Dragon's Oath (House of Night Novellas #1)(23)

“I wish you’d say something,” he said.

Her gaze went from his broad chest quickly up to his eyes. “I–I’m not sure what to say.”

“You could tell me I have a chance with you.”

“Am I just a conquest? Something for you to win, like the title of Sword Master?”

He pulled the buggy up short and turned to face Anastasia. “That’s a load of bullocks! Why would you say that?”

“You’re competitive,” she countered. “You have a predator’s skills. You chase. You catch. You conquer. I’m probably the only female in quite some time who hasn’t fallen at your feet to worship you. So you want me because I’m a challenge.”

“I want you because you’re beautiful and smart, and beautiful and talented, and beautiful and kindhearted. Or at least I thought you were kindhearted.” He blew out a long, frustrated breath. “Anastasia, the spell we cast was supposed to draw the truth about me. So, I’ll admit to being arrogant.” He shrugged. “I think with my skills a bit of arrogance is warranted. But I want you to understand that me wanting you has nothing to do with conquest or predatory skills.”

His brown eyes captured hers and she saw hurt, not anger, in their depths. Slowly, she reached across the space between them and touched his arm. “You’re right. You don’t deserve that from me. I’m sorry. Bryan.” She sighed and shook her head, correcting herself, “I mean Dragon. I’m a little confused about what I feel for you.”

He covered her hand with his. “You can call me Bryan. I like it when you say my name.”

“Bryan,” she said softly, and felt him tremble under her hand. “I didn’t expect someone like you in my life.”

“It’s because I’m a Sword Master, and going to be a Warrior, isn’t it?”

She nodded silently.

“Why does that bother you?”

“You’re going to think it’s foolish,” she said.

He took her hand from his arm and laced his fingers with hers. “No, I won’t. I give you my promise. Tell me.”

“I was raised a Quaker. Do you know what that means?”

“Not really. I’ve heard of them. Aren’t they religious fanatics?”

“Some are. My family wasn’t as bad as the rest of our community. They—they loved me,” she said hesitantly, remembering. “Even though the community made them shun me after I was Marked and then Changed. But I still get letters from my mother. She sends them secretly. She still loves me. I know I’ll always love her.”

“That doesn’t seem foolish. That seems loyal and faithful and kind,” he said.

She smiled. “That’s not the foolish part. What’s foolish is that there are still pieces of me that are very much Quaker. I don’t think that will ever change.”

“You mean you don’t worship Nyx?”

“No, Nyx is my Goddess. For as long as I can remember I’ve felt connected to the earth in a special way, a different way than my family. I think that’s how I found my path to the Goddess, though my love of the earth.” Anastasia brushed the hair back from her face and continued, “What I’m trying to tell you is that when I was human I was a pacifist. I’m still a pacifist. I think I always will be.”

She saw him blink in surprise, but he didn’t release her hand. “I can’t change the fact that I’m a Sword Master. And I wouldn’t if I could.”

“I know! I don’t mean–”

“Wait, I want to finish. I don’t think me being a Sword Master and you being a pacifist is a bad thing.”

“Even when I tell you I think mercy is stronger than your sword?”

“So is love. So is hate. There are lots of things stronger than my sword.”

“I don’t like violence, Bryan.”

“You think I do?” He shook his head and answered himself before she could. “I don’t! The reason I first picked up a sword was because I hate violence.” His shoulders slumped and he continued with an honesty so raw it was almost painful to hear. “I’m short. I used to be very short. Little, actually. So little I got picked on. I was the butt of jokes. I was ‘the Earl’s middle son who was wee and soft and blond like a lass.’” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t like to fight. I didn’t want to fight. But that didn’t matter. The violence came to me whether I wanted it or not. If I’d given up, given in to it—to them—I would have been broken and hurt and abused. You see, my father was not well liked, and his smallest son was thought to be his weakest link.” He paused and Anastasia could see it was hard for him to talk about this part of his past—hard for him to go back there. “Instead of being broken, I grew strong. I learned how to use a sword to stop the violence done against me. Yes, I was good at it. Yes, I got arrogant and have probably used my sword when I didn’t have to, especially before I was Marked. But the truth is that I prefer to stop violence rather than start it.” His sword-roughened palm was calloused and hard against her smoother one, and she felt that rough touch all through her body. “A Warrior is a protector, not a predator.”

“You live by violence,” she said, but even to her own ears her words sounded weak. “You become something else when you fight. You’ve said it; others have said it. You’re even named after it.”