at the sudden collision with the earth, and I scramble to my hands and knees, shooting a daggered glare at him.

I scramble to my feet and swing a punch toward his face.

He catches my fist in his hand, his fingers wrapping around my knuckles far too easily, trapping me. “You missed, kitten.”

I snatch his throat with my other free hand, a frustrated growl escaping me. My fingers are ridiculously thin around his thick neck, but I squeeze as hard as I can.

The tip of his tongue flicks across his lower lip before he smiles deviously. “Harder.”

“What?” I hiss, flinching in bewilderment.

“I said, harder .”

Digging my nails into his skin and gritting my teeth, I sink my fingers into his throat as hard as I can.

He gazes down at me, a sneer pulling at his expression. “Really? That’s it? Pathetic. You’ll never last more than a minute.”

Did I have anger issues? Before this moment, I would have said no. But something about Darian unlocks a side of me I’ve never experienced. Never knew existed. A wild, unfettered temper I’m finding hard to comprehend. “I hate you,” I seethe.

He snorts, clearly unbothered. “Get in line, sweetheart. The line starts behind me.”

With wicked speed, he seizes the wrist of my hand wrapped around his neck and twists me into submission. I fold down, pain roaring to life in my wrist, and terror steals my breath that he might break me. But instead, he spins me to face away from him. He rips me into him, pinning my back against his chest, and restraining me with his arms.

I squirm, trying to wriggle free from his hold. When that proves futile, I throw my head back and connect it with his jaw, a new flare of pain rippling in my skull. His grip on me falters, but he hooks a leg in between mine and tears me down to the ground. Before I can roll away, he pins me onto my back. He traps my hands above my head, and my injured wrist screams under his hard grip. His hips straddle my own—it’s even more intimate than the last time we fought.

I bite my tongue to keep myself from blushing, raking my heated gaze across his barbarously smug face. Attempting to dislodge him, I buck my hips up, and he laughs.

“Must be over-compensating,” I grit out as I wriggle and strain underneath him.

“Is this you asking to test that theory? Because,” he leans down, his smooth, shaved cheek gliding against mine as he whispers into my ear, “I would be happy to oblige you.”

“Let me go,” I demand.

“Only if you beg me.”

“ Fuck you,” I spit.

“Mmm, I love that filthy little mouth of yours,” he says with a wink.

I exert all my strength and energy into rolling him to the side, but he braces against me. I’m trapped, and each of my attempts to escape is unsuccessful. Everyone stares, their attention as heavy as if it were bricks weighing me down. Embarrassment heats my cheeks, and with that triumphant grin of his, there’s no doubt he recognizes it.

Asshole.

“We’re done here,” I hiss.

He finally releases my wrists and gets off of me. As soon as I’m on my feet, I stalk off, far too mortified to try my hand at sparring again and avoiding eye contact with every person I pass.

“Hey!” Archie calls after me. “Kat! Wait. Where are you going? Are you okay?”

“Yep. Fine. Going to get some water, I left my flask in my room.” I can’t even look in his direction, I’m fuming and flustered.

“You can have some of mine? I’m happy to share?” he offers, still following me.

I toss an apologetic glance over my shoulder at him. “Thank you, but I’ll catch you at dinner.”

Once I’m in the privacy of my four walls, I push my sleeve back and dare a peek at my wrist. My hand trembles with the surging ache, and I grip my forearm, hoping the pressure will make the pain stop. Rotating my wrist slightly, I wince.

I slip off to the healer’s quadrant, avoiding the main pathways in hopes of not running into anyone. Gods forbid Darian himself. But the camp is quiet—everyone must still be sparring. As I walk into the healer’s quadrant, Marge is facing away from me and shifting things around on the counter.

She doesn’t even glance in my direction. “One of the first things I learned as an apprentice is hurt things bite.”

“I’m not hurt,” I retort, trying to ignore the throb in my wrist.

“I wasn’t referring to you. ” She finally turns to me and tosses me a folded bandage.

I catch the dressing with a terse, awkward nod and wrap it around my wrist tightly. I’m not quite sure what to say, so I ask the first thing that comes to my mind. “What were you talking about when you told Darian you’d cut him off?”

She stops whatever she’s been organizing and stares at the wall for a long, considering moment before turning her attention to me. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

I nod, regretting having asked it and turn to walk out.

“You two have more similarities than you think,” she says.

I pause a few steps from the door. “What are you talking about?”

“I know you and Cole lost your mother. So did he.”

I glance at her over my shoulder. “And how would you know that?”

“I’ve known Darian since he was a boy. He wasn’t always like who he is today. We either outgrow our grief, or our grief outgrows us.”

I turn to face her fully. “Doesn’t give him the right to be an asshole to everyone.”

She shrugs. “You’re not wrong. His sister was always my favorite, anyhow.”

“Was? How did she die?”

“Well, she didn’t really die,” Marge murmurs. She grabs a vial in the cabinet and brings it to me.

I swallow its contents without question. The liquid numbs my throat as it slides down, and a tingle sings in my veins. The pain in my wrist dissipates, and she directs me to go clean the empty vial.

“Then why did you say ‘was ?’” I call over my shoulder as I scrub the glass vial.

Her voice dips with sadness. “She’s in a coma. Has been for over ten years. I’m not quite sure what she would be like now...”

“Oh…” I respond awkwardly. “I’m sorry to hear that—”

The door bursts open, and we both whip toward the sound.

Gavin pops his head in, his black hair falling into his eyes. “Marge, Katerina. Blackfell has been breached by rebels. We’re called for an emergency meeting near the outlook tower.”