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I can’t complain. Bodin wears a thin linen work shirt, the laces untied. He’s impervious to the cold. Must have blood made from ice. He’s no seven-foot vampire Haze, but he’s thicker and taller than the other Sluagh. Fox is lither with tightly coiled whip-sharp strength. Once I start the comparisons, I can’t stop.
Fox has woken a hunger in me. Last night, I tossed and turned, unable to get him out of my head. His expert fingers.His complete, utter devotion to making me feel good. With his tongue.
The wolf in me is restless and eager to return to him, but I need more time to build trust.
“Enough.” Bodin’s deep voice cuts through the crisp air. He leans an elbow on a wooden fence by the stables, scrutinizing me from afar.
“Thank fuck,” I mumble and stop, bending at the waist to wheeze and pant. “I’m definitely out of shape.”
Fox’s confession about their past makes sense. He even had a damn history book to back him up. It changes everything. Or, at the very least, forces me to rethink my perspective. One that has nothing to do with his tongue.
Or his lips.
Or his?—
“Choose a weapon,” Bodin grunts out as he strolls onto the grass and pivots to watch me.
Weapon? I scan the ground and find a collection before a rosebush. Nothing too lethal. I skip the wooden practice swords and go straight for the steel dagger, spinning it in my palm to test the weight.
“Metal,” I note, then point it at Bodin’s Guardian teardrop. “What’s the deal with it here in Avorlorna?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a Guardian. Shouldn’t you police forbidden substances so mana can flow from the Well properly?”
“The Wellspring?” He scratches his jaw, confused.
My blade lowers. Titania’s spell makes him forget his basic Guardian duties. I try a different tactic. “What would you do if you learned metal and plastics blocked the flow of magic from the Well... spring. Wellspring?”
“What is plastic?”
I sigh.
“Never mind.” I circle him. There’s no point explaining an old-world product if he can’t remember the condition of his blessing in the first place. “Have you heard other Radiants complain about their magic not working or for it to hurt when they touch metal?”
Recognition flashes in his eyes, but then it’s gone. “Enough talking. Show me your so-called calamity.”
We go two fast rounds of me trying and failing to stab him before he orders me to choose another weapon. The Knight Marshal is light on his feet. It’s much of the same for the next hour. No conversation, just testing, watching, and judging.
“Return the sword.” The stalwart grump is a male of few words today.
I bite my retort and do as I’m told. The faster I get this over with, the better.
“Willow.”
“Yes, Bodin?” I spin to face him.
His eyes narrow as he reminds, “Sir.”
“Sir.”
A muscle ticks in his jaw. His gaze flicks to my lips, then back up.
“Why are you less recalcitrant?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“You are amenable to training and addressing your superiors correctly.” He gestures at my attire. “You wear appropriate clothing.”
