“You’re her, aren’t you?” the rider asks, her appraisal pausing on my hair.
“Her who?” Here we go.
“Lieutenant Sorrengail’s sister.”
Not General Sorrengail’s daughter.
Not the cadet Xaden is stuck with because of Tairn.
“You know my sister?” That earns her a glance.
“She has a hell of a right hook.” She nods, her knuckles grazing the scar on her jaw.
“She does,” I agree, my smile widening. Looks like Mira left her mark.
Xaden lands a solid hit to Jarrett’s jaw with a crack.
“It appears Riorson does, too.”
“He does.”
“You sound pretty confident.” She turns her attention back to the fight.
“I am.” My confidence in Xaden is almost…arrogance. Gods, he’s beautiful. The mage lights illuminating the chamber highlight every carved line of roped muscle on his chest and abs and play off the angles of his face. And when he turns, the hundred and seven scars that mark his back catch the light under Sgaeyl’s relic.
I stare. I can’t help it. His body is a work of art, honed to lethal perfection. I know every inch of it, and yet I’m still gawking, transfixed like it’s the first time I’ve seen him half-dressed. This should absolutely not be turning me on, but the way he moves, the lethal grace in each and every calculated strike…
Yep. Turned on.
Maybe it’s toxic as hell, but it’s pointless to deny that every single part of me is attracted to every facet of Xaden. And it’s not just his body. It’s… everything. Even the darkest parts of him, the parts I know are merciless, willing to annihilate anyone and everyone who stands between him and a goal, pull me in like a moth to a fucking flame.
My heart pounds like a drumbeat and my stupid chest aches just watching him maneuver around the floor of the pit, toying with his opponent. I’ve missed watching him in the gym, sparring with Garrick. I’ve missed being with him on the mat, feeling his body over mine as he puts me on my back over and over again. I’ve missed the tiny moments in my day when our eyes would meet in a crowded hallway, the bigger moments when I’ve had him all to myself.
I’m so damn in love with him that it hurts, and for the moment, I can’t remember why I’m denying myself.
The rider on my left shouts, and Xaden’s gaze jerks upward, colliding with mine.
Surprise registers on his features for all of a heartbeat before his opponent swings, his fist slamming into Xaden’s jaw with a sound that makes my stomach twist.
I gasp as Xaden’s head snaps sideways with the force of the blow.
He staggers backward to the cheers of the riders around me.
“Stop playing around and end it,” I say through our bond, using it for the first time since Resson.
“Always so violent.” He thumbs a drop of blood off the split in his lower lip, his gaze flashing to mine, and I swear I see a hint of a smile before he turns on Jarrett.
Jarrett swings once, then twice, missing Xaden both times.
Then Xaden strikes with two quick punches, putting his full weight behind them unlike before, and sending Jarrett to his hands and knees in the dirt. Jarrett’s head hangs as he shakes it slowly, blood dripping from his mouth.
“Damn,” the rider next to me says.
“Exactly.” Is it wrong to smirk? Because I can’t seem to control my facial muscles.
Xaden stands back as the riders fall silent in the chamber, and then he extends his hand.
Jarrett’s chest heaves for a tense minute before he looks up at Xaden and shoves away the offered hand. He taps the floor twice, and while some riders around me groan—and yes, that’s money changing hands in the form of gold coins—others clap a couple of times. Jarrett spits blood onto the floor, then stands upright, nodding at Xaden respectfully.
The match—if that’s what this can be called—is apparently over.
The riders head my way, filtering past me for the door.
Xaden says something to Jarrett that I can’t hear, then uses the metal rungs embedded into the stone’s masonry at the far end of the pit to climb out.
He reaches the top, then takes his shirt from where it’s draped across the railing and comes in my direction, watching me with enough heat in his gaze to set my already humming body on fire. Yeah, definitely can’t remember why I’m denying myself any part of this man.
“Looks like he won the pass,” the woman next to me says. “I’m Cornelia Sahalie, by the way.”
“Violet Sorrengail.” I know it’s rude, but I can’t make myself look away from Xaden as he turns the corner, approaching from the left.
He runs his tongue over the small cut at the side of his lower lip as if testing it, then tugs his shirt on. Taking away the show should cool my blood, but it doesn’t. Pretty sure dumping a bucket of snowy slush from the nearby peaks over my head couldn’t lessen the heat, either. I’d probably just steam.
Gods, I’m screwed when it comes to this man.
It doesn’t matter that he hurt me, didn’t trust me.
I don’t even know if I trust him.
