Page 116 of Blade of the Nightking

Without so much as a gesture, the shards of glass scattered across the floor skittered harmlessly aside. He rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt, exposing his lean, muscular forearms.

“I’m not fighting you.” I took an involuntary step back.

“I doubt Segolayne will be eager to resume your lessons after that slash you gave her. Firstborn magic doesn’t heal.”

Guilt twisted in my stomach. It had happened again. I'd lost control.

I took another step back.

“If you don’t get over here right now, your reading lessons with Levinica are over. For good.”

No. Not that.

He already knew the threat would land. He knew exactly where to stick the knife, and the bastard drove it straight in.

Furious, I stalked toward the mat. As I crossed the room, the remaining bits of glass slid neatly out of my path so they wouldn’t slice into my bare feet. The precision of it unsettled me almost as much as the sheer force of his power—that terrifying, effortless control over every little thing around him.

I planted my feet in the stance Segolayne had drilled into me.

He tossed me one of the daggers. I missed it entirely. The weapon slipped through my fingers and hit the mat with an embarrassing thud.

“This bodes well.”

Heat flooded my face. Grinding my teeth, I snatched the dagger from the floor.

“What if my magic rises again?” I asked. Only part of me was worried—the rest of me hoped it did. Hoped it would scorch those arrogant, darkly arched brows straight off his face.

He shrugged, unconcerned. “It won’t hurt me.”

“How do you know?”

“Because our lives are tethered,” he said, disgust flickering briefly across his features. “And because I’m your mate.”

“Aedric is my mate.”

He gave a quiet, mocking snort. “Good luck with that.”

My grip tightened so hard around the dagger my knuckles ached.

“I hope I smite you into the ground.”

“You’re welcome to try.”

With a furious sound, I lunged. I slashed for his ribs—but he stepped aside so effortlessly it looked almost lazy. My blade carved through empty air.

“Painfully slow,” he said.

I spun and struck again, aiming higher this time, but he caught my wrist before the blade could reach him. His grip was steel. He twisted lightly, not enough to hurt, but enough for me to drop the dagger onto the mat. He released me with a shove that made me stumble backward with a curse.

“Predictable.”

Rage flashed white-hot through me.

He surveyed me calmly, coldly, his face devoid of emotion. He nodded to the blade, lying between us, a dark curl of his hair falling across his forehead.

I snatched it up and reset my stance, and then I attacked again. Faster this time. Segolayne’s drills hammered through my mind as I slashed low, then high, pivoting exactly the way she’d taught me.

For half a second, I thought I’d actually managed to corner him.