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Her sword met another.

The impact rattled her bones and sent her sprawling back. Something was different.

Blinded by the need to win, by the desperation to be worthy of the Great Rite, she scrambled up and lunged again, seeing nothing but red.

Again, her attack was powerfully deflected.

Only this time, she understood why. Her grip faltered and her weapon buckled as it met the other.

Naarvian steel.

A Warsword’s blade.

It blocked her blow effortlessly, locking her sword in place and dragging it to the ground.

A second blade pressed against her neck. A cold kiss. The promise of blood spilt.

Somewhere in the distance, lightning sparked.

‘You were given an order, Alchemist,’ sounded a deep, commanding voice.

Thea would have known that voice anywhere. It had pulled her back from the brink of death, had whispered her name against her lips, had broken her heart in more ways than one…

Silver eyes met hers and Thea’s breath caught.

The Hand of Death towered above her, his powerfully built frame clad in black armour that dripped red.

Against all reason, despite all her fury, that rich timbre skittered along her bones as Wilder Hawthorne leant in close and murmured, ‘Or should I call you “Princess” now?’

CHAPTER TWO

WILDER

The sight of her shook Wilder to the core. Not just the raging tempest in her celadon gaze, but the change in her appearance. She wore her bronze-and-gold hair in the usual side braid, but her fierce, beautiful face was gaunt, savage, battered and bruised. He could see two of her scarred knuckles were dislocated, and though she moved fluidly, she winced slightly when she twisted. No doubt she had injured her ribs.

Thea hadn’t been looking after herself.

The state of her took him back to the shock of seeing her pitted against the reaper in the Bloodwoods, back to the way she’d been on the cusp of death itself when he’d ordered her to stay with him.

‘Don’t you dare give up now,’he’d told her.

Lightning had split the sky, had pierced the reaper, but it hadn’t been enough. The fucking monster had still got its talons in her, had still marked the flesh above her heart with its evil, a promise of a fate worse than death.

There had been no question when Wilder had given her his vial of Aveum springwater. If there were ever a reason to use it, that had been it, and he regretted nothing.

Wilder had hoped that the three weeks away from her would stifle the inferno blazing inside him, but he had no such luck. It struck him anew, stronger than ever, like a blow to the chest as soon as he clapped eyes on her.

And now, he was furious with her.

‘What the fuck have you been doing to yourself?’ he demanded, not caring that Torj and the two Guardians still stood within earshot. It was all he could do to keep himself from grabbing her and pulling her close.

Thea’s eyes narrowed, her knuckles paling as her grip tightened around her sword. ‘I’ve been training.’

‘Training?’ Wilder gave a dark laugh. The harsh sound was enough to send Torj, Cal and Kipp slinking away from the training ring, leaving mentor and apprentice to withstand the gathering storm alone.

Wilder took in the sight of her once more, rage unfurling low in his gut. ‘There’s a right way to train, and getting yourself into this state isn’t it.’

‘Whose fault is that?’ Thea spat.