“They wouldn’t let me wait with you. They said my magic would interfere.”
“I felt you through the magical link. I just focused on that when I woke up.” She took a deep breath. “He’s my father. He says he’s my father, in any case. And that I look like my great-grandmother. And that I have her magic. And that these are my people and I’ll fit in here.”
A soft smile pulled the corners of his lips. “See? The big dogs were right all along.”
“I’m going to tell Roger you called him a dog.” She laughed, so damn glad to see his face again. “I hear your wins don’t count toward whatever fighting competition is afoot.”
Anger sparked in his beautiful brown eyes. The green and gold specks danced dangerously. He shrugged to show his indifference, but he didn’t even come close to selling it.
She grinned. “What do you get if you win the whole thing?”
“Can’t. Only a fae can win the whole thing.”
“But won’t it be interesting if you beat the fae that wins the whole thing?”
He shook his head. “Not possible. Animal forms aren’t acknowledged. I don’t use weapons as well as people who’ve trained with them all their lives. Without my shifter form, there’s only so far I can advance.”
She laughed again. “Your involvement in the competition isn’t acknowledged. What’s the difference if you use your animal form or not? Just wait until you finally battle some fighters worth your time. I bet they’ll be happy for the extra challenge of fighting teeth and fur. And if they aren’t?” She shrugged. “Taunt them for being cowards. Easy.”
A grin pulled at his lips. “I missed you.”
“I know. Now let’s see if you’ve learned anything.” She launched at him, seeing his hesitation—his worry for her—and used it to slap him across the face. Speaking of taunting.
He staggered back, trying to put distance between them. She advanced, not letting him.
“Charity—”
“What do you think I am?” She blocked his weak attempt to shove her back, and this time she backhanded him. The slap rang out across the field. The onlookers gasped. She barely caught Steve out of the corner of her eye, striding their way with a big smile. “Breakable?”
“Charity, you’re still recovering—”
She swept his legs out from under him and then kicked him in the side, easily dodging his attempt to grab her leg. Her speed surprised even her—now that her magic was functioning properly, she was faster than he was by a mile, on par with some of the vampires they’d fought. Her strength was every bit as impressive.
His magic pumped out of him, swirling around her in an intoxicating blend. This was what she’d wanted, needed, and the thrill of the fight flooded her body. A lovely tune floated on the breeze, and her hand itched for the sword she’d left in her bungalow. She opened and closed her fingers.
He saw it. His eyes flicked to a spot behind her.
She turned, and suddenly he was there, grabbing her and tossing.
The bastard had finally decided to fight, and he’d started by fighting dirty.
Adrenaline coursed through her. She kept a laugh from bubbling out, and instead rolled over and groaned, acting like she was fatigued. Or hurt. Either would do.
Devon stopped the downward swing of his fist, buying it.
“Oh God, Charity”—he crouched down next to her, laying a warm hand on her arm—“I didn’t mean to—”
She rolled and punched, catching him completely off guard. If he wanted to fight dirty, who was she to say boo?
Her fist slammed into his jaw. His head snapped back.
She spun on the grass and kicked, but by then he was onto her, trying to dodge. Her foot clipped his shoulder, the force enough to knock him off balance. It would do.
She hopped up and ran, reaching the wooden practice swords with him hot on her heels. She pivoted, caught his swinging fist, and pulled and then launched him over her shoulder and into the pile of practice weapons. She snatched up a blunted sword, palms tingling, and swung it at the center of his broad, muscular back. It wouldn’t do much more than form a welt. She hit him again for good measure before dancing back.
He rose slowly, muscles popping along his powerful frame, his physique standing out like a deliciously sore thumb in the crowd of sleek, lean fae. His eyes were wild, ruthless, his alpha mentality having kicked into overdrive, and his whole person was bent on forcing