Immortals After Dark 03 - No Rest for the Wicked

shorts kept fluttering, giving him tantalizing glimpses. Fighting her was the last thing he wanted to be doing with her. “I’ve found honor and survival to be mutually exclusive in the Lore.”
    “You are jaded. Too much so for someone so young.”
    This seemed to amuse her. “And do you think me young?”
    He was centuries old, and before he’d met her, he’d often felt ancient. Her youthful energy and looks made him doubt she was a day over twenty-five. Or she had been before she became immortal. “I know you’ve competed in at least one Hie before, so you have to be older than two hundred and fifty years. But I doubt much more.”
    “What if I told you I’m very old indeed?” she asked. “Would it hinder your attraction to know that stars look different now from how they did when I was a girl?”
    Her voice was lulling, and he found himself relaxing his guard and puzzling over her words—
    She parried once more, flying to get to his back. He barely twisted around with his sword in time.
    “I’m no match for your speed, unless I trace,” he began, “which has always seemed cowardly to me. But since you don’t see a problem with such tactics—” He traced behind her in an instant and swatted the broad side of his sword against her ass. “Point. And I believe I just spanked you as well.”
    You don’t have to taunt her. Her shoulders stiffened just as weird lightning lit the sky outside and killed the shadows in the room. That same electricity he’d felt when he’d kissed her crackled in the air. Thunder rattled the glass doors. Valkyrie give off lightning with sharp emotion.
    “Tracing.” She pivoted slowly. “Thank you for reminding me of what you are.”
    It was as if some dam had burst. Her sword cut through the air like its own entity, reflecting light from bolts outside. She held the hilt so loosely, so confidently, and he found himself enthralled with her movements—to his detriment.
    Yet her skills and technique could be beaten by focused power, and finally he began using his strength over hers. If he connected cleanly with her sword, then he followed through with all the power in his body, making her weapon quake and waver in her hands, jarring her with each brutal strike.
    He feinted, catching her off-guard, just long enough to deliver a particularly punishing blow against her sword. He’d thought to send it flying, ending this, but amazingly, she somehow held on to it. Her body staggered as though she’d taken the hit to herself. She fell to a knee. Lightning exploded outside.
    His chest seemed to clench. “Damn it, you weren’t supposed to be able to hold that.” A lifetime spent trying to avoid hurting women, and now he’d struck out at her as if she were a man?
    “I don’t plan to lose.” She looked up at him through loosened curls. Her eyes were silver. “Can’t exactly win without it, now, can I?”
    But her faltering was just enough for him to trace to her. He forced himself to drive his advantage. He tapped his flat sword at her shoulder. “Point.”
    Her breaths were ragged. “This isn’t yet finished.”
    “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
    “Only hurts for a moment.” Her nonchalance disappeared when she sprang from the ground, charging once more. Their swords clashed again and again, mimicking the lightning outside. Her eyes began glowing in the scant intervals of darkness.
    Then she pulled back, lowering her sword. Her brows were drawn as if in pain, and she was panting. The bolts quickened outside. In a pleading tone, she cried, “Ah, gods, Bastian, do you want me to beg you for it?”
    He drew his head back in astonishment. Had he missed signals? Was she going to accept him? Her uncanny eyes called to him even as thunder exploded ominously.
    Already thinking about where he would taste her first, he lunged for her—
    Her blade planted just above his heart, and her eyes went dark and cold in an instant. “Point.” She jabbed the tip and twisted, tearing his flesh with a menacing sneer. “I win, leech.”
    At the sight of his blood slipping down the center of her sword, he imagined all the others who’d bled on her blade, all the others who’d fallen for her beauty and trickery. How many had thought they were about to have her just before their lives ended? A sudden violent mix of thwarted lust and rage like none he’d ever experienced overwhelmed him.
    He growled with fury, tossing his sword away as he traced behind her. He yanked her to him,