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“It’s just practice,” Niah assured her.
Gwen hadn’t even heard her come up behind her. She briefly startled and looked at the vampire over her shoulder, who was glaring down at the scene below. “The dragon’s form is sloppy,” Niah observed.
Gwen turned to look back down just as Barith swung down hard at Sirus. Gwen’s heart leapt, and she was tempted to yell a warning. Instead, she simply gasped in a shallow breath as Sirus brought his two swords up to take on the blow and twisted his body, revealing each defined ab. A rush of heat spread through her. Barith stumbled and had to flap his wings to keep from falling over. It was so barbaric and utterly glorious all at once.
“For as long as I’ve known those two, and as infuriating as they can be,” Levian said, “even I still enjoy watching them spar from time to time.” She smiled, a twinkle of something wicked in her eyes as she glanced over to Gwen. “It’s not often you get to see a dragon and a vampire putting on such a show, after all.”
Gwen swallowed a lump in her throat. Her heart was beating entirely too fast, and her insides felt like the center of a lava cake. It really wasn’t fair that a man could look so…tempting.
“We can go out and cheer them on if you’d like a closer look?” the mage offered with a hint of dark amusement.
Yes! Dear god, yes. Gwen spun on her heel, sidestepped Niah, and stalked back to her chair, her hands shaking. “No, thanks,” she replied with a small crack in her voice. Lusting over Sirus was the last thing she should be doing. So what if he was the hottest guy she’d ever met? She needed to focus.
“Just as well,” Levian mused, still peering out the window. “I imagine they’ll wear themselves out before long, anyway. In the meantime”—she turned to face Gwen—“let’s get down to business, shall we?”
Gwen’s stomach tightened, pushing out the warmth she’d felt a moment before and replacing it with a tangle of nerves. Something about the mage’s determined expression unsettled her. She swallowed her unease. Gwen knew she needed to focus on salvaging what tatters of her life remained. She’d done enough frolicking and avoiding the truths of her situation. It was time to get some answers. To come up with a plan.
Niah turned her back to the window and looked to Gwen. Though the vampire’s expression was fairly blank, Gwen could sense her curiosity.
She gave a hesitant nod. “Where do we start?”
* * *
“Tired?” Barith asked between labored breaths.
Sirus held his blades at the ready.
“Me neither,” the dragon wheezed, sweat running down his face and torso.
“You’re still leaving your left open,” he reminded the dragon as they took positions.
Barith cursed and spat on the ground. “Save the lessons. We’re only here because I need to burn off that fucking fae wine. Now, are we going to fight, or are you going to keep yapping?”
Sirus had agreed to Levian’s plan to take Gwendolyn out despite his better judgment. He’d understood the mage’s thinking. That perhaps she could get Gwendolyn to warm to her. To get comfortable. If Levian was going to aid in deducing more about the woman’s magicks, she would need her cooperation. Her trust.
The glamour Levian had given her had been effective but unpleasant. He’d followed them the entire day. To shops and restaurants and tourist spots. Always lurking in the shadows, watching for even a whisper of trouble. Watching her. Lingering outside a posh lingerie store for over a half hour had been the final test of his patience. The mage had known he was following them.
The moment they’d returned, Barith met him in the hall looking surly and bedraggled, as he often did after too much drink. When the dragon had requested a round of sparring to help burn off the remaining fae wine that lurked in his blood, Sirus had been happy to oblige him.
Barith came at him once more with both weight and speed. Their swords met, sending sharp echoes across the garden. Sirus twisted and moved with agility while Barith swung with the power of a mountain.
The dragon had always been a skilled fighter, and his skill had only improved over the centuries, but he continued to favor his right side. If Barith wouldn’t heed Sirus’s advice and learn, he would suffer and learn.
Barith’s broad sword came down, and Sirus saw it play out before their blades crossed. He met the blow with his own two swords, pressing the strike wide with his shoulder before running his left blade with precision clean across the dragon’s exposed torso.
With a snarl and a rabid curse, Barith broke away. He looked down to find a thin trickle of blood seeping down his stomach. “Shite! You know that will scar!”
“A reminder, then,” Sirus replied.
The dragon poked at the wound to assess the damage. The cut was shallow and only a half finger in length, but Barith was right—it would scar. All cuts from enchanted fae silver did, even against immortal skin.
“It’ll remind me how much of an arse you are,” Barith bit out. The dragon spat out another curse as he stalked over to his jug of water. “If Niah is to blame for your foul mood?—”
“Guard your left,” Sirus repeated.
The dragon grumbled. “You’ve been growling that for years, yet I’ve managed to keep blades out of my ribs. We both know no one else would get near enough for that strike.”
“Niah would,” Sirus pointed out. All of his kin were quick and skilled with blades. Sirus did not count himself unique in his abilities. Barith was just lucky he’d not fought many vampires.
