pain didn’t make her want to cower. It made her want to fight. So she attacked again.
They fought in earnest and in near silence. It was a lesson, but it was taught with actions, not words. With the reward of a blow landed. The pain of a missed block. He was stronger. Infinitely more skilled. But more than she’d realized, her mark had put power behind her fists. Made her faster. And the bruises he inflicted faded in an instant, the pain fleeting and inconsequential. It made her feel invincible.
You won’t have these advantages when you go back. You’ll just be yourself. Weak.
The thought stole her focus, and Killian took advantage, hooking her leg out from under her so that she fell, the impact rattling her teeth. She didn’t struggle as he pinned her wrists, the fight gone out of her.
“You all right?” A drop of blood from a cut on his brow dripped onto her face, and she twitched.
“Sorry.” He let go of her wrist, wiping the blood away with his finger. Then he paused. “See if you can stop yourself from healing me.”
“Am I that terrible a fighter?” Lydia tried to keep her voice light, but her stomach clenched at the thought Killian might be reconsidering their arrangement.
His face remained serious. “We both know that the sooner you can get away from Mudaire, the better. Might as well use what chances you have to practice controlling your mark.”
He was right. Yet her arm still trembled as she reached up to cup his cheek, the tips of her fingers touching the injury. Immediately she could feel the pull, the insistent tug against her core, but she bit down on the insides of her cheeks and resisted.
Except her attention wavered from the injury to Killian’s eyes, which regarded her steadily. The lamplight flickered off them, illuminating the shades of umber and walnut and bronze, like polished tiger’s-eye stone, but warmer. Lydia was quite certain she’d never seen eyes like his, although perhaps it was only that she’d never been this close to someone. Never been so captivated—
Her mark jerked free of her control, life flowing from her into him, and the cut sealed into a faint white line, the swelling around his other eye fading into nothingness.
“Perhaps you’re not the best test subject,” she mumbled, embarrassed about losing her concentration.
“Why is that?”
“Because…” She trailed off, keenly aware of the warmth of his body over hers. The roughness of his cheek against her palm. The raggedness of her breath, and the way his shirt strained against the muscles of his shoulders.
He didn’t let her go.
She didn’t want him to.
The hand still holding her other wrist loosened, turning to catch hers, their fingers interlocking. Heat flushed through her, and she didn’t know what to do with it. She’d never been kissed. Never been touched. Had never met anyone she wanted to touch her. Until now.
He’s sworn to the Princess for life. He belongs to Malahi. The thought slapped her in the face, and she squirmed out from under him. “It’s late.” Late and she needed to sleep and the last thing she should be thinking about was a young nobleman who was far too attractive for his own good. Her mind needed to be focused on getting back to Celendor. On Teriana. On her father. On making Lucius pay for what he’d done. Not on kissing.
Killian was on his feet with enough speed that she strongly suspected he’d allowed every punch she’d landed. Reaching down, he pulled her up before dropping her hand as though it had burned him. While she donned her spectacles, he circled the room retrieving his coat, gloves, and several of the buttons that had torn from his shirt while they were fighting. “Let’s go. I’ll show you the route back to the barracks.”
The sun had set hours ago, but even though the shrieks of the deimos echoed through the night sky, Killian showed no concern. Keeping close to the wall of the property, he trotted along, stopping when they reached the corner. “This is the fun part,” he said. “Up and over, then down into the sewer on the other side of the street. Grate’s open.”
He eyed the starry sky, absently linking his fingers. “Go.”
Heart hammering, Lydia placed a boot into his hands, and then he was lifting her. Her fingers found the edge of the wall, and she slung her legs over right as the deimos screamed. Fear ricocheted through her body, and she dropped down