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Zehr looked up at him and grinned. “Jealous, old man?”
Zehr’s hand was on my throat, and he pressed his lips to mine, a quick, claiming kiss, soft as the pressure against my throat. Then he was gone, melting away into shadows just as Damyn reached for him.
Damyn hesitated, his jaw working. His gaze met mine.
He didn’t seem quite comfortable around me. The thoughts stabbed through my heart.
He didn’t acknowledge that Zehr had just kissed me—or Zehr’s accusation he was jealous. Intensity blazed in those icy blue eyes, but he didn’t seem to know what to do with it.
Finally, he said, “Come swordfight with me.”
“Haven’t I been through enough already?” I asked lightly, but I was already moving toward the ring of tamped-down snow.
I picked up a wooden practice sword—of course Damyn had found some and dragged them out to torture us—and faced him. He walked a few steps past me, the light, tan leather armor he wore over his tunic highlighting just how broad his shoulders were, how narrow his waist where it was belted down. There was still a flutter low in my stomach from Zehr’s demanding kiss, and it turned into an ache when I looked at Damyn.
He turned and faced me, and I schooled my face. I didn’t want to make things even more awkward by being caught gawking at my crush.
He leapt at me without preamble, and I jerked my sword up to block his attack. He let out a furious volley of blows, and I gave up ground steadily as I tried to block each attack. He let out a furious swing that could knock me out of the ring. Instead of diving to the side, I let the blow catch my sword and propel me backward—but instead of landing on my back in the snow, I flashed into the shadows and came out behind him. I lashed out a blow that was meant for his legs but landed awkwardly as he turned, slapping him across the ass.
Damyn blocked my next blow and raised his eyebrows at me.
“It’s only fair,” I said.
The two of us circled each other, testing each other’s moves, more slowly now.
“I’m glad to see you’re using your powers,” he said.
“Are you?” That was a surprise, in a way.
“Use every advantage.” He abruptly knocked my sword aside and kicked me in the chest. He’d pulled the kick, but I still slammed into the ground, surprised by it. I lay there groaning as he leaned over me. “You’ll need to.”
“Asshole,” I grumbled, knowing he’d only take it as a compliment in the training ring. He offered me his hand and pulled me up to my feet.
The momentum carried me against him, my chest pressing his arm for a second. Our eyes met, and I could see the scars that marked the side of his face, making him no less handsome, and the icy blue of his eyes up close looked warmer, softer, than usual. For a heartbeat, he dipped his head toward mine, and I thought he was going to kiss me. Then he stopped.
He always fucking stopped.
I released him just as suddenly as he did me.
As we circled again, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m worried about Branok and Lynx.”
He laughed under his breath. “Welcome to the club. I’ve been worried about those two since I met them.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. But, Honor, have you considered the possibility that maybe they need to be the ones to do it so they don’t feel like they’re marked by their father’s actions forever?”
I stared at him in shock. “They’re not responsible for the way their father has been.”
“No. And we know people’s feelings are always rational and reasonable and fair.”
“I hate the thought of them being hurt.”
“I think we all feel that way about you,” he said, “and most of the time, each other.”
He glanced at the shadows where Zehr had disappeared.
