Page 33

It was sinful how good he looked. How eagerly Wren was reacting to him after months on the run from him.

Why can’t he look like a monster?

“Silence suits you,” Arrik drawled, smirking with those devilish lips of his that Wren hated admitting to having thought about on one too many occasions when sleep escaped her. “I like you meek and quiet.”

Lies.

Those were the last two things Wren were. The merenotionof being meek and quiet unleashed her rage—of which she had many untapped stores—all directed at one gargantuan target.

Wren wiggled her fingers against his chest and smiled beneath his hand before she thrust her hands out, pushing the brute of a man far enough away so that she could knee him in the groin. He stumbled back cupping himself.

She wasted no time unsheathing her sword, and then launched herself at Arrik.

Today, he would die for his crimes against her family.

14

ARRIK

His wayward wife had taken the bait.

Arrik tossed Wren a feral grin before swiftly moving out of reach of her blade.

He knew she’d react to thesilentcomment. It was ironic that she thought he’d prefer such a thing. He’d always adored strong women, and his fiery princess was one of the fiercest he’d ever crossed paths with.

Helovedit.

“Don’t you remember the last time you tried to attack me, my beautiful wife?” he teased, spinning to avoid the next thrust of Wren’s blade. Time to rile her further. The sooner they could get this part over with, the sooner he could deliver his deal. “Emphasis ontried.”

With a growl, his Dragon Princess aimed another attack at him—easily avoided, again—but then surprised him by pulling out a dagger with her left hand and bowling into him to slash at his injured arm. The edge of the knife sliced into Arrik’s leather armor.

Your wife is out for your blood. Tread carefully or neither of you will get what you want.

Wren’s chest heaved with anger, and he forced his eyes not to linger. Distraction would be the death of him.

“Good thing there will be notryingtoday, onlydoing,” she hissed.

“I can think of something far more appealing to do with you,” Arrik goaded before he could stop himself.

A delicious blush spread across Wren’s face, equal parts rage and embarrassment.

Perfect. He had her, hook, line, and sinker.

She growled and swung her sword at him once more, her movements a little more wild than before.

Arrik yanked his sword from the sheath at his hip and parried her blow. He assessed her form as she circled him looking for any weakness. Wren was clearly no stranger to dual-wielding a sword and a knife; the smaller blade in her left hand was just as deftly handled as the long blade in her right. Given that he’d largely only witnessed Wren handle a bow and arrow before—to alarming effect—the fact she was so capable with blades as well sent heat streaking thought his stomach.

There was something titillating about a woman who could match swords with him.

She was potentially just as good with a blade as he was…when she wasn’t flustered.

“The only thing you’ll be doing with me is begging for your life,” Wren seethed through gritted teeth, their swords clanging when she aimed for Arrik’s kidney. It brought her closer to him once more, so Arrik grabbed for Wren’s left hand to attempt to pry the dagger from it.

Wren slid from his grasp as easily as water, her crimson hair trailing behind her like a flag of fire.

He sank into the familiar steps of swordplay—the next minute full of the clamor of steel on steel as the two of them attacked, defended, and jumped away, only to repeat the intricate dance again and again. For that was what it was: a dance. He hid his smile as his bloodthirsty little wife lost her wild edge and settled in for a battle. Her movements flowed from one into another. If he wasn’t half in love with her already, just fighting with Wren was enough for him to want to keep her forever. She was his match.

“You’re not meant for love, but for war.”