became scarce. Now we lock them up and demand they bear our children and claim it’s in the best interest of our people. Maybe it is. Doesn’t mean she can’t be pissed about it.”
“And you have a better solution?” Jace asked icily.
“Nope. But I’m not so spoiled that I can’t take no for an answer,” Commander Soth said. Jace glared at him, swallowing the reply that Soth would be less easygoing if he was being burned alive by Sabine’s pheromones.
“Captain Hawke said she’d space the carcass of anyone who doesn’t take no for an answer on her ship,” Bryn said. It did sound like the captain. She was silent for a long moment, and then she took a deep breath. “You both make decent points. Different, but workable. If you want us, you’ll have to win us—a formal challenge. She’s still my mate.”
Soth laughed again. “Fight you? Over another female? Now that’s funny.”
“Do you question my honor, sir?” Bryn’s hand clenched on the hilt of her sword.
“Your honor, no. Your gender, certainly. I don’t know what idiot in House Wintersend thought it was a good idea to give a female a sword, but House Sunsinger is not so foolish.”
“Then prove them fools and best me. You can go first.”
Commander Soth heaved a heavy sigh, finished reassembling the pistol and set the weapon aside.
She glanced at Jace. “You can wait your turn outside.”
Nodding stiffly, he exited the room and shut the door behind him. This did not bode well. Soth would defeat her, and then Jace would have to challenge him. Or spend the next few days under heavy sedation, until the effects of the pheromones faded from his system.
Jace wasn’t confident that he could win a duel against Soth, because in addition to the size advantage, Soth was older and more experienced. Jace paced the hallway for several irritated minutes, plotting strategies for defeating Soth, before the door opened again. Much to his shock, Soth staggered out, holding a bleeding, broken nose and cursing in Cy’reni.
“She beat you?” Jace’s jaw dropped in shock.
“Damn House Wintersend and every idiot in it,” Soth snapped. “Your turn.”
“You can’t go to the med bay for that. It’s off limits,” Jace reminded, sending the other Cy’ren into a new chorus of expletives.
Frowning at the door, Jace scrambled to think of plausible ways that Bryn could have bested Commander Soth, but in his amazement most of the ideas that came to mind involved luck or sorcery. Jace didn’t believe in either. Squaring his shoulders, he reentered the room and locked the door behind him.
Lieutenant Viera stood in the center of the armory, calmly checking the edge of her blade. A trickle of blood went ignored as it slid down the side of her neck from a scratch at her throat. The enticing scents of blood and phase pheromones mixed in the air and Jace growled low. How was he supposed to fight when he couldn’t think straight?
“Ready?” Bryn set her stance and raised her blade.
Jace drew his sword. “What are your victory conditions?”
“You yield or I knock you unconscious. Or I kill you, though I’d rather not. I don’t think Captain Hawke would appreciate that.”
“She might. She threatens it often enough.”
“So you have a problem with women in authority?”
“No.” Jace slowly circled right, and she moved left, matching him step for step. “I have a problem with authority.”
He lunged, and she parried and came at him. His eyes widened as she rained a flurry of blows that drove him back—she was strong and damn fast. That must have been where Soth went wrong. Soth probably assumed he could overpower her, and she struck at him with the speed of a viper. Thankfully Jace was also fast, and he defended himself before going on an offensive of his own. He had to be fast to compete among his brethren, as the other shadow swords tended to be broader and burlier, like Soth. Most of them were born to fight for their house, but Jace had
“And you have a better solution?” Jace asked icily.
“Nope. But I’m not so spoiled that I can’t take no for an answer,” Commander Soth said. Jace glared at him, swallowing the reply that Soth would be less easygoing if he was being burned alive by Sabine’s pheromones.
“Captain Hawke said she’d space the carcass of anyone who doesn’t take no for an answer on her ship,” Bryn said. It did sound like the captain. She was silent for a long moment, and then she took a deep breath. “You both make decent points. Different, but workable. If you want us, you’ll have to win us—a formal challenge. She’s still my mate.”
Soth laughed again. “Fight you? Over another female? Now that’s funny.”
“Do you question my honor, sir?” Bryn’s hand clenched on the hilt of her sword.
“Your honor, no. Your gender, certainly. I don’t know what idiot in House Wintersend thