Page 45 of The Silversmith

I shivered.

“I brought my knife,” I announced. “Just as you asked.”

He looked up and gave me my favorite half-smile. “Good girl.”

My body clenched around itself. I swallowed and redirected the tension elsewhere. To my anger. Mostly unwarranted, but useful.

“I’m assuming we are staying put today so you can spend all morning and afternoon running me ragged?”

“Morning?” he chuckled. “The morning is gone. You slept it away.”

“All afternoon, then.”

He covered the space between us with four long, steady strides and looked down at me.

“What?” I snapped, straightening my shoulders.

“I slay an angry stag for you, and this is the attitude I get?” His lips twitched.

The bastard was egging me on.

“I didn’t ask you to slay anything, and you did it for all of us.”

He tsked. “Did I?”

My nostrils flared. Caz’s words echoed in my mind. Territory. Was that what I was to him?

“Why do you have something against Caz?” I fumed.

He raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“He’s my friend, and you don’t like it.”

“Caz is a flirtatious ass who wants to get under my skin.”

“He’s married with a baby on the way.”

Gavin laughed humorlessly. “It’s a shame you’re naive enough to believe that would stop most men.”

“You’re the one with the problem, not Caz.” I scowled. “Besides, even if he wasn’t taken, he’s quite a bit older than me.”

That muscle in his strong jaw twitched—the telltale sign of his rage—and I knew I’d hit the spot. “I’m older than Caz.”

“Your point?” I snapped.

“Feisty today.” A sneer, instead of a smirk, darkened his features. “Did you wake up on the wrong side of your mat this morning, Your Highness?”

“No!” I snapped, throwing one punch toward his annoyingly rugged, handsome head, which he effortlessly dodged. “You just piss me off!” I swung again, but he caught my whole fist in his palm.

“Good,” he purred, the sound silky and dangerous. “Use it.”

My back hit the stone, hard enough to hurt but not damage, before my brain registered that he’d flipped me upside down. He was so fast, gripping my hand one moment and tossing me to the ground the next.

Asshole.

I lay still, temporarily paralyzed with my back against the cold earth. When his hand fastened around my arm, reflexes took over. Because since the moment he’d taught me, I had memorized every movement—envisioned it in my mind over and over again while we walked, while I ate, while I lay awake—so that if or when this happened, I would be ready.

With the new strength in my core, I leapt up, landed cleanly on my feet, and used my momentum to jump, throw my forearm around his neck, and tuck my legs inside his. I squeezed to disorient him—just like he’d taught me—and forced him to the ground.