Page 26 of Wings of Destruction

I dodge it.

Her opposite fist strikes me in the gut.

“Someone taught you to fight,” I say in a quiet voice.

Not well, but she has perfunctory knowledge of basic self-defense, and a whole lot of righteous resentment to back it up.

She has reason, fifty of them, to fight with everything she’s got. I think of my own mother and the village she’d lost to Ryson and his cause. Had she fought to free herself this way?

My stomach drops. There is something fierce and raw and real about the redheaded girl. It sets me on edge. It wakes me up out of the numbness I’ve been forced to make into my identity.

There is deep rooted intent to win in her every punch and kick and dodge.

My fingers twitch to grab one of my own blades and stop her before she bleeds me.

Her brow twists as she launches at me, her face shadowed, and I catch her. She’s warm. Heat rolls off of her like being pressed to a dragon’s chest.

Her muscles surely burn with a dragon’s strength, too, and she punches at my chest to knock me off guard. The hit propels me backward an inch but I won’t let go of her, dragging her with me, pulling her off her feet, until she slams heavily against my torso.

Her reflexes are fast but mine are faster. Before she manages to pry my blade free from its sheath, I catch her wrists. Even this small display of compassion will come at a price. I’ll simply have to wait to see what the cost will be.

Tristan catalogues everything and runs a hand through his hair. “By all means, sweetheart, see if you are able to best my cousin. You might be the best fight he’s had today. The rest of this lot certainly isn’t going to do much.”

The reminder awakens something in her eyes.

“Don’t touch them, you monster.” Her face grows stronger. “You leave them alone.”

“He doesn’t speak for me. He also doesn’t give a pile of dragon dung what happens to the rest of your people. Neither do I.”

She snorts. “Unethical to a fault.”

“Practical.”

“Brutish.”

I clench my jaw against the aching despair in her single word. She had no idea the accuracy of her aim and if not for the fear etched into her eyes, I might have argued. As it is, I didn’t deny it.

I hunch over her, squeezing her wrists until she swallows down a muffled cry, her body so much smaller than mine. She’s strong for a girl this delicate. I take both her wrists in one hand and force her arms above her head, sliding my fingers along her skin. The sudden, overwhelming desire pooling in my gut has no place here. I balk and tamp it down roughly.

“A brute?” I ask.

“It’s evident in the way you fight.” Her brow darkens. “Without mercy.”

“You were watching me.”

Tristan laughs, the sound a cruel backdrop to our argument.

My heart races faster. I clamp down on the inside of my cheek to keep from cursing him, and the ache in my head is nothing compared to the tension pooling in my stomach. I want to punch Tristan.

I want to say the right thing to erase the fear and anger etched into the redhead’s face.

Her brow darkens and without warning, she twists in my arms. There’s more fire in those narrowed green eyes as she rams her hip into me.

The motion takes me by surprise. I balk, losing my step, somehow managing to hold her wrists. Tristan steps up, his shoulders tall and his lips a tight line of vindication before I slam the girl back against the stone.

The children scream.

Her gaze whips to the side, her teeth gnashing. “Don’t touch them!”