Page 46 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

SECOND RULE

“ W hiskey,” I announce later that night, before I lift the flask in my hand.

“Sorry?” Darian raises an eyebrow at me from across the room, sitting on the floor with his back up against the wall and restraints hooked into the bricks.

It was an easy request to ask Sethan. One that wouldn’t raise any warning. “I remember that silly little flask you had back in Arterias?—”

His eyes flash with something I can’t quite place. Excitement? Hunger? Desperation?

Fear?

“—here’s the deal. If you train me how to fight, I’ll sneak in a drink for you.”

This has to be a step in the right direction. I always saw him drinking and pushed it to the back of my mind. But earlier today it struck me as I watched the townspeople roll barrels of the strong liquor down the bumpy cobblestone streets.

Darian’s back to watching me with that laser-focused gaze. “How am I supposed to trust there’s anything inside it?”

I shake the flask, the liquid inside sloshing. “That enough proof for you?”

“As far as I know, you could have filled it with water or piss.”

Arching an eyebrow, I take a few steps toward him as I uncork the flask. “Fine, then as an act of good faith, smell it?—”

He rips the flask straight out of my grasp, and before I can even try to fight him back for it, he throws the liquid into his mouth, gulping it down feverishly as it drips from the corner of his lips.

He lowers the flask, then swipes the tip of his tongue to catch the excess, his eyes still burning with an unsatiated hunger.

“We didn’t even agree to any terms,” I hiss.

He tosses the empty container over onto the bed without a care in the world, then lowers his head and holds out a hand to me, ushering me forward in a silent challenge by bending his fingers.

I ball my hands into fists, then pause. I’m still uncertain if I can actually trust him.

He might have confirmed he can’t kill me, but it doesn’t mean he won’t beat the absolute shit out of me.

And while I might have saved his life, that only seems to have annoyed him more.

His eyes narrow with impatience. “If I’m anything, I’m at least a man of my word. But you’re trying my patience here. Do you want to learn how to fight or not?”

With a shaky breath, I take another step into the circle I’ve mentally drawn around his vicinity, breaching the invisible border into the perimeter of where his shackles will allow him to reach.

His metal chains clink as he stalks forward, then stops two steps from me.

“Throat, thighs, and head are the most critical spots if you can slice through them. But if you want a quick take down and don’t have a weapon—” I flinch when he lifts his hand to motion toward each spot on me, “—eyes, nose, or crotch. But you stay away from here while we’re practicing, got it?

That’s rule one.” He motions down to his groin.

I look away quickly before my gaze lingers, trying not to laugh when I recall the one time I won in a sparring match against him. At least I had a good instinct on where to strike. “Got it.”

“Second rule…you’ll need to get closer if you want to learn anything useful.” He grabs my waist and sweeps me toward him, taking his hand off me once I’m toe-to-toe with him. A coy smirk stretches across his face. “Third, I get the drink before I train you in these sessions. Not after.”

I open my mouth to protest.

“Ah, ah, ah!” He wags a finger at me. “Don’t test my tolerance.”

I narrow my eyes and nod reluctantly, sweat dripping down my neck as he holds me hostage in his green eyes.

Thank Gods he breaks our eye contact, glancing down at my arms. “Let me see your stance.”

I raise my fists as I power my core, setting my right foot in front and readying myself to throw a punch. He circles around me, his chains rattling on the ground with each step in his wake.

He stops behind me, then taps my left elbow with two fingers. “Throw a punch with your arm farthest away from the poor bastard trying to fight you.”

My eyes flash, and I crinkle my nose at his mocking tone.

He whispers behind me, “Go. Show me.”

I throw a left hook.

He continues, his voice close to my neck, “Alternate jabs for a rapid succession.”

I punch again: left-right, left-right, left-right. I feel stupid for swinging at the air. Is this seriously going to be our training? I may start to reconsider having made such a deal with him.

He circles around to the front of me and raises his own fists. “Hit me.”

A ripple of intimidation flutters in the pits of my stomach. I throw a punch with my left fist, and he slaps it away with one hand. Within that same motion, he throws a fist with his opposite hand and stops half an inch from my chin before pushing his knuckles into my skin in slow motion.

