Page 54 of Curiosity Killed The Vampire

His gaze flicked from the weapon to my face, golden eyes steady. “You’re angry with me. Not them. Not this. Me.”

“Brilliant deduction,” I said coldly. “You think you’re stronger than me, Con? You think you can just walk away, and I’ll fall in line?”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer.

I swung again, harder this time. He blocked it, but the force of the strike drove him back a step. I spun with the momentum, slammed the haft down toward his knees, then pivoted to strike again. He caught the weapon mid-swing, twisted it just enough to redirect the blow, then released it.

“Cass,” he warned, but the sound of my name only made the anger flare hotter.

“Don’t Cass me.” My voice cracked with the force of it. “You don’t get to call me that—not after last night.”

He flinched almost imperceptibly, but his control held.

I called on my magic without thinking. The air around us shimmered, the latent energy that lived in my blood pulsing through the floor. Across the room, his sword—his real one—answered the call. It ripped free of the rack with a hiss and flew across the space, landing at his feet with a clang that echoed through the hall.

“Pick it up,” I said.

He didn’t move.

“Con,” I pressed, stepping back to the center of the ring. “I’m giving you a weapon. The one you actually know how to use.”

He looked down at the blade, then back at me. “You don’t want this fight.”

“Oh, I do.” I reached behind me again, calling another spear from the wall rack. It leaped to my hand, the metal warm from stored energy. “Because I’m done pretending you’re untouchable.”

I took a stance, energy gathering in my limbs. “I think it’s time you learned the truth.”

For a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The air was charged, my magic vibrating around us, stirring the loose strands of my hair. The other death dealers in the hall had stopped all movement now, silent witnesses to something they didn’t dare interrupt.

I lunged.

Con still hadn’t picked up the sword. He moved only enough to keep from being hit, his blunted blade flashing in short, defensive arcs. My strikes were sharp, precise, fueled by fury and pride. I spun, thrust, swept low, forcing him to adjust or fall. He matched every move with control that only infuriated me more.

“Fight me!” I demanded.

“No.”

The word was quiet but unyielding. He blocked another strike, the sound ringing like thunder in the wide hall. I went for his shoulder, then his knee, each blow turned aside with maddening ease.

He wasn’t trying to beat me. He was trying to weather me.

And that, somehow, made me angrier than if he’d fought back.

I feinted right and brought the spear around in a high arc. He ducked it, the blade in his hand catching the shaft and locking it in place. For a moment, we were close enough to feel each other’s breath, the electric tension between us more dangerous than any weapon.

“You done?” he asked quietly, his eyes flickering gold and red.

I pulled back, chest heaving, the edge of the spear lowering but not dropping. “Not until you admit it.”

“What truth, Cass?”

“That you don’t get to decide when we start or stop,” I hissed.

His expression softened, but his voice stayed low, steady. “I never did.”

The spear in my hands trembled slightly—not from weakness, but from the raw emotion still burning through me. I wanted to hit him again. I wanted to hurt him. I wanted him to feel something other than control.

But he just stood there, silent, his blade lowered, his body taut and waiting.