The Fae King's Dream (Between Dawn and Dusk #2) - Jamie Schlosser Page 0,46
the air out of his lungs.
“You stab here with as much force as you can muster. No mercy. If it’s an iron weapon, it’ll be a death blow.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
Backing away, the bastard laughs. “You can try.”
My eyes narrow. “You don’t think I can?”
“Oh, I’m sure you could, if you were able to outsmart me.” He points his sword at me. “Being vicious is in your nature.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure about that.”
Sure, I’ve killed my fair share of spiders and flies, but I’ve never hurt a person on purpose.
Damon tsks. A taunting sound. “If you’d stop being such a wuss, maybe you’d prove yourself wrong.”
Fine. If he wants me to give it all I’ve got, then I will.
Grunting, I swing for his head as if I’m trying to hit a home run. Before I can thwack his skull, he swiftly ducks out of the way, then steps in close enough to smack me on the ass with the tip of his sword.
“A deal’s a deal,” he says, planting a kiss on my lips before putting distance between us again.
“That didn’t hurt,” I fib, rubbing the stinging spot.
“But this will.” When he strikes out, pain explodes on my knuckles and my weapon falls to the ground.
Damon looks sorry as he picks it up. After gently placing the handle back into my palm, he showers several kisses on my throbbing hand.
“A few rules—never lose your weapon, don’t let someone injure your fighting arm, and never give up.” Taking a few steps back, he spreads his arms in surrender. “Now come at me.”
Thinking I’ve got an opening, I stab toward his chest, but he knocks my weapon out of the way with frightening ease. He didn’t even flinch. I try again. Same thing.
“How do you know where I am?” I pant. “How can you tell when I’m making a move?”
“Mostly, I listen.” We circle each other. “Many things tell me you’re gearing up for action. A hitch in your breath. The way an object sounds as it slices through the air. The swish of your cloak.”
Looking down at the long blue fabric, I watch the way it moves with me. It’s too cold to take it off. While the tall walls of the citadel courtyard block the wind, the air has a freezing chill to it and snow flurries have been coming down for the past few minutes.
Since fae aren’t bothered by the cold, Damon doesn’t have any clothing holding him back. Which is both annoying and distracting. His tank top is discarded on the ground nearby, and his leather pants seem to be molded to his body like a second skin.
I’m about to complain that it isn’t fair, but the dude can’t see. If anyone should have an advantage here, it’s me, but I’m literally getting my ass kicked by a blind guy.
Smirking, he switches his weapon to his other hand. “Here, I’ll even things out a little by fighting left-handed.”
“Are you mocking me?” I stab at him, miss, then I almost trip over my dress. A disgruntled growl bursts from my lips. “How do women fight in these things?”
“They don’t. Women are discouraged from entering battle.”
“They need to be able to defend themselves.” Stab. Miss.
“You’re right—they do.”
After a lot of pestering on the ride through the mountains, I finally got Damon to tell me why those men wanted to take the women. The answer? To breed with us. He explained how the plague killed a bunch of Day Realm women thousands of years ago before it mysteriously vanished, only to pop up again a few years ago. The ratio of men to women is now eight to one, and it’s getting worse all the time.
And poor Queen Rowen. I learned about Zander’s mother. After the first plague, she was abducted from Earth and placed in King Zarid’s harem of women. Her only value in this world was based on her ability to get pregnant. Which, apparently, is a special thing since the fae have trouble having children. Zander’s conception was even more unique because they weren’t a fated pair.
If Damon and his friends hadn’t been able to stop those men from taking us, we might’ve met the same fate. Kidnapped, raped, or worse—auctioned off as sex slaves.
“You said something that stuck with me earlier,” Damon says seriously, lunging forward to tap my thigh. Gripping a fistful of my cloak, he pulls me in for a kiss before moving away again. “You talked about treating something