Lili St Crow - Defiance

We weren’t just sparring now. No, it had ended up like usual—with me honestly trying to hurt him. The anger was back, boiling through my bloodstream, spurred by the smell of copper.

The bloodhunger reliably pushed me into the aspect. It also frightened me. I could really hurt someone when I did this. I’d almost killed Shanks back at the reform Schola, because I’d totally lost it.

But under the glow of the aspect, Christophe just looked intent and thoughtful.

And pleased.

“ Hit me!” he yelled. “ Hit me, Dru!”

I damn well did my best. Drove him back almost onto the bleachers; they rattled as he leapt, his back foot kissing the wooden surface and propelling him outward. He flew over me, but I was tracking. I knew where he was going to land; I whirled and lunged. Hit him twice on his way down, his body twisting to try and avoid the blows. Good solid hits, enough to crack a rib.

He landed and spun, foot flicking out. I met it squarely with my left-hand stick, the right curving down to smack him on the thigh. I could’ve gone for the nut shot, but it would have left me no recovery path. I might not have needed it with him curled up on the ground, but that was one of Christophe’s sayings— always leave yourself a recovery .

Dad would have approved. But I was too busy to feel the way my heart wrung itself down at the thought. That was another reason why I didn’t try to get out of sparring with Christophe, even if I was already tired from running over half the city during the afternoon when I should’ve been sleeping.

Because when I got going this fast, and I tried to hurt him, it made me forget—for just a few minutes a night—everything nasty and painful. Everything bad.

The aspect turned to a cloak of warm prickles instead of oil, my teeth aching and sensitive, and he spun in midair. It was one of the things human bodies aren’t supposed to do, but he’s djamphir . Physics and gravity don’t mean the same things to him that they do to—

I didn’t see how he hit me. One second I was kicking his ass while he was in midair, the next dynamite went off inside my head. I came to with my ears ringing and Christophe’s arms around me as he knelt on the mats.

“You’re getting better. No, don’t try to get up.” He pushed a curl out of my face. “Just lie still for a moment.”

I don’t know why he said that; I wasn’t trying to go anywhere. I blinked, and the world rolled back up to speed. I tasted hot copper, and hoped I wasn’t bleeding anywhere.

But wouldn’t you know, I guess it just wasn’t my night. A thin trickle of something warm slid down from my nose. Christophe swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and the aspect slipped through his hair like dark fingers.

I stared at him, my heart beating thinly. Rapid fluttering beats, like a hummingbird’s wings. His fever-hot fingers brushed my upper lip, wiping at the blood.

My blood. Full of happy stuff that drove boy djamphir crazy.

My arms and legs wouldn’t obey me. We were alone in here, and if he went nuts over the happy stuff in my blood there was no way I could—

I shouldn’t have worried.

He lifted his fingers to his mouth. Closed his eyes and licked them clean. I struggled to move, and his other hand—he had one arm underneath me, holding me up—bit down, fingers like slim iron bands.

I should have been terrified. But instead I only felt a sleepy sort of alarm. As if I was in a dream that wasn’t too terribly important.

Christophe leaned down. His eyes were still tightly shut, and his lips met my cheek. They grazed the surface of my skin, lightly, and I felt the sharp points of his fangs, scraping just a little.

Then he kissed me.

Each time our mouths met, it was the same. Lightning crackled through me, and I forgot everything else. The only thing I remembered was him , his arms around me and the taste of him like night in the desert, spice and sand and fading heat. One of his fangs brushed mine and a jolt of pleasure slammed down my throat. The bloodhunger bloomed, and my fingers were in his hair, twisting and tangling. My arms tensed, and for a moment I quivered on the edge of action—wrenching his head back, kissing down the line of his jaw, and burying those dainty little fangs in his throat. My entire body curved, strength welling back up, and I struggled against the part of me that wanted to rip out a chunk of his flesh and drink .

Christophe’s mouth slid free of mine, regretfully. He pulled away, despite my hands trying to keep him. I realized I was making a small sound in the back of my throat, a little mewling. “It’s all right,” he whispered. “Shhh, it’s all right. It’s just the hunger. It’s not you. You have control, kochana .”

It was nice of him to say it. Because really, I didn’t think I did. My lips burned, my teeth tingled, and I shook like I was cold. But at least I didn’t try to jerk forward and bite him.

I wanted to. I was stronger than the urge, though. By only a few millimeters, but it was something.

My fingers cramped. We were both bleeding, and the smell of it stroked that rough spot on my palate, right next to the little place that warned me of danger. I swallowed, but that just made it worse. Spit wasn’t what that place wanted. It wanted what was beating through his veins. It was even worse because I knew how good it tasted.

I knew what it was like to drink his blood, desert spice and wind through car windows, thunderstorm looming and the accelerator pressed to the floor.

He tasted like freedom.

Christophe stroked my hair, not caring that I was pulling on his. I tried to make my fingers let go, but they wouldn’t. It had to be uncomfortable, but he looked strangely peaceful. His mouth had relaxed, and his eyes were still closed. “It’s all right,” he repeated quietly. “Shhh, skowroneczko moja , moja ksiezniczko , little bird. All’s well. Hush.”

I rushed back into myself fully with a thud, shoving the blood-hunger back in its box. Dusk light was fading in the high windows; I felt it retreating like a huge staticky sound draining out of the sky. My breath came in ragged gasps, and I was sweating. My tank top was all twisted around under my hoodie; I had no idea how that had happened. Plus the chain that held the locket was all twisted up too, digging into my skin.

“Very good.” He sounded pleased. Kept stroking my hair. “ Very good. You’ve acquired more control. Now, how do you suppose I defeated you?”

My mouth opened. Nothing but a dry husk of a cough came out. I coughed again, trying to get the taste out of my throat. It didn’t work. Only time and getting calmed down would do it.

He waited while I cleared my throat several times. My fingers relaxed. It was work to make them slip out of his hair, especially when they kept wanting to grab and pull his pulse closer to my fangs.

Running with wulfen was one thing. Getting fangs was another. I struggled with myself. Steady, Dru. Steady.

“I had you,” I finally managed to get out. “Then you cheated.”

I felt like a hoser even saying it. Cheating is the name of the game when it comes to winning fights, right? You don’t fight fair. You fight to win .

It shouldn’t have been possible for him to look more pleased, but he managed it. “Well, I had to. You forced me into it.”

That was high praise, from him. “Great.” I didn’t feel like celebrating. I felt like every bit of me had been pulled apart and put back together wrong. I was exhausted . Jesus, I couldn’t wait to finally bloom if it would stop this sort of thing from happening. My mouth kept merrily going, though, independently of my brain. “Are you going to do that every time the hunger hits?”