Page 4 of Savagely Mated (Shared Mates #1)

He is incredibly hot, though. Those brilliant eyes, that hair, the clothes that look expensive, but not flashy.

His clothes aren’t what get my attention, though.

He has a face card that a lot of girls I know—all two of them—would almost certainly want to collect.

I can’t drag my eyes away from him, his annoyed expression set on a face that is all jaw and cheekbones and brows that are well-shaped, and the slightly arrogant flare of his nostrils.

I don’t know what the hell I am doing, but it feels like I’m trying to imprint his image on my mind.

I have to remind myself that hot does not equal good. His attractiveness means nothing if he’s the sort of person who thinks threatening people half his size on the street is some kind of flex.

He looks down at my hip. “Is that a real sword, or a costume prop?”

“It’s real,” I tell him. “And I know how to use it.”

He has no fucking idea how well I know how to use it.

“I’ll teach you a damn good lesson,” he growls. “We will duel, you and I, and you’ll learn your lesson thoroughly, the hard way. You strike me as the type to need harsh teaching.”

“A duel?” I repeat the words, because that’s old-fashioned as hell, not to mention highly illegal.

When the various military academies were established, cadets and soldiers used to duel between schools all the time.

It was banned because of the deaths and stuff, and because it was technically murder, though people argued that it wasn’t murder if you agreed to be murdered, and they had a point.

He nods. “I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget, whelp. Meet me outside the St. Michel Monastery at noon.”

“Noon,” I nod. “Fine. See you then.”

I go on my way, now in even more of a hurry thanks to him. He’s going to find himself on the wrong end of my saber, of that I am certain.

Having gotten out of his way and put some distance between us, I stop to figure out what I’m going to do now. Midday is about an hour away. Maybe I should get something to eat. I might need the calories for kicking that guy’s ass.

Actually, I should check my weapons. I should make sure my saber is sharp.

It’s been a while since I tried to actually use it for real fighting.

I avoid doing that, because people get seriously hurt when you hit them with sharp metal.

Unfortunately for hot, mean street guy, I’ve had no shortage of practice with blunted weapons.

I decide to head to the unofficial weapons merchant. There’s always someone who can alter weapons there. Usually some disenchanted, disenfranchised ex-military guy who loves weaponry more than he loves anything.

Or his kid.

Today it’s his kid. Thank God.

Jory, the weapon-smith’s kid, has been my friend since we met outside the academy years ago.

He was an apprentice then, and I was a shitty little kid who kept begging him for the swords he was practicing making.

He’s one of the few really good friends I have outside the academy, which is why I walk right up to him at the counter even though there’s a small crowd in the shop.

“I need my sword sharpened,” I tell him. “Gotta kill…”

“Excuse me.” Someone taps my shoulder rather sharply.

“What?”

“I was next in line.”

I turn around and look at the man up and down.

He’s got long dark hair, blue eyes, and a thick beard.

He’s conventionally, classically attractive and he has that smugness that attractive men have about them.

I’m not impressed. I already met a very attractive older man today, and meeting one for the second time isn’t as impactful as the first. Or maybe it is.

I don’t know what’s going on with me today. Am I ovulating?

This man is close to the age of the other guy I ran into today, but not quite as old. Probably thirties or something? I don’t know. I’m not standing here doing a deep age analysis of a complete stranger. I have to stop being so impressed by attractive strangers. It’s not usually a problem for me.

“ I was next in line. ” I repeat his words in a mocking tone. Not the most mature response, but he sounds kind of childish complaining about his place anyway. “I won’t be long. I just need to get this sharpened.”

He quirks a brow at me. “I don’t care what you need. It’s not your turn.”

“It is, actually,” I start to say. I’m about to throw my jacket open and reveal the fact that I’m female, and ladies always go first—but I don’t get the chance.

“Oh, I see. Another spoiled city kid desperate for a lesson he doesn’t know he needs to learn.”

I cast a glance over at Jory, who doesn’t look happy about this because I’m making a scene in his place of business.

“Don’t,” Jory whispers to me. “That’s Rafael.”

He says the name like there’s weight to it, like I’m supposed to know who he is talking about.

“Who?” I squint my eyes and look back at the guy.

I’ve never heard of any Rafael. Probably because I don’t know a lot of actual criminals.

As much as I like to slum it on occasion, I’m still pretty insulated from the worst parts of Eclipse.

Even at the weapon-smith, I shouldn’t really be meeting anybody actually bad.

That makes me think this guy, whoever he is, is just acting like he’s impressive.

He takes my question as the insult I intend it to be. At first he smirks, but then he narrows his eyes at me and speaks in low, menacing tones that don’t quite go all the way through the words. It’s like he wants to be intimidating, but he can’t quite bring himself to fully invest in the moment.

“Meet me outside the monastery at one o’clock, and bring a body bag.”

“Bring your own,” I shoot back.

He turns on his heel and leaves, giving me the last word, which is satisfying as hell.

“Just a sharpen, please, sir,” I say to Jory. “Sounds like I’m really going to need it.”

He arches a brow at me and shakes his head.

“You just made quite an enemy,” he says. “I’ll let you leave out the back once I have this sharp, in case he’s waiting out front for you.”

“Don’t tell him anything about me,” I say as I hand my sword over.

“There’s not a chance I’ll be saying a word. I’ll be denying having any idea who you are, Darcy. Girl, you have got to start being more careful. Eclipse City isn’t at all like the academy. You’re not going to get special treatment everywhere.”

“Well, that’s insulting,” I pout at him.

“It’s not insulting. It’s just true. You get spoiled at that academy, and here. I worry about you, Darce. One day you’re going to realize you can’t always get away with everything.”

“I’ll let you know if that happens.”

Jory rolls his eyes and sets about sharpening my sword for me. While he works, I sit out back by the forge and think about the day I’ve had, and the day yet to come.

That’s two duels.

Somehow I’ve managed to live twenty years without ever being in a duel, and now I am going to be in two in a single day.

That’s how life works, isn’t it. When it rains, it absolutely pours.

Doesn’t matter. I can kill the first guy at midday and have a good fifty-minute nap before the next one shows up to be dispatched.

King’s guards are trained to kill. I’ve never actually killed anybody before, but I’ve always known it was only a matter of time before I did.

Because of how I entered the academy, I have been trained to fight since I was old enough to hold a sword.

Most recruits don’t start until their teens, but most recruits don’t have the fortune of dead parents.

I glance at my watch. I’ve got some time before I have to take a life for the first time, so that’s good.

“Alright. It’s sharp.”

I reach for the sword, but Jory holds it out of my reach, his muscles gleaming in a sweaty blacksmith sort of way.

“What are you doing?”

“Promise me you’re not going to actually go to that duel,” he says. “Go back to the academy. You’ve made enough trouble for one day.”

“I promise,” I lie.

“You’re such a bad liar.” He calls me out right away, but he gives me the sword. “I want you alive, Darcy.”

“Nothing bad is going to happen to me,” I promise him. “I’m careful.”

“No. You’re not. Seriously. Don’t go fight that guy. He’s the best swordsman in the city. They say he’s a…” he lowers his voice, “terrorist.”

Jory has always been exposed to people I’m not because he handles a lot of weapons and the sort of people who need weapons are the sort of people who use them.

But that guy I just met looks more like a model than a violent criminal.

Besides, he was kind of sassy about it. If he was really a piece of shit, he could have just punched me in the face. He didn’t. So it’s probably fine.

“Okay. Thanks, Jory. See you next time.”

“No payment then? No. Of course not,” he smirks. “Get out of here.”

I go, heading into the back alleys. I’m a little concerned by Jory’s warnings, but then I remember that he has always been the sort to freak out about stuff when he doesn’t really have to.

Besides, he hasn’t seen me running drills lately. I’m not being arrogant when I say I am one of the best in the academy. I’ve literally trained my whole life with a sword. I’ll be fine, and two big, arrogant older men are going to learn not to bully what they think are smaller, younger guys.

