Page 84 of The First Scar
"Fight me," I snarled.
"I am fighting you."
"No." I slammed my dagger against his, holding the lock, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You're managing me. There's a difference."
The tendons in his neck went taut, straining against his collar.
"Better managed, than ruined."
Ruined.Like I could damage him just by existing. Like proximity to me was a thing to be survived.
"Stop it," I breathed. "Stop fighting me like I'm already broken."
He went still.
The cavern sounds faded—the crowd's murmurs, the distant drip of water, all of it swallowed by the silence between us. His chest rose and fell. Once. Twice.
"Fight like you want me whole, and I will."
I swallowed hard. Adjusted my grip.
"Fine," I said. "Show me what whole looks like."
He came at me like a storm breaking.
No more distance. No more careful angles or pulled strikes. His blade was a blur of silver fury, and I scrambled to meet it—catching one blow, two, a third that nearly tore the dagger from my grip.
This.This was what I'd wanted. The real him, unsheathed.
I matched his pace. Faster. Harder. Our blades sang against each other, a brutal rhythm that left no room for thought. Nothing but instinct and the animal language of bodies trying to survive each other.
I feinted left. He was already moving to counter.
I dropped low. His blade swept the space where my head had been.
I spun into a strike I hadn't planned, and hecaughtit—not because he'd seen it, but because his body had known. He had anticipated it somehow.
We both felt it.
The synchronicity. Involuntary. Our footwork falling into rhythm, step for step. Our breathing syncing without permission. Fighting him felt less like combat and more like—
Dancing. It feels like dancing with someone who already knows all your steps.
The thought made my skin prickle.
I struck high. He blocked and twisted, using my momentum to spin me—and suddenly my back was against his torso, his arm barred across my collarbone, his breath hot against my hair.
"Careful," he murmured. "You're leaving your left side open."
I drove my elbow back into his flank. He grunted, grip loosening just enough for me to twist free. I spun to face him, blades up, fangs bared.
Too close. That had been too close.
But I didn't back away. Neither did he.
We circled. Tighter now. The space between us shrunk with each pass. I could smell him—the steel and storm that made my Marks stir restlessly. Salt on my lip. The rushing tide of my own blood thundering in my ears.
His eyes dropped to my breast. Just for a heartbeat. Just long enough to see the faint glow of my Marks beginning to hammer through my tunic.