He doesn’t bother to hide his boredom. “Keep your other hand in front of your face so you can block your opponent if you need to.”

I swipe his fist away from my chin, and he drops his hands to his sides.

Stepping to my left, he ghosts a touch near my waistline. “Stand to the side so they have less of you to try and hit.”

Obeying, I twist so I lead with the right side of my body.

He brushes a strand of hair out of my face, taking my breath with it, before he sinks his fingers into my hair and then yanks my head sideways to look at him. “Never let your guard down.”

I snatch his forearm right underneath the metal band on his wrist, anger boiling in my blood as I unsheathe the hidden dagger from my waistband and stab it toward his ribs.

He spins out of the way, releasing my hair with a surprised chuckle, then blocks my advance with his shackle.

My blade glides off the metal with a sharp scraping sound before he palms my hand hard enough to smack the weapon straight out of my grasp.

The blade goes flying, clattering to the floor a few feet away from us.

When he flicks his green eyes up to me, he smirks.

“That’s your biggest problem. You use your anger like an explosion in your fighting.

When you do that, you’ll either get your ass kicked or get yourself killed.

You’re far too easy to manipulate. Use that anger as fuel.

You release a little at a time to sustain you. ”

I take a few steps away from him to try and swipe my dagger off the floor, and as I stretch my hand out to grab it, he kicks it a few inches out of the way with his black boot. I glare up at him.

“Once you figure out how to fight hand-to-hand, we can graduate you to weapons,” he supplies.

I rise to my full height. “Are you just saying that to milk this whole getting a drink every night?”

He chuckles. “I guess you’ll never know, will you?”

“You forget who’s in control here?—”

“Oh, do I?”

I lift my chin. “You train me tonight. Now. Consider me graduated. I don’t have time for a ceremony.”

A small smile warms his cheeks. “Such a demanding little thing, aren’t you? You aren’t ready for weapons.”

“Watch me,” I growl, snatching the dagger off the ground and pointing it directly at him. “New term. If I beat you at any point, you tell me what the King wants.”

“That’ll never happen?—”

I chuck the dagger at him and miss his head by two feet. The blade sinks into the bed behind him, straight into a pillow. His rigid stance tells me he’s considering that I might be bad enough to hit him by accident.

Good. Let him be scared—even if it’s not for exactly the reason I want him to be. I stalk across the room and rip the dagger from the pillow, pulling out white goose feathers with it and leaving a trail of them in my wake.

“Fine,” he purrs. “I’ll play. It’s only fair I get some sort of incentive, too. If you want to train with weapons, you remove these shackles from me.”

“When are you going to give that up?”

“When are you going to give in ?” He takes a few steps into my direction and cranes his neck to look at me. “If you want to train with the best?—”

I scoff. Though, his arrogance shouldn’t surprise me in the least. He closes the space between us, and I watch him with uncertainty as he grabs the wrist of my hand holding the dagger.

“—then that is my requirement. You know I can’t kill you at this point, even if I might want to.

And I wouldn’t be fast enough to escape if you called your oversized black lizard for backup.

But if you’re so concerned about me fleeing…

block the door. It’ll give you more than enough time to keep me trapped until your scaled beast arrives. ”

Flicking my attention down to where he grips me, I spot blooms of purple and greens peeking out from underneath his shackle. The strips of the bed sheets I tied around his wrists to create a barrier between his skin and the metal are gone.

Swallowing against the sympathy rising in me like an ocean swell, I lift my chin to look him in the face. “Fine.”

I stalk over to the dresser and, push by push, shove it in front of the door.

Once I’ve got it blocked, I return to Darian and unlock his shackles.

As soon as the metal drops to the floor, his shoulders relax an inch.

He brushes a thumb softly over his bruised wrist, looking like he can’t believe I’ve actually done such a thing.

“But I don’t trust you with a weapon, yet,” I state.

While rubbing his wrist, he snorts, acknowledging that we both know he’d be more than capable of taking my own.

“Think you can make do with what you’ve got?” I taunt, powering my stance with my dagger and waiting for those wicked eyes to look back up at me.

