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“If we’re done with Ruskin’s little tantrum, I’m ready to go cut your Master down to size, boys.” He did like ceremony. She had to suppress the desire to roll her eyes. The practice yard had been lined with unnecessary torches, and he had the four vampires each take a corner, like an honor guard. Except she noted they all kept their weapons, an assortment of pistols, rifles and knifes.
“Don’t think you can beat me on your own, Ruskin?” she asked contemptuously. “Not that you’ve already made that patently obvious, by how you’ve tried to weaken me. It must twist your cowardly gullet, knowing you fear a woman’s blade.” Lord Charles, on the other side of the tourney area, gave her a disdainful look. “You are a fair hand with a blade. While I’m better, stronger and faster, I’m not going to leave my victory to skill alone. No wise leader ever did that. The elements of luck and surprise have been known to favor the less deserving.”
“Well, at least that explains why you were allowed to become Region Master.” Without waiting for response, Danny took position on the mark that had been etched approximately fifteen feet away. Ruskin shed his coat and took up an en garde stance mirroring hers, his eyes glittering. He’d chosen his own saber this time, but had opted for one blade versus her two, perhaps indicating his confidence, or just that he’d never learned to fight with two. “I will take such pleasure in bringing you to heel.”
“God, you’ve got tickets on yourself. Nurse that fantasy when I take your head.” He leaped forward on a simple attack and she met him, changing her crossed sword stance to a dual sweep across the body that deflected his blade as she spun, bringing the one down toward his calf even as he recovered and came overhand at her upper body.
She caught that but felt the shock of it reverberate through her shoulder. Danny ducked under and spun, but he pinked her, tearing a hole in the sleeve of the shirt. She rolled back as he roared, lunging forward. When she brought the hilt up, she took his blade on the guard with enough force she thought her wrist might have cracked.
He’s strong, well rested. Outthink him, you idiot.
As she admonished herself, they circled, engaged. Danny countered the increasing complexity of his attacks with parry and riposte, use of her blade and quickness, but her recovery time was off. Thank God her footwork was holding, but she couldn’t get herself positioned for counterattack. She found herself quickly on the defensive, which she knew would wear her out in time. He knew it, too, his lips curving in a smug smile.
Though she knew it unwise, she let anger and frustration give her renewed energy, and lunged, scoring a slash across his chest, damaging his shirt, but he twisted away, came back and sliced her side, causing her to cry out and stumble, momentarily unsure if he’d damaged her spine.
He was back on her, and she rolled backward, coming up in a half squat, one blade extended, the other pulled back to her ear, holding it in the upper line of defense, and he snarled, slashing across, which knocked the lower blade free and sent it clattering across the cobblestones. She surged up, coming inside his defenses. Punching him in the jaw with the guard, she nicked his ear with the blade before they sprung apart and circled again.
Her breathing was labored, while his eyes were alight with the victory he knew was coming, the simmering anger in his eyes promising her hell on earth. When she lunged again, he was ready.
After another hour of these tactics, she knew she wasn’t going to win. It was creeping into the back of her mind, despite herself.
She could force him to finish her. She’d rather die than . . .
No, she wasn’t losing this match, and even if she did, she owed Devlin. She wouldn’t take the coward’s way out, no matter what.
He tensed his back leg, an indication of lunge, and she was ready with the riposte and parry when it came, but instead of checking himself against her blades, he plowed forward, locking their blades together, wrist to wrist, and used the brute force of his body to knock her backward, take them both to the stones. When he got her there with the unexpected move, he had his body full on hers.
Danny promptly reared up, seized his ear in her fangs and snapped her head back. With a howl, he rolled away and she spat the flesh out of her mouth, managed to get to her feet as he came at her again. She got one arm up in time, but he came down on it like a crashing wave, enough to crush her. She cried out and fell. Though she scrambled to get up, he shoved her back and slammed his boot down on her throat, the sword point hovering over her eye.
“Yield, Lady Danny. You are outmatched.”
“I think not yet.”
24
LORD Ruskin’s head snapped up toward the imperious and unmistakable voice of Lady Lyssa. Danny caught his foot, wrenched it, heaving him off her and sending him stumbling back as she brought her sword up. Their blades crossed, a holding point, and Charles turned his attention to his visitors again, registering Lord Alistair and Dev behind the vampire queen.
“My lord, Lady Lyssa,” the terrified butler stammered, “she insisted on being seen into your presence at once. I could not—” Dev noted that Lord Charles had a Herculean struggle to rein back his irritation at being interrupted. Though Alistair had made himself quite clear, Dev supposed he should be grateful for the crushing grip the vampire had on his arm, which had kept him from rushing the field and leaping on Ruskin himself when he took Danny down.
