Page 8 of Shadowborne: Reckoning

I knew how fast he was. Knew how strong he was—and in fact, it looked like he’d filled out even more since he’d been gone. If I moved first, his guard would go up and I’d be finished.

Leathers or not, flying or not, he still saw the farmgirl in front of him, and I needed that.

So, I pretended to shrink—and he took the bait. As I slipped back half a step, he followed, his eyes flashing like a predator’s on prey.

“You don’t need to be scared, Brenny,” he whispered. “I’m just here for answers… It would be irresponsible of me, a sworn Furyknight, to let you impersonate one of us, even if you’re being enabled by the fucking Battle Commander.”

But then his eyes scanned down my body and he finally stepped up to my toes, tongue tracing his lower lip as he lifted one hand, two fingers outstretched, to stroke the outside of my breast with his fingertips.

And then I struck. A lightning-fast one-two, whipping one arm up in a circle to push his hand away, the other snapping forward, the heel of my palm right into his sternum—praying I’d been strong enough to crack the bone, because that would keep him down.

But even though he grunted, and flinched, it didn’t slow him in the slightest.

He caught my arm at the wrist as I retreated just far enough to shove the heel of my palm straight up, into his nose—but it was like being caught in the grip of a brick wall.

His brows were up—I’d surprised him—but he still didn’t see me as a threat, using that grip on my wrist to jerk me into his chest with a chuckle and twinkling eyes.

I stomped down, right on the arch of his foot, and he only had his boots to thank that I didn’t break it. But he flinched, hunching slightly—though he still hadn’t let go of my wrist.

“You need to get a fucking grip,” he snarled. “I’m—”

Right punch, straight to his navel. Knee for his groin—blocked by his other arm. He hissed and cursed, all hint of a mocking smile gone. But he was smart, and capable, and not about to be bested by me. And I was exhausted. I pushed and strained, rained blow after blow on him—but I could feel myself losing steam. Losing power. Just losing as he blocked each one—jerking, and grunting, but eventually catching both my wrists.

I growled like a cat and tried to use my knee again. But he was too tall—I only got to his thigh. Yet, he’d leaned forward an inch.

His hair fluttered when he was forced to duck so my headbutt missed his nose, and then he stopped playing.

I shrieked as he used his much-longer reach to raise my arms and force me to turn—or dislocate a shoulder—so my back was to his chest, my arms crossed in front of me and locked to my ribs, my wrists manacled in his thick hands, as unforgiving as steel.

He panted in my ear.

—his rhythmic breath, thundering in my ear, fluttering my hair, pebbling the skin on my neck—

With a sob, I made one final attempt, turning my boot out and stamping it down his shin, trying to use my hard boot sole against that sensitive skin—

Ruin whipped me off my feet, laughing when I shrieked in fear, and wrestled me under his arm, keeping my arms locked at my sides, while he hoisted me to his side, until I hung there like a child and he gripped my chin in his free hand, grinning, and shaking his head in disbelief.

“So, you’ve been training for real?” he asked, incredulous, spluttering with laughter. “I knew the Furyknights were weakening, but this has got to be a new low. I mean, very impressive, Brenny. Much better than I would have anticipated from you. If my hands were free, I’d clap,” he mocked.

I spat in his face and he jerked his head back with a curse, squeezing me so hard my breath rushed out of me.

There was a moment we wrestled, but he always had the upper hand. And in the end, I sagged in his grip, defeated and exhausted, and embarrassed.

“Aw, don’t be sad, Brenny. You did so good for a woman. Truly!” he laughed, setting me back on my feet.

We were on the other side of the room now, and I didn’t miss that the bed now stood between us and the door.

Or that he’d turned me to face it.

To my surprise, he let me go. But he’d positioned himself right at my back, no room to move except onto the bed, which he knew I wouldn’t climb onto willingly. His hot breath fluttered on my neck. I shuddered and dropped my face into my hands.

“It’s not your fault, kitten,” he whispered. “God didn’t make you for this.”

“No, he didn’t,” I whispered into my palms, then made myself look over my shoulder and meet his eye. “He also didn’t make me for perverts like you.”

Ruin’s eyes narrowed to slits, but I snapped forward at the waist, my ass hitting him right in the groin and pushing him back a half-step. As he staggered, I threw myself over the bed, scrambling for the door, and freedom.

I had just grasped the other side of the mattress and yanked myself forward, when an iron fist clamped on my ankle and caught me, then jerked me back.