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Him, she trusted.

He could blame it on being a Saint, but she disagreed with that assessment. It was only him, not the powers that he exuded.

“West,” Crimson called to him, and he swivelled in her direction. He tucked the staff behind him, wiping at his forehead. His shirt was tucked over the edge of a long chair, his jacket with it and he wore high waisted trousers that hid the deep panels of his stomach.

Probably for the best.

His chest heaved with exertion, oily in the light of night. “It’s late. You should be in bed.” West set the staff down, the end tapping against the stones that made up the training area. There was no one else around, just the two of them.

“Youshould be in bed.” She retorted with a pointed look towards the moon, which was in full form tonight. It seemed to watch them, glued to the middle of the cobalt sky with utter fascination. “You came in late last night.”

West didn’t spare her a glance. “I was busy.”

“With duties?”

“Yes.”

Crimson took a step closer. “Do you ever take time for yourself?”

“I don’t need time to myself.” He answered, dropping the practice staff back into place along the rack of many. “I enjoy what I do.”

“But sometimes it’s good to rest, to take time and relax.” Her focus drifted away from his torso and towards the many shelves of weapons that were left for anyone to take, anyone to try. “You don’t want to overwork yourself.”

“In the hundreds of years that I’ve been alive, I’ve never once exerted myself too far. I know my limits, Heartstrings. No need to worry about me.” He came over to her side, watching as she ran a hand over the daggers.

“Someone does.” She muttered under her breath and plucked one from the table. It was of similar design to her knives, without the decorations or intricate carved hilt. She lifted it up into the air until the moon bounced off the perfectly shined steel, turning it about.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s a glorious knife, of course I do.” Crimson smirked and set it back down. “I was going to ask you for one, in fact.”

“Why?”

She peered over her shoulder at him, selecting another blade and observing it. “Because the ones I have with me… they’re tooeasily recognizable. They belong to Lyric, not Crimson.”

He blanched, grimacing. “I should have realised that. My apologies for leaving you without a weapon. Pick any of these. We can send it to the blacksmith and have it sharpened for you.” He motioned in front of her. “Whatever you think would be best.”

She didn’t need anything fancy, just sharp.

A scorpion scuttled along the brick wall in front of them and she jumped back, shivering at the gleaming black tail that curled into itself.

“Unfortunately insects are a common thing around here.” West informed her and flicked it off with his thumb and forefinger. It hissed and fell to the ground, scurrying away on hurried legs. Too many legs for her liking. “You’d best get used to them.”

“I don’t want to.” She scowled and picked up a medium length dagger. Crimson studied it, twisting it around until she was sure that it fit her. “This one. I like this one.”

“Then this one it will be.” He held out his hand and she dropped it into it, letting him take it from her. “I’ll send it over tomorrow morning so that you can have it back as soon as possible.” West located the sheath and tucked it away, attaching it at his hip for now.

“Are you done for the night, or am I to suffer another round of you sweating and panting like a beast?” Crimson commented as she spun towards the door and the staircase that would take her back to his chambers.

Honestly, she wouldn’t mind it at all if he continued to look likethat.

Saints, she needed to stop adding material about him to her mental,intimatefantasies.

“Someone veryrudelytold me that I’m no better than a dog. Dogs sweat and pant.” He grinned, but grabbed his shirt andcoat from the nearby chaise. “But yes, I’m done for the evening.”

Dogs didotherthings, too.

She opened the door before she could trace that wicked trail of thought and he followed. “To be fair, you deserved it.”