Page 98 of Dhampira

21

The next week fell into a pattern.

Every morning, Lorcan showed up at my door to escort me from the Drakhold. We didn’t fly again, and I could only assume that meant Lorcan hadn’t stumbled upon another glomarid. He didn’t volunteer that information, and I didn’t ask. For one thing, I didn’t want to know. For another, it was too dangerous to discuss.

So we walked through the forest in silence, the trees observing our progress. At some point, Vander appeared, and the three of us continued deeper into the woods.

We took a different route each time, wending our way around fallen logs and meandering streams. Sometimes we walked for an hour. On other mornings, our trek stretched until my legs ached and a stitch formed in my side.

But eventually the scenery grew familiar and Vander muttered the vor to take us into the Everless.

Inside, everything changed.

The men shed the roles they wore in the Drakhold, their cultivated animosity giving way to a camaraderie that became more apparent with each passing day.

Vander made an art form out of disturbing Lorcan’s calm. The obedient captain of the guard disappeared, and an irreverent troublemaker took his place.

At first, Lorcan seemed constantly on the edge of losing his cool. More than once, however, I caught a flash of exasperated humor in his dark eyes, or a suspicious twitch of his lips.

But both men took my training seriously. They pushed me for hours, running drills for everything from the vor scapa to swordwork. For the latter, Lorcan produced Dark Dream, which transformed into a slim, flexible blade so light it felt like it might float out of my hand.

“Are you sure I can actually hurt someone with this?” I had asked the first day he gave it to me.

Folding his arms, he’d offered one of his mild expressions. “Stick the sharp end up a man’s nose, and you can turn his brain into minced meat.”

“Gross,” Vander had said from the bench.

At first, the featherlight blade seemed more like a toy than a weapon. But after thirty minutes of Lorcan’s instruction, my muscles burned and my chest heaved with effort. He took me through fluid drills that resembled a dance but left me soaked with sweat.

Vander’s approach to combat training was different.

“You’re unlikely to take down a seasoned fighter,” he said bluntly, “but you can outwit one. Look for their tells. For example, Lorcan favors his right leg.”

“No, I don’t,” Lorcan said. He frowned, as if Vander’s statement offended him more the longer he thought about it. Lorcan scoffed, shaking his head a little. “That’s absurd.”

Winking at me, Vander lowered his voice. “His real tell is that he’s far too easy to make fun of.”

Lorcan’s frown turned into a glower. “You won’t outwit someone by being an asshole.”

Vander turned his wink on Lorcan. “Works just fine on you, sweetheart.”

As the days wore on, that sweetheart lingered in my mind. And my curiosity ran wild. What were they like together? What happened when they stopped bickering and yanked each other into a kiss?

And why couldn’t I stop thinking about it?

It kept me up at night, long after exhaustion tugged at my lids and my aching muscles begged for sleep. My body buzzed, and my thoughts returned again and again to the memory of Lorcan and Vander sprawled on the grass in the Everless, their hips working against each other.

By the seventh day of training, the images were a steady presence in my mind—and a constant source of distraction.

“Dead,” Vander said, touching the tip of his silver-eating sword to a spot above my heart. He danced backward, jogging in place on the balls of his feet. “That was a mortal blow, Princess.”

Lorcan observed from the bench on the edge of the grass. Clad in black as usual, he’d stretched his long legs in front of him and crossed them at the ankles.

I scrubbed my forearm over my damp brow, then fell into the ready position Vander showed me earlier in the week. “I’m not mortal.”

“You can still be killed,” Vander countered, his sword belt jangling with his movements. “One jab in the heart and your opponent can throw you to the ground and take your head. Not even an immortal can live without a brain.”

“Some manage it better than others,” Lorcan murmured, his eyes on Vander.