A Breath of Sunlight Page 13

  His many weaknesses stared back at her like a bright, billowing torch fire.

  This time, he surged forward and attacked her. She blocked with both daggers, but the strength of the blow caused her weapons to slip.

  She cried out and dropped her daggers, clutching her arm as she crumpled to the ground.

  Calle swore under his breath and dropped his sword. “Skaja, I am so sorry. Where—”

  When he leaned down as if to help her, she hooked her legs around his and knocked him off balance. “Ha!” she shouted triumphantly before flipping him over in one fluid movement, taking him by surprise as he landed hard on his back. His expression turned from initial shock to wonder when the sunlight cast brilliant colors off her feathers. “Another weakness of yours—compassion.”

  “Compassion is not a weakness,” he grunted. “It’s a strength.”

  “Not in battle, it’s not. I could have already killed you at least a dozen times today already. And I’m only one woman.”

  “A valkyrie.”

  “Imagine if there were two of me.”

  “If there were two of you, there would be twice the beauty to look at.”

  She stiffened. “What?”

  “What?”

  Heat spread across her face as she noticed their position. Her hands pinned him to the grass by his arms. She sat atop him, straddling him in a rather intimate manner. Their faces were too close. Only inches apart.

  Panic clawed at her, and she reacted instinctively as she raised her hand and slapped him across the face. The sound echoed in the small clearing and off the stones of the cottage, almost louder than Calle’s shock. Her eyes widened just as quickly. “Sorry.”

  She rolled off him and tucked her wings shyly against her person, only to find him climbing to his feet while cradling his hand to his red cheek. “Stop slapping me.”

  “Then stop...” She gestured to all of him, not knowing how, exactly, to express her thoughts or feelings.

  He rubbed his cheek, and then his back as if it were also sore. “If you slap me for a simple compliment, I shudder to think what you’d do to me if I actually tried to kiss you.”

  Kiss...

  The rhythm of her heart picked up speed as her gaze darted to his lips. Did he want to kiss her? Or was he simply teasing her?

  She pushed her curiosity of what it might feel like to kiss him behind her shy wings.

  He leaned his sword against the nearby tree and stalked away. “I’m exhausted and sweaty. I’m going to bathe.”

  She set her own weapons aside and followed in the direction he’d disappeared. A brief splash echoed over the cottage rooftop, and when she rounded the corner, she took in the sight of a murky, yet beautiful pond. Lily pads dotted the edges of the water while cattails stretched over the glassy surface. A copse of tall, leafy trees shaded the pond in a cloud of privacy and cast a shadow across Calle’s surprised face.

  The water appeared cool and refreshing, a waiting relief after a long morning of training. She reached behind her neck to unclasp the top part of her dress, and as she started to slip it off, Calle averted his gaze.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What does it look like?” she asked as she stripped to her undergarments and waded into the frigid pond until her feet almost couldn’t reach the bottom. “We weren’t done with our conversation, so I’m joining you.” By the way he still maintained eye contact with the clouds, she felt like she’d done something wrong.

  “No,” he said finally in a raspy voice. “You should leave. Otherwise, you might slap me again. Times ten. Or a hundred.” He splashed the cold water over his face.

  Slowly, her attention drifted from his bare chest to her undergarments revealing plenty of her skin. “Oh...” A flush crept up her body until it flared hot in her cheeks. Her wings quickly curled around herself to hide from his view. “Valkyries bathe together. I’m getting the impression that men and women don’t.”

  “Well, not usually.” His wicked, roguish grin gave him away, though he still averted his gaze as he chuckled and released a long breath. “But you are certainly welcome to stay.”

  She rolled her eyes and splashed water at him, which earned her amused laughter. She refused to let him win, so she curled her wing further around herself to give her a bubble of privacy to wash.

  Cold water rushed over her skin, refreshing her aching muscles after hours of fighting. She tipped her head back to immerse her hair completely in the water. “I’ve been thinking...” Splashing ceased momentarily as if he paused to listen. “You can’t wear armor. You can’t hold a shield. You can’t hold two swords. What if you used a sword in your good hand, and in your other, you wielded a small dagger? One small enough to fit in your boot.”

  “Won’t it cut me?”

  She lowered her wing to peer over it. “Not if you...”

  The words got lost on her tongue as her gaze raked over him. His back faced her, but until now, she hadn’t noticed the beautiful golden tattoos across his back. The whipping scars from earlier were no longer visible beneath shimmering gold ink.

  And when the sunlight broke through the clouds above, both his hair and the tattoos glimmered in a dazzling array of color.

  “Not if you...” he urged, but when she didn’t answer immediately, he glanced over his shoulder to catch her staring.

  The tip of her wing snapped back up to hide the heat growing quickly across her face. Her focus dissolved immediately like a sugar cube immersed in hot water. Scalding hot water. The pond didn’t cool her down in the slightest.

  A curious, foreign desire fizzled up inside her. To look. To touch. To feel. She lowered her wing again, and as if hearing her do it, he glanced over his shoulder once more. This time, she didn’t hide her curiosity.