Now the Northwest Territory Region Master stepped back from Lady Danny, putting several paces between them. Dev assumed it was to give the appearance that they’d interrupted a civilized fencing match. Danny was paler than he’d ever seen her, obviously weak and injured, though they hadn’t been fencing long enough to warrant that. It looked like she’d been drained of blood. The bloody bastard. Dev had seen her fight, and the few minutes they’d seen as they came in wasn’t her best fighting, not by a long shot. Her speed was down, and her strength was lacking. If anything, Ruskin was likely getting off on toying with her, or she had superb footwork, enough to make him fight for his impending stolen victory.
“Lord Ruskin, it appears you have a territory matter in process,” Alistair noted smoothly. “I understand Lady Daniela challenged you to a fair duel for an insult done to her. While you are allowed as Region Master to answer such a duel, I believe it is only fair play that she be allowed to fight you on the terms she has offered. Which”—his gaze went to Danny’s pallor—“does not appear to be the case.”
“I am not responsible for the condition in which she comes to me to offer her challenge.” Lord Charles shrugged. “If she has not fed as she should, that is her own handicap.”
“Well, being the sporting gentleman that you are, I’m sure you won’t mind a recess to offer us a welcoming cup of wine and allow her to regain some of her strength with the assistance of her servant, will you? Then we can come back here and enjoy watching what appears to be a truly excellent match. If honor is satisfied after that, and you are the victor, we will escort the properly chastised Lady Danny back home.”
“You do not have the authority to set such terms. This is my Region—”
“But I do.” Lady Lyssa pinned Ruskin with her gaze, held it there with ice-cold intent until he shifted his own gaze with little grace, unable to match her power. “As liaison to the Council, I even have the right to stop this bout if I deem it disadvantageous to their interests.”
“With all due respect, great lady, I do not believe the Council has invested you with that power, either. You did not allow them to grant you such influence.” Ruskin’s voice held satisfaction underneath the barbed words of deference. “I do pay attention to Council communiqués. Quite closely.”
“You are correct,” she said, unruffled. “But by the same rules you yourself have exercised to unfairly weigh this match in your favor, I can cross this courtyard and rip your head from your shoulders before you have a chance to blink. And no one here will go against me when I report to the Council the unfortunate nature of your passing. You do not have a good reputation, Lord Charles. I would not test me.”
Dev felt the cold wind that moved through the courtyard, as if ice attended her words. It was obvious she had not issued an idle threat. At the four corners, the other vampires shifted, disturbed, even as Lord Charles sent them a quelling look.
He brought his sword up, an ungracious salute. “Well, then, I welcome you to my home. If you will come with me, I will see to your refreshment, while Lady Danny is attended by her servant. But she will not leave this courtyard, and I only agree to a half-hour break of the bout.”
“That seems hardly—” Alistair started.
“That will be enough,” Danny cut in. When she got to her feet, Dev detected a slight sway as she made it upright, but her pale face was resolute. “One half hour, my lord. Go take your last cup of wine. I’d make it one of your favorites, because as far as I know, there are no libations in hell.”
Lord Charles’s lip curled back. “That’s the last order you’ll ever give me, whore.”
“You will give her the privacy of this courtyard with her servant,” Lyssa said sharply. “Your cronies will come with us or wait elsewhere. She has acted with honor in coming here and requesting the duel. If she gives us her word she will not leave the courtyard, she won’t.”
“Yes, my lady,” Danny confirmed. Lyssa glanced at her. From that look, Dev had a feeling that if Danny survived this, she might be in for an equally terrifying dressing-down from the vampire queen.
Lord Charles made a curt gesture to the four vampire males, and they moved to the nearest exit from the courtyard area, disappearing. Then he turned and swept his arm forward. While his gesture bordered on rude, Lyssa and Alistair let it pass, accompanying him from the courtyard, though Lyssa gave Dev an even look before they departed. “Give her what she needs,” she said.
The second they vanished, Dev lunged into the battlefield, for Danny fell to one knee, the blade clattering to the ground. He caught her before she could join it there, and felt somewhat relieved when her hands clutched his arms. “You are an idiot,” he informed her. “No offense, my lady. Ah, Jesus.” This close, holding her, he could see how truly pale she was, the glassiness of her eyes, the faint tremor in her body. “A half hour’s not going to be enough.”
