Such folly.
“Can’t you just ...make another?”
“No,” he says from behind, and I whirl, body bracing for impact. “That Snow Oak was imported from the Deep South years ago when there were still regular trading ships trekking down the River Norse. I know the new ones sound a little sharper, but you’ll just have to make do.”
My eyes narrow on his presumed whereabouts. “I’m sure you used a similar excuse three years ago when we changed from Inglewood to White Maple ...”
His sword whistles toward me again, and I intercept, our blades dragging as he pulls away. The sharp sound scrapes into me,infectsme, raking a shiver through my entire body.
Mind emptying, I scurry backward.
“Stop!”
A burst of wind skims up my spine, flicking my ponytail, lifting the hairs on the back of my neck.
“The cliff is just behind you ...”
My heart lurches and I leap forward, squealing.
Baze releases a deep chuckle that has me snatching off the blindfold and tossing it over the edge of the cliff that was, in fact,right behind me.
All humor melts off his face as he strides forward and watches the thing flutter away on a whip of wind. “Well, that was immature.”
“Good riddance,” I snip, keeled over from my near-death experience.
That isnotthe type of exhilaration I was chasing.
Baze sighs so loud I can hear it over another gust of wind driving up the cliff. “Fine, have it your way.” He turns from the drop and widens his feet, lowering himself into a fighting stance, flashing me a lupine smile. “Fastit is.”
I loosen my shoulders and shake off the last of my blood-chilling fear, spurred on by the sadistic challenge forging in his sharp eyes. “Finally—”
“But you complain about that swordone more time,” he interrupts, “and l trade it in for something much, much worse.”
I open my mouth, close it again.
He made the same threat two years ago, and I didn’t take him seriously. Later that day, I watched in wide-eyed horror as he flung that sword over my Safety Line, knowing full well I wouldn’t step across and retrieve the damn thing.
The next day, he handed me one twice as loud, almost twice as heavy, and it took me six months to adjust ...
I faux button my lips.
“These honey buns are thebest.” I lick buttery filling from my fingers, the creamy explosion making the muscles under my tongue tingle.
Baze lifts a brow, drawing a sip of water and placing his glass back on the table next to a plate of scrambled eggs. “Cook is far too fond of you. After this morning’s workout, you should be fueling yourself with protein. Not”—he scrunches his face, nostrils flaring—”thatcrap.”
Ignoring the rest of the colorful spread, I reach for the pile of buns near the base of a silver candelabra, stuff two in my mouth, and throw him a winning smile.
Baze shakes his head and sighs. “Rhordyn doesn’t pay me enough.”
The big doors swing open, spewing light and a tall, robust male now stalking toward the long, obsidian table we’re dining at.
I have to squint to battle the morning glare, but I don’t need to see his features to know who it is. I know by the way he walks—like a fearless beast tracking through his den, reinstating his dominance. I know by the way all the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end from air now charged with a chilling tension I hate to love.
Twin thuds echo through the spacious room, and the doors ricochet closed again, barricading the sun.
I swallow my mouthful, watch every smooth, powerful stride, feel the blood drain from my cheeks when I realize he’s headed toward the setting at the table’s head.
An empty silver plate set to accept his presence. His meal.