  “Those tattoos are new,” she murmured, their previous conversation forgotten. Her heart skipped in surprise when she realized she’d taken several steps toward him. But it was as if a rope tethered them together, and it cinched tighter...tighter...tighter...

  Until she stood only a heartbeat away.

  The look he gave her scalded her from the inside out, intense and devouring.

  “They might have been there before,” he said through strained words.

  “They weren’t. Your shirt was practically ripped to shreds when we met.”

  Curiosity and unfamiliar desire led her actions as she slowly reached out. Her fingers hovered over a tattoo closest to his shoulder. “What does this mean?”

  “Which one?”

  He turned slightly to give her a better view. She trailed her fingers from his left shoulder to the lower right side of his back. His skin warmed her hand, her arm, her face, until fire smoldered in her belly. She had never touched a man like this.

  “Endurance,” he answered.

  One by one, she drew a line across each tattoo with her finger, and he replied consecutively, “Honor. Courage. Bravery. Strength. Love.”

  Then she took his left hand and tugged until he rotated to face her. Her heart beat rapidly at his proximity, and his intense focus turned to her.

  She traced the twelve-pointed star on his wrist. “And sacrifice,” she finished for him. “Where are your black tattoos?”

  “Excuse me?” His mouth twitched in amusement.

  “You can’t tell me you haven’t done anything awful in your life. You couldn’t have been all good.”

  A deep, musical laugh escaped him and sent a delightful shiver down her spine. “Black is reserved for the worst of the worst. I don’t have any of those, but I do admit I have a couple of gray ones. I’m not proud of them, but it is what it is.”

  “Where are they?”

  She glanced toward his legs, but she couldn’t see through the murky water.

  His previous amusement turned into a devilish smirk. “Do you want to find out?”

  She blinked several times before his meaning finally clicked in her mind. She splashed water into his face and stalked away from him and toward the grassy shore, all while his laughter trailed after her. Her wings provided her modesty, blocking most of her body from his view. But the moment she stepped onto the grass his laughter stopped.

  “What happened to your legs?” The amusement disappeared, replaced by a serious expression that could cut glass.

  A frown formed on her face as her gaze traveled to her legs and to the ribbons of scars climbing her ankles and calves. “Training to be a valkyrie is...vigorous.” She swished words in her mouth as she considered what to tell him and what to keep to herself. She was embarrassed to admit her shortcomings. “I’m an incredible flyer. But I’m a terrible jumper. You have your weaknesses, fae prince, and I have mine.”

  Without another word, she strode away and dressed behind the corner of the cottage, out of view. A splash followed as if Calle waded through the water after her. Moments later, she found him dripping wet and wearing only his trousers. Sure enough, a gray and white tattooed design of snowy mountains stood out on his ankle.

  She found one. Where was the other?

  He still stared at her bare legs with furrowed brows. There was a reason she wore long boots.

  “What happened?”

  Not wanting to be the object of his scrutiny, she pulled her boots on. “In the training arena, there are spinning blades that pop out of the ground. The object is to get from one side of the arena to the other without getting cut. I couldn’t help but use my wings. Paula tied them down to prevent me from flying.”

  She paused, her gaze far away as she relived the horrible memories. Stinging pain. Ribbons of blood. Shrill threats. Tears of determination. “I failed over and over again.”

  “How awful...”

  Jokingly, she said, “I should get them tattooed. I think a black design migh
t look nice on my legs.”

  “Black?” He leaned away as if she’d struck him. “I can’t imagine you ever receiving black ink.”

  “No?” She stood as tall as possible, but there was still quite a height gap between them. “Do you have any idea how many people I have killed? How much blood is on my hands? All the horrible things I’ve done?”

  Horrible things she now wasn’t sure were in the name of goodness. Her whole life was a lie. Were her motives a lie as well?

  Her wings drooped. “I’m starting to think I deserve the blackest of black.” She turned, and instead of allowing him to see her troubled expression, she spread her disconsolate wings. “I’ll hunt for dinner tonight. I need time to think.”

  Long hours turned into long days. Long days into long weeks. Calle was slowly losing his mind. But unlike his mind-numbing experience in the Pits, his insanity stemmed from so much waiting, so much training, and so much...Skaja.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath when her sweet jasmine scent filled his nostrils and almost teased him into action. He longed to touch her. He longed for so much more than covert glances and close proximity. The wick of the candle inside his heart had been dried and wilted for so long, but Skaja set him ablaze.

  “Get up,” Skaja ordered as she pushed off from where she’d pinned him to the ground. “Do I even have to tell you that closing your eyes will get you killed?”

  “There are other fun things two people can do with their eyes closed other than getting stabbed.”

  He knew he’d said the wrong thing the moment it escaped his mouth, because suddenly he was on his feet with his back to a tree, her strong, armored arm pressed against his throat.

  “Holy embers,” he gasped against the cold bracer on his skin. “You’re fast.”

  Valkyries were terrifying, he decided as she snarled inches from his face. She looked as if she could cut his face to ribbons with a single bite of her teeth. Yet, she was alluring and far too beautiful for her own good.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, confusion setting into her snarl.