His dark lashes snap up to reveal those sage-green eyes. That signature bastard smirk pulls his features into all the lines that should make me feel wrong. But they don’t.

“You’re on,” he purrs.

I lunge toward him, stabbing the dagger forward with one hand and keeping the other near my face, taking into consideration his tip from earlier.

He glides with a ghostly technique, evading each plunge and swipe of my knife and muttering out words with each dodge. “You’re…making this…too…easy.”

Striking like a snake, he grabs my arm wielding the dagger and twists it behind me, pinning it to my back as he sweeps me toward the closest wall and slams me against it.

My breath puffs out from my lips, my hand springing open in shock and dropping the dagger.

I blink against the ringing in my skull.

At least he’s not holding back.

“So easy,” he taunts again, leaning his chest into me.

Sucking in a breath, I kick my head back as hard as I can and slam into his face.

The grip on my forearm disappears, and I slip out of his grasp before he counteracts.

When I spin to face him, blood trickles down from one side of his nose, over his lips, and drips off his strong, stubbled chin.

He wipes the blood off with a hand, successfully smearing half of it across his face menacingly.

His brows lower over his eyes, darkening his expression into a mix of hunt and play.

We explode into a series of swipes and strikes, ducks and dodges.

He eventually pins me with my back against the wall with a hard thump , my wrists locked above my head by his commanding hands. “Easy,” he purrs.

Gritting my teeth, I kick out at him, slipping from his grip with an ease that flirts with the idea he let me. We’re back to a new set of spins, kicks, and punches.

He pins me next with my face down on the ground. “Easy.”

I snarl in frustration, swatting at his hands, and he lets me up. As soon as I get to my feet, we’re back at it. Not even a minute later, he slams me backward into the desk, his hand seizing my throat.

He smiles. “Easy.”

Every time he pins me, I fight the urge to scream, especially as he finds a way to do it harder and harder.

Like he’s trying to get me to relent. We knock things off the desk and slam into the wall with a force that rattles my teeth.

He swipes my feet out from under me, and my elbow cracks on the floor as I attempt to catch myself, a scream ripping from my lips as I glare up at him. “Fucking asshole!”

“Lower your voice!” he snaps, dropping down to his heels in front of me and bracing a hand against the wall behind me. “Do you want the whole godsdamn town to hear you?”

I squeeze my eyes shut to block out the pain. “Of course not!”

He slaps a hand against the brick inches away from my ear to snag my attention. “That’s not lower!”

My breath rises and falls in quick succession in my chest, rage nearly blacking out my vision as I cradle my elbow and slowly, shakily, move my arm to loosen the stiffness. When I look back up at him, my heavy breathing through my nose is the only sound between us.

“Better.” He holds my glare, nodding his head. “Now calm the fuck down before someone thinks you need to be rescued.”

He has a point. I’m not necessarily in the mood to explain why I’m having secret training sessions with Darian in the middle of the night.

As soon as I slow my breathing, I whisper under my breath, “Asshole.”

“I know,” he mutters, then offers me a hand to help me up off the ground.

Ignoring the help, I stand and brush off my knees and back, straightening my spine as I look him in the eye. Aches pulse through my body like hotspots.

“I think that concludes our training for tonight. Unless, of course, you’d like to owe me an entire barrel. Though, best of luck requesting that one from Sethan.” He sweeps back the long brown strands falling into his eyes.

At least they look damp enough to prove he had to work for his wins. Damn…am I getting good? Or is he just rusty after being a prisoner for weeks?

When I move to reattach his manacles, he taunts about his ability to overpower me. That he doesn’t have to have them back on. I remind him of the risks of pissing me off. Dungeons. No whiskey. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, he needs me more than I need him.

Finally, we part ways, and I change into my nightgown before sliding into bed, my joints and muscles groaning.

I’m unable to keep my thoughts from wandering to the night I spent on the ground where Darian currently is.

At least I have a warm, comfortable bed to sleep in.

I take the pillow I sank the dagger in earlier and toss it at Darian.

Feathers fall like snow in the space between the two of us, and he catches the pillow before it can hit the ground. He watches me with a questionable side eye.

Without another word, I turn my back to him, close my eyes, and settle into sleep.