Gameboard of the Gods (Age of X, #1)(71)

“You’re flexible, I’ll give you that,” he said, his eyes watching her with just as much scrutiny. “That’ll be to my advantage later, I suppose.”

“Yeah?” She tried to get inside his guard, but he was too fast. “Then why haven’t you landed a hit on me yet?”

“I don’t like to rush things, as you’ll soon find out.”

Mae made no response as she narrowed her world back into the fight. Exhilaration filled her. She loved this bizarre, antiquated sport with all of her heart, and even though she knew the military had led her to a nobler calling, there was still a part of her that ached with the realization that if not for her mother’s strong will, Mae could have very well devoted her life to it. Porfirio had been right that it was an art. She threw herself into this match, and despite his continuing commentary, she loved that she finally had someone to play against who was such an even match. She had him on speed, hands down. That and agility were both skills she’d honed over the years, skills she’d had to develop against male opponents who almost always outweighed her. Porfirio still moved admirably fast, but it was his strength that took its toll on her whenever their canes slammed together. It was magnificent.

The observing pr?torians, however, were less enchanted. After the initial cheering and shouts of encouragement, their enthusiasm had dimmed when no real action or hitting occurred. Mae was vaguely aware of shouts of “Get on with it!” and then eventually, no commentary at all. Porfirio noticed as well.

“We didn’t set any round limits. We should’ve had someone timing this,” he said. A faint sheen of sweat could be seen on his forehead.

He was right about the time. Matches were usually only a couple of minutes long at most. Neither of them had thought about that when starting. They’d just wanted to get right to it. She had no idea how much time had passed and didn’t care.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Maybe you’ve got trouble going a long time after all.”

“Darling, I can go as long as—shit!”

Mae’s stick made contact with his abdomen. Apparently, all it took was one dig about his sexual prowess to throw him off. Typical. She expected some kind of reaction from the crowd but heard nothing. That was when she noticed something that brought her to a stop.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, still in his attack stance but not advancing.

“They’re gone,” she said in disbelief.

He looked at where she nodded, his face mirroring her astonishment. The pr?torians, bored, had all gone back to their drinking and bantering on the other side of the room. If he really did share a similar background in canne, Mae suspected that he too was used to audiences composed of enthralled fans who could appreciate the subtleties of the sport. Porfirio’s lips curled in contempt.

“Children. All of them. Oh, well.” And with speed that Mae didn’t anticipate, Porfirio lunged forward and tapped her on the calf—twice. “Match.” He tossed his stick onto the floor.

“Hey,” she exclaimed. “That’s not fair at—ahh!”

He picked her up bodily and literally threw her over his shoulder. “I had more points. Ergo, I win. Let’s go home.”

She pounded on his back as he effortlessly carried her out of the hall like some sort of war prize. Both knew she was fully capable of freeing herself, or at least doing serious damage—which would’ve probably restored their audience—but she held back and contented herself with verbal protests and Finnish insults. Once they were outside in the misty night, she finally broke his hold and pushed herself away, settling onto her own two feet.

“You did not win,” she told him vehemently, fists clenched at her sides. “We didn’t establish round lengths or ever discuss—”

Porfirio pulled her to him, his hand sliding up the back of her neck and tangling up in her hair. She felt his lips crush hers in a kiss of victory, making liquid fire ooze through her body. His mouth searched hers, hungry and demanding, and she responded in kind, her body straining toward his, wanting to feel those muscles against hers, those hands on her skin. When he at last pulled back, leaving them both breathless, he asked, “Look, are we going to do this the hard way or the easy way?”

Mae swallowed, still flushed and dizzy from the kiss as adrenaline and endorphins spiked within her. “I guess it depends on what you mean by ‘hard.’”

Which was how she ended up in his bed after all—without being forcefully carried there. It was the kind of aggressive, backbreaking sex that pr?torians thrived on, and as she stretched out in the tangle of sheets afterward, she experienced a rare moment of exhaustion. It wouldn’t last, and if a squad of assassins suddenly burst through the bedroom door, her implant would have helped her muscles and heart get the energy they needed to contend with danger. But even pr?torians needed to rest sometimes, and it was a nice feeling to lie there with all of her muscles pleasantly worn out. It would’ve been better still to sleep. Post-sex was one of the few times she missed sleep. It seemed like a natural conclusion to the act of passion, being able to drift off in a lover’s arms.

There was no sleep for either of them, though Mae stayed in bed while he showered. When he returned, he tossed something on the bed that made her sit up in alarm. For half a second, she thought he’d thrown some animal at her. Then she recognized his ponytail.