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“Apparently.” He tsked. “Now it’s scuffed. Try to catch it next time.”
He was impossible—insinuating I was to blame. As if I was the one who had casually thrown a razor-sharp object at another person. As if that was normal. He made me want to scream. Or commit murder. Taking a deep, slow breath, I pocketed my newfound murderous tendencies and faced him.
“Wouldn’t it be better to use props first?” I palmed the hilt, getting comfortable with its weight.
Talon arched a brow. “Why would we do that?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” I contorted my face with mock contemplation. “You could’ve hurt me?”
Something resembling amusement flashed across his face, and he gave me a half-shrug. If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve bet that was his goal.
“Sword up.” Talon’s face twisted back into neutrality.
I leveraged the sword off the ground and rested it against my shoulder, the cold metal burning my skin through my top.
He shook his head, displeased. “Open your legs,” Talon demanded. Sliding his hand between my knees, he pushed them apart and pulled my right leg forward toward him.
Heat flooded my body as I tried not to squirm.
“A good stance will give you leverage and better control.” He stepped back and pulled his sword out. “When I go up, you go under. I’m going to switch it up randomly and increase my speed. Stay alert.”
His blade flashed in front of me as I fidgeted with my grip.
I stepped back, but he matched my stride and took one of his own toward me, cutting his sword through the air again.
“Hold on,” I urged. “I don’t have a good grip.”
“If you still think for one minute any of the other competitors will care when it’s your life or theirs, you’re poorly mistaken.” He swung the blade at me again.
I lifted the sword out of pure frustration and met the motion of his attack, straining my arms to keep as steady as possible. Our swords clashed.
Talon nodded. “Perfect. Again.”
Each swing became easier than the last, and the untamed delight in his smile told me I was doing something right. My blood buzzed as he picked up speed, and I matched his pace. He stepped toward me, and I backed up before he could get close, learning to read his cues to expect his next move.
Over.
Under.
Under.
Over.
It was rhythmic. Calming—like I was observing myself from above. Talon’s concentration never left my gaze, squinting with unrelenting focus. His attentive eyes would’ve been a distraction if I weren’t so keenly aware that one wrong move would leave my blood at his feet.
Over.
Over.
My wrist was burning from the repetitive back-and-forth movements as we migrated throughout the room. Just when I thought I’d gotten the hang of it, Talon jabbed the tip of the sword toward my center.
I lurched back, ducking to avoid the strike as he aimed it above my head.
“What was that?” I demanded as we fell back into the basic swordplay I’d gotten used to.
“Don’t let yourself get comfortable. Always be on the lookout for the unexpected.”
My brows pulled together. I mimicked his movement, thrusting the sword toward his center and around his head. “Like that?” I asked.