  Until then, he hadn’t realized he’d placed his hands on her waist. Her tight-fitted clothing wasn’t only good for flying fast and moving soundlessly, it seemed, because it showed off each of her lovely curves. Each of those curves which were pressed against him...

  “You are killing me,” he whispered, his voice either raspy with emotion or because he could hardly feel his throat anymore—he wasn’t sure.

  “I assure you, I’m not.” Her grip on his throat loosened, and her hardened expression melted as she dropped her arm entirely. “I would kill you much quicker than strangling the air from you. Besides, I think at this point I wouldn’t try to take your life, even without the blood oath in the way.”

  “That’s almost romantic coming from you.”

  “Romantic?” Her eyebrows furrowed, and as he suspected she might, she lunged at him again. This time, he dodged beneath her arm, twisted her over his back, and pinned her on the ground like she’d done to him only a minute earlier.

  Shock stared back at him in the endless brown pool of her eyes. Her chest rose up and down with each deep breath she took. Her golden-white wings fluttered beneath her as if half-heartedly fighting against his grip.

  “You bested me,” she said, and just the sound of her voice was too much. Not to mention the way her lips moved when she spoke.

  Oh, holy saints above. He couldn’t resist the temptation any longer. His hands slid along her arms, to her bare shoulders, grazing her neck, and then he dug his fingers into her hair.

  And froze.

  “What is this?” he gasped as he dug his fingers deeper into the pool of brown and gold. The strands wove around his skin as if he dipped his hands in warm, enticing water. It was so soft that he wasn’t sure it was entirely there.

  “Umm...my hair?”

  “This isn’t hair. This is liquid silk.”

  “I’m a harpy,” she said as if it explained everything.

  He scooped a handful of it and leaned forward to take the risk of kissing the daylights out of her when the beat of a drum in the distance startled them both. He climbed to his feet and glanced in the direction of the pounding rhythm. A line of thick trees blocked his view. Loud chatter and laughter followed the beat, quickly joined by other instruments. They’d been so secluded in their little cottage that he’d almost forgotten the rest of the village existed.

  His eyebrows furrowed as he counted the days on his fingers. Could it possibly be...?

  “It’s the summer solstice,” he chuckled, shaking his head in wonder. Dusk settled in the sky, splashing bold yellows, oranges, and pinks across the horizon. “It’s an important day for the Sun Fae. You would think I would have remembered.”

  When he glanced over his shoulder, he found Skaja still lying on her back, staring up at the sky while breathing deeply. Her daggers lay several feet away, but she could move so fast that he doubted it would take less than a second to retrieve them if she tried.

  “The summer solstice...” she murmured softly. “It’s the day Liam chose his bride, and the day he sent you to the Pits.”

  “Yes.” The scars on his back suddenly ached at the reminder, and his wrist began to throb. The pulsing pain climbed up his arm until the slave brand on his forearm burned. He clenched and unclenched his fingers, but the scorching heat remained. What did it mean? He wasn’t even sure where to begin looking for answers.

  “You would have chosen your own bride the year after.”

  This time, he nodded and turned his gaze toward the beautiful sky. He remembered that day in the Pits. The day when he’d felt so much despair and heartache for everything he’d lost.

  “How does it work?” she asked, suddenly at his elbow. She stood close enough for her flowery scent to tantalize him once again. “Choosing a bride?”

  He cast her a sideways glance filled with disbelief. But he reminded himself she had no experience in courting.

  “The choosing usually happens long before the summer solstice with courting. But it’s also said that magic helps it along. For example, my father planned to choose someone other than my mother. But when he laid eyes on her that very night, he thought of nothing else but her.”

  She wrapped her arms around her midsection, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he noticed a somber look in her eyes. “I wonder what life would have been like if I had grown up in the palace.”

  Calle scratched his head and grimaced at the pang of guilt in his heart. If she had grown up in the palace, he reckoned choosing between her and Nyana would have been difficult. But then he reminded himself she would have been fifteen at the time. Probably too young to have caught his eye.

  The guilt and confusion ate at him as he listened to the beat of the drum. Nyana had been perfect for the man he used to be. But Skaja? She encouraged him to be better, to do better, to become someone more, to do something more. She brought out his best self, and he liked to think that perhaps he possibly did the same for her too.

  “Do you want to find out?” he asked as he offered his hand to her.

  For a long moment, she stared suspiciously at his hand as if expecting a trick. “Find out what?”

  “What life would have been like. I can’t imagine the summer solstice celebrations in the village would be too different from what you would find at the palace.”

  Instead of taking his hand, she tucked her wings closer to her body, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. The rejection stung, and he slowly lowered his hand. Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to venture away from the cottage. The ward around the property protected and hid him from view. Even then, the wrong people might recognize him. But he needed to get away. He needed to sing, to dance, to live. And he found he couldn’t resist the lure of the drum.

  “Celebrations usually last until early morning,” he said as he threw a cloak over himself and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I suppose I will see you tomorrow then.”

  A part of him hoped she would race after him, but she didn’t.

  The unexpected pang in his chest took him by surprise. A lump of discomfort formed in his stomach. Allowing himself to feel anything warm for the valkyrie was a very bad idea. The future was so uncertain. He could lose her in an instant.