by Dianna Love
Well, damn. Storm grabbed his head. “Did the druid say I was trying to run her life?”
“No, don’t take that personally, Storm. Garwyli did say if we keep asking if she’s getting better and interfering when she tests her body, she’s never going to realize she can fall and get up again.” Adrianna took a moment and gentled her words. “He has a point. Evalle’s a warrior. She might need to fail so she remembers how to dust her pants off and continue on.”
Storm crossed his arms. “I can’t argue with that.”
The witch lifted her shoulders. “Exactly. Even Daegan thought on that a minute and finally agreed. Then he announced he had full faith in you keeping her safe and he’d teleport you two to Atlanta right away if you agreed.”
Daegan’s concern for Evalle didn’t surprise Storm because the dragon leader of the Beladors had shown he put his followers first time and again. Storm blew out a breath of frustration. “Garwyli made a valid point, but Daegan hasn’t said a word to me about teleporting.”
Adrianna rolled her eyes. “That’s because Brina heard them talking about taking Evalle somewhere else and hurried in, pitching a fit. That brought Tzader storming in and demanding to know who had upset Brina so close to having the twins.”
Storm found his smile. “Drama just like in the human world.”
She chuckled. “I called up a tiny spell to keep their attention away from me and tiptoed out as they argued.”
“None of them saw you leave?” Storm asked, seriously amazed.
“Oh, yes. Just before I reached the door, I caught Garwyli sneaking a look my way with a smile. He winked. Hard to slip anything past that one. I think the old druid enjoys getting them all cranked up.”
Storm smiled. “I think you’re right. Garwyli told me the castle hadn’t felt this alive for centuries.”
Squawking erupted in the air from the gryphons flying above him. Storm cut his gaze up, dismissed the ruckus then glanced over to the woods, hoping to see Evalle emerge.
Hoyt entered the forest carrying a sword.
What the hell was that Belador up to?
CHAPTER 3
The minute Evalle entered the tree line, hiding her from all eyes around the castle, she took off at a sprint.
She had to get out of this realm today.
That wouldn’t happen if she couldn’t prove herself right now. Her body wouldn’t give her any more time.
Pumping her arms flicked her right bicep into view. The jagged black lines that appeared like inked veins this morning were still there.
What the hell did that mean?
Knocking branches aside, she kept moving and listened for Hoyt. She couldn’t hear a sound following her.
That meant nothing.
The head of the Belador castle guards might have six inches on her five-foot-ten height and outweigh her by fifty pounds, but he could move all that with stealth.
Just like Storm, who shifted into a black jaguar.
She hadn’t looked back before leaving Storm’s sight. Was he still talking to Adrianna?
Or was her Skinwalker mate proving he could give her space?
Sweat drizzled down the side of her face even though the temperature stayed at a comfortable seventy degrees. The Treoirs controlled the weather and everything else here. Good thing. Real sunlight would fry her body.
She hunted for a place far enough from the castle to make a stand and found it when she broke into a clearing. A pile of boulders three times her height blocked an exit on the other side.
Breathing like a lathered racehorse, she swung around to wait for Hoyt.
Bad sign being this winded.
Her Belador powers normally got a burst of extra juice in this realm.
Her pulse throbbed from anxiety more than exertion. She’d wanted to be wrong about the lack of power she could feel when she got up this morning, but being out of breath?
Yep, it sucked to be right.
She hadn’t felt her gryphon since escaping the Abandinu realm and now her Belador powers were weakening.
Really? What the hell, Universe?
She clenched her eyes against the burn of tears. No fucking way was she giving in to the ache of losing her majestic beast, but damn it all. She had a dead spot in her chest where she should feel the buzz of her gryphon’s energy.
Garwyli and Storm, the two most powerful healers she knew of, had done all they could.
She was on her own now. Finding a way to fix her body meant getting out of Treoir. Going a route that might not suit everyone here, including Storm.
Her poor mate had been through enough.
She wanted to go home to be with him most of all.
Time for her to up her game. First step would be battling Hoyt to the finish without giving in. He stood between her and convincing their dragon king to teleport her back to Atlanta where she could rejoin the Belador teams.
Being a warrior was all she knew. They could not take that from her. Not without a fight.
Based on testing her powers this morning, she might lose half in another day.
Hoyt attacked from above.
She lunged to the side, rolled forward and came up on her feet. Had she not heard the air rush past his body, she’d have been standing right where he landed.
“I request a Belador sword,” she put to the realm. Bam, it appeared vertically right in front of her. With a quick thanks, she grasped the hilt with both hands.
Hoyt straightened from where he’d landed on bent knees.
One look at that brute and his nickname as the War Machine made sense.
He whipped his sword around, warming up his wrists. “You should have waited three more days as we originally agreed.”
She mirrored his moves as he began sidestepping in a circle. When on the short end of the power stick, Evalle defaulted to her mouth. “You feeling puny today, Hoyt? I’ll take it easy on you.”
“You do that, Evalle, while I show you why you are not ready to do this.”
To prove him wrong, she had to stay upright the allotted time of thirty minutes, which had technically started.
Hoyt had set the time limit.
She’d groaned internally but had given him the thumbs-up.
Stupid thumbs didn’t know any better.
He made the first move, striking hard. She met his hit and it was on. Hoyt sure as hell wasn’t on the Coddle Evalle train, like the others.
Metal on metal clashed. It might be due to adrenaline, but she had a surge of excitement when she bested him with her next hit.
Hoyt stumbled, then twisted his body back into position fast, too fast. He brought his sword around in a horizontal arc that slammed her sword, sending her backwards.
He’d done that from his weak side.
Who was she kidding?
He had no weakness.
She felt that contact hammer all the way through her body. In contrast to his size, Hoyt’s footwork would impress a ballet prima donna.
Ten minutes in, her sword strikes began to lose punch. She couldn’t do this for another twenty minutes against that wall of muscle.
She’d been taught there was only one rule of battle.
To win.
Hoyt took his time coming in for another attack. That screamed confidence. He wouldn’t kill her, at least not intentionally. But she’d told him to battle her as if she threatened the life of Brina, their queen whose very existence in the Treoir realm fueled Belador power.
That challenge might go down as a bad life decision.
In response, Hoyt appeared prepared to chop her into pieces and deliver them to Brina as evidence of performing his duty.
Evalle barely sidestepped a powerful hit and sprinted across the clearing. Flipping her sword back and forth, she kept her wrists and arms loose.
If she had plenty of power, she’d still feel warmed up and ready.
Screw this. Forcing energy into her legs, she whipped to the left and spun to hit Hoyt with a scissor kick.
Nailed it.
But Hoyt barely sweated, dammit.
The halter top, one-piece black outfit she wore for sword training had soaked all the way through with perspiration.
He’d stated he would not use kinetics to even out their size difference.
She’d considered arguing, but simply decided to avoid using hers if possible.
That decision fell in the first minute.
Pulling in deep gulps of air, she attacked with a renewed vigor, watching for an opening to toss him off his feet.
Flipping a loaded dump truck over would be easier.
He’d been battling at a steady level of strength then caught her off guard when he struck with a more powerful blow. His sword slammed into hers, knocking her weapon flying.
Damn. Damn. Damn!
She didn’t hesitate to move, rushing right then left, leaping on boulders and spinning away. Not bad reflexes. Moments like this encouraged her she could win the war with her body.
She sent a slap of kinetics at Hoyt’s boots, her only hope for slowing him down.
He continued forward with a kick, as if flipping away an irritation.
Crap. She had seconds before he would be on her. Looking up, she kinetically flipped a branch down, whacking him across the back of the head.
He went flying face first and sprawled on the ground.
Cheap trick, but he’d expect her to use anything she could get her hands on in a battle when back in Atlanta.
Letting out a loud growl that would give a grizzly pause, Hoyt pushed up quickly to his knees.
He sent her a glare she’d have nightmares over.
Oh, boy.
Fighting a Hoyt intent on doing his duty was one thing. Going up against a pissed-off Hoyt ranked as suicidal.
Worry about that later.
Every second counted right now. She only had to stay in the fight another sixteen minutes to prove she could take on an adversary and walk away.
Her heart pounded faster than a hamster on crack.
Using her kinetics, she called her fallen sword to her. Or tried to ... it remained on the ground ignoring her.
She tried asking the realm for a new sword, which any Belador could do here.
The faint image of a sword wavered into view vertically in front of her then vanished before fully forming.
Now on his feet, Hoyt’s dark gaze offered no mercy.
Hmm. She had asked to prove herself.
If she survived this, she’d prove insanity came with grit.
Pushing energy into her legs, Evalle took off running. Not an impressive battle move, but it was that or lift her hands in surrender.
No fucking way.
Don’t lose sight of the goal, she silently repeated to herself. A tree had helped her moments ago. She slapped kinetic hits over her shoulder at branches above Hoyt to distract him.
He slashed two-inch thick limbs that rained down on him.
Whatever.
Not much of a distraction, but it gave her an opening to put some distance between them. She leaped over bushes and hit the ground hard.
Pain shot up her legs. That shouldn’t happen. She rushed on in full stride.
Hoyt’s footsteps pounded behind her.
Too fast.
Too close.
Sweat stung her eyes and dampened her clenched fists. Her heart banged her chest wall so hard she expected bruising. Every breath dragged into her lungs came back out on a ragged exhale.
Running would not save her.
Twelve minutes.
She zigzagged, ready to panic until she found a decent place to take a stand. Most of the underbrush grew close to the ground and the leaf canopy opened for a wide shot of the blue sky.
If she had one more burst of energy, one more push of kinetics, one more time to call up a sword, then she still had a chance of success.
If not ...
Never waste time thinking on failure.
Hoyt’s footsteps slowed as he neared where she waited. He approached with caution.
Wise man. She’d gotten the best of him one time.
Just once.
She doubted many did that and walked away with their limbs intact.
“Please, just one more sword,” she begged the realm.
Hallelujah, one appeared in front of her. A masterpiece made of brilliant silver metal stronger than steel and with a Belador triquetra formed in the hilt.
Eight minutes. Come on, body, she begged silently. You can do this a little longer.
Gripping the weapon, she grimaced at the numbness bleeding into her fingers.
Her gaze jumped to the jagged black line on her arm that grew another inch.
She’d been declared free of the nasty majik a mage had shoved into her body in the other realm. The dark side of her blood from the Medb, enemies of Beladors, responded to the Noirre majik that bunch wielded. But he’d also cast a spell when he pushed the majik inside her, claiming the Noirre would attack her body if anyone teleported her from Abandinu’s realm.
He’d been proven correct.
She’d died upon leaving.
Her friends had pulled off the impossible by bringing her back to life and healing her.
Could residual Noirre majik be leaking from her body?
Was that the reason the black lines appeared?
Hoyt used the tip of his razor-sharp weapon to move a branch aside then peered into the opening.
She clenched the grip, lifting her sword. This would be her last chance. She dug deep for everything she could muster. Visions of being back in Atlanta with Storm, loving and laughing, rolled past her eyes. Living free to fight alongside her Belador teammates.
Freedom.
She’d fought too long and hard to give up the life she’d earned.
Hoyt’s distrustful eyes took in everything from her to nearby trees to the sky above before returning fully to her again. His naked chest barely expanded with each inhale, not the least bit winded. Jeans covered thick thighs inherited along with other rugged features from Nordics somewhere in his bloodline.
“You may think you have little time left,” Hoyt said in his baritone voice. He shook his head. “Six minutes will pass as slowly as an hour with every strike this time. I failed to give this match the respect I should have. That won’t happen again.”
She would be insulted at his admission if not for the fact he’d been doing her a favor, though unintentionally.
But he’d just informed her the gloves were off.
If that warning had been said to undermine her confidence, point to him.
Even so, she would not allow her mind to beat her.
She nodded. “Bring it.”
If only those words had come out with a punch of arrogance instead of on a raspy wheeze.
Finally convinced no trap waited for him, Hoyt entered on deft bare feet.
He could’ve followed her silently. No, he’d wanted her to hear his footsteps as he closed in, for her to feel like a prey run to ground.
She’d have done the same with an adversary.
They might both be Beladors, but she’d made the stakes clear today and he had a duty to give Daegan an honest assessment. She liked Hoyt and would not hold anything against him, but neither would she let her guard down either.
Lifting an eyebrow, he asked, “Ready to admit defeat?”
He could have said something else to chip away at her determination.
Anything but claiming a victory he had not earned.
Instead of answering, she raced forward on attack, slashing her sword to meet his. The constant whack of metal rang out. She normally wouldn’t blast forward to battle but executing the unexpected offered her only advantage if she hoped to kill six more minutes.
With Hoyt’s first strike this time, his powerful hit bent her knees.
She forced them back straight.
Again and again, she struck to push him off track, to the side, anywhere that prevented standing still.
He ga
ve no ground, efficient and ferocious. He drove her back with each blow no matter which direction she moved the fight.
Damn him, he’d been right. Minutes took forever to pass.
There couldn’t be more than three left.
No time to look at her watch.
She called up whatever energy she had left and blinked away the sweat stinging her eyes.
Muscles in Hoyt’s jaw bulged with determination. He seemed to get stronger the longer he battled.
She’d experienced that in the past.
But now? Her arms quivered with spent muscles. The energy she called up trickled into her chest, making no effort to flood her limbs.
She couldn’t withstand another two minutes.
That left one choice. She made a dangerous move to throw him out of sync and swing her sword up to attack. He’d have to pull back or be cut.
Solid plan.
With the focus of a cobra ready to strike, Hoyt anticipated her move and reacted with precision. He slashed his sword across and down to meet hers.
Her idea should have worked.
Would have, but her arms couldn’t follow through. Her sword swung off track and totally missed connecting with his.
Hoyt’s eyes flared in surprise.
And her mind screamed, Nooo!
CHAPTER 4
Evalle flinched at Hoyt’s huge sword driving at her.
A black flash of fury knocked her aside.
Not in time.
The sharp tip slashed a deep cut across her upper arm.
She hissed in pain, grabbing her right arm and rolling on her stomach. Never stay down. She’d sit up just as soon as the world stopped spinning.
A jaguar roared, shaking the ground with his fury.
Clamping her teeth shut to keep from moaning—or throwing up—she shouted, “Don’t, Storm!”
Twisting to her knees and looking up, she found the jaguar standing between her and Hoyt, who stood very still.
The Belador’s gaze jumped between her and Storm. Where Hoyt never showed doubt he could best Evalle, his expression displayed serious respect for Storm’s jaguar.
“Storm,” she gritted out.
His jaguar head swung to her with glowing yellow eyes. A deep rumble vibrated his chest that threatened Hoyt would bleed for hurting her.