Archangel's Enigma (Guild Hunter)(13)

Not that he cared.

He was going to ignore it.

Muscles bunched, he stepped out into the night and frowned at the diffuse light from the two lamps someone had lit at a low intensity. His eyes adjusted quickly enough, but he preferred full dark at night. The woman who was doing some kind of exercise in the center of the training arena, however, clearly couldn’t see in the dark.

She was no longer dressed in the flowing gown the color of ripe raspberries in which he’d seen her earlier, but in black pants that hugged her curvaceous form. Her top was the same color and close to a T-shirt. The wing slits were closed off with discreet buttons, the soft fabric hugging her upper body while leaving most of her arms bare.

Light glinted off the threads of gold in her hair, her honeyed skin aglow.

When she moved, her wings rustled, but she kept them scrupulously off the ground. Galen must’ve been at her—the weapons-master was ferocious about teaching his students to maintain wing discipline. Dragging wings could not only get damaged, the habit created weak muscles. Andromeda’s wing muscles were strong, her movements graceful.

Those wings flared out as she made a controlled turn and he felt his gut clench. Her wings weren’t just chocolate dark, though that had been more than strokable enough. They were patterned with intricate gradations of color all the way to a pale golden brown, but the secret was only visible when she spread her wings.

They closed in a second later as she turned into another move.

He’d seen people practicing something like this in Lijuan’s land. It was called tai chi. He much preferred the harder, faster martial arts like karate and tae kwon do. He could take those movements and make them his own. This type of patience would drive him insane.

Watching Andromeda do it, however . . .

“Oh.” She came to a startled halt after her next turn left her facing him—and his glowing eyes.

Naasir could make them not reflect, could also shield them with his lashes when he didn’t want to be seen, but he wasn’t in a good mood right now. Scaring her with his predator’s eyes made him feel momentarily better.

About to lunge onto the top of the wall so he could begin his climb down, he was stopped by a ridiculous feminine question. “Are you looking for a sparring partner?”

He stared at her. “Do you want to die?” Naasir was very, very, very good, and unless he held back his lethal side, he could easily kill someone of her soft nature.

“No,” she said, doing another stretch in front of him.

The move pulled the fabric of her top taut over her breasts and bared a thin strip of her abdomen and he wondered if she was taunting him. His blood grew hot, his predatory instincts snarling. “You’ll die if you spar with me,” he said in warning, wanting to bite her so she’d know exactly who it was she was baiting.

“Your sire would be disappointed in you if you killed your partner.”

She wasn’t his partner. She was just someone he had to work with, but she was right: Raphael would not be happy if he killed their expert. “More reason for us not to spar.” He shifted back toward the wall he intended to scale.

“Scared?”

Naasir froze, sheer incredulity holding him in place. When he turned, it was to prowl over to her until they stood toe-to-toe, both of them in bare feet. “What did you say?”





4


A smile of challenge from the small, soft scholar who was taunting him. “I asked if you were scared,” she said, not backing off, though he could see the pulse thudding hard in her neck.

“Do you want me to bite you?” he asked seriously.

Scowling, she stepped back. “Fine, if you don’t want to spar, I’ll find someone else.”

He barely held back his growl. She wanted him to act civilized? He’d wear the skin so well she’d never see the real Naasir again. “Rules for the session?” he asked. “Other than my not killing you.”

“I get to have a sword as a weapon. You get bare hands.”

He shrugged. “That’s fair.” What it was, was suicidal on her part. She could have ten swords and he’d still be inside her guard in a heartbeat. “Is that your sword in the corner?”

“How did you see that?” she asked. “It’s in the shadows.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched her until she broke eye contact and walked to pick up the sword she’d propped up neatly against a wall. It was in its scabbard and when she drew it out, he saw it gleamed. Either Galen had drummed it into her to clean her weapons, or this weapon had never actually been used in any kind of serious combat. She probably just used it as part of her routine with the flowing, patient stretches.

He snorted under his breath.

“Ready?” she asked, taking a wide-legged stance across from him, enough distance between them that she probably thought herself safe.

“Yes.”

“In that case, three, two, one!”

Naasir lunged, not holding back his speed or agility. All he had to do was put her on the ground and this ridiculous exercise would be done and he could leave and his mouth would stop watering at the intoxicating scent of her. The air whistled past his eyes, the world so slow in comparison to his speed, the stars blurring together—

“Grr!”

He snarled as he came down on his feet, looking in disbelief at his upper arm. There was a thin line of red across his biceps. Shaking his head, he looked again but it was still there. It healed before his eyes, the wound superficial, but the blood remained behind to mark the spot. “You cut me,” he said to Andromeda.