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I toss a pair of gloves at him. He catches them without breaking eye contact. “This is a bad idea, Princess.”
“Why?” I counter, circling to his left. “Because Eclipsa isn’t here to save you?”
His eyes narrow. “You know why.”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
Then I lunge for him. Surprise widens his eyes, but he manages to recover in time to leap back before my roundhouse connects with his head. Prowling closer, I follow that up with a jab uppercut combo.
A sweep of my leg would have tripped him—if not for his freakishly fast Fae speed. He falls into a defensive stance, easily maneuvering out of my grasp. He refuses to fight back, instead using his quickness to avoid me.
“Coward,” I snarl. “Fight back.”
He may be taking it easy, but I try to take his head off with every strike.
Who’s drowning now?
I even manage to land a few. Each time my flesh connects with his, his eyes gleam brighter.
He might have protested, but he’s definitely enjoying this. Then again, so am I. If he’s going to be in pain when I’m around, might as well make it physical.
I surprise him with a flurry of rib punches before catching him on the chin. “Summer,” he growls in warning. His eyes are practically on fire.
“You said you feel like you’re drowning when I’m around,” I snap, ignoring the plea in his voice. Another round of jab cross combos push him back on his heels. “Drowning, prince. Do you know how that feels?”
Wow. Up until right this moment, I had no idea all the pent-up anger raging inside me.
His chest heaves. “Princess, you have no idea what you’re doing—”
I strike again, forcing him to duck.
“Stop talking and fight back,” I order.
“Once I do, once I let go . . . I won’t be able to stop.”
“What? Hurting me?”
A smile twitches his lips. “No, Princess. Not hurting you.”
Oh. Beneath my thick sheen of sweat, my skin flushes bright red.
Something inside him reacts to that. His stance widens, his jaw sets. Grabbing the bottom of his shirt, he hoists it over his head.
I don’t even bother hiding my interest as I stare at his body. The shadows trapping in the muscles of his abdomen. The way the Unseelie tattoos seem to writhe against his flesh with every single movement.
Instinctively, I tug off my over shirt, leaving a thin ribbed black tank. His eyes go to my own tattoo. The one cresting my forearm and winding up my elbow.
The one that says I’m his.
His nostrils flare, and he lets his gaze slide to my body, every single curve evident beneath my shiny black leggings and tank. The newly fleshed out hips. My athletic thighs, hard and lean from my time spent here.
He inhales sharply as he trails his focus slowly upward to meet my stare.
His eyes are wild, predatory. I don’t flinch from their intention. He begins to circle me, and I work to keep space between us as my heart jackhammers into my ribs. A little smile finds his face.
He can hear it.
We fall into a dance of attacks and defensive maneuvers. But this time the rules have changed. I know it and he knows it. He stalks me across the mat and it’s all I can do to evade him. When he gets too close, I catch him on the cheek. A light, playfully blow.