I decide to get something to eat. I’ll need my strength for kicking ass later. Sushi is always a good choice, so I head through the streets toward my favorite place. Eclipse is buzzing, like always. I dart through the crowd, moving at a pretty decent pace.

There’s a line for sushi, of course, and this time I don’t know the person selling it, so I content myself with the notion I’m going to have to wait.

I notice that there’s a guy nearby, waiting for something or someone. He’s just casually holding up a wall, leaning against it in a way that makes him look hot.

Okay. I’ve got to be ovulating. Super ovulating.

I’m used to guys. The academy is absolutely full of them.

They’re everywhere. Until very recently, like, today, I was starting to think I was pretty much immune to them.

Couldn’t muster interest in them no matter how attractive they were.

Now I’ve met two hot men today—maybe I’m just into older guys?

And this guy? This guy makes me feel the most different of all.

He’s younger than the other two I’ve run into, maybe a few years older than me.

He has thick, blond hair to his shoulders—do I just like muscular men with long hair?

That could be it. Don’t see any of that in the academy.

His features are hawkish, sharp, and refined.

He’s dressed in fine clothes, so expensively cut I am pretty sure he’s a prince of some kind.

He just has that regal kind of look to him.

Every bit of fabric on his body is tailored to those powerful long lines.

He catches me looking at him and flickers a wink at me. I try not to smile back, but fail as a hot flush rushes through me.

I go over there, though I know I shouldn’t. Something about this guy tells me that he is trouble. Good guys don’t wear devilish smirks like the one that spreads over his face as he realizes I’m coming to talk to him.

“Are you Yoki?”

Shit. The way my heart plummets when I realize he’s only smiling at me because he thinks I’m someone he’s waiting for is bad.

I keep forgetting I’m dressed like a guy basically.

I’m definitely not presenting myself like one of the many hot city girls milling around this area.

I’m jealous of the way they don’t have to worry about displaying their bodies.

There are high heels, short skirts, and crop tops everywhere right now.

What the hell was I thinking, imagining even for a second he’d be into me.

“Yes,” I answer. I don’t know why I lie, I just know that I want to say yes to this man in general. He’s tall and magnetic, and even with my neck craned to make eye contact with him, looking at him is incredibly rewarding.

A knife flashes under my eyes. “What’s the password, Yoki?”

Holy shit. The hot pretty boy just pulled a knife on me.

“I’m hoping that you’re joking,” I stammer, taking a step back. Not because of the knife, but because of the intensity of his expression and tone. This is a guy who wants to do damage. He looks like an angel, but he’s got the heart of a devil.

“You’re not who I’m waiting for,” he says flatly.

“No. Well. I might be,” I smirk. Then I remember again that I keep getting mistaken for a guy today, and that’s probably part of why he’s giving me a flat kind of expression.

These are some crossed wires I have no intention of trying to untangle.

It’s way too much to explain, and there’s a crowd around.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Are you trying to proposition me?”

I have to save face, and quick. “Sorry,” I say, mentally scrambling for a good excuse for this. “I thought you were for sale.”

Right. Good. Call him a hooker. That will sort this whole problem out right away. Sometimes I really don’t know what I am going to say until I have said it. This is one of those times, and it is very much not a good thing.

His head goes up and back, and he looks down his nose at me with an expression that denotes surprise.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed where you stand?”

“No,” I say. I’m edging toward the crowd, hoping to join it and be swept away from him and this awkward interaction.

“You’ll meet your fate at two o’clock, outside the ruins of the monastery, if you have any honor at all!” he calls to me just as I slip into a gaggle of tourists talking about going to the castle.

Alright. Three duels. This last one is the only one I feel bad about, and it’s because it’s the only one where I feel like I came across as an awkward creep trying to buy sex from a stranger.

Hopefully I can kill the other two long before my appointed duel time with him comes.

I’ll be at the academy having an afternoon bath before I see him again. How fucking embarrassing.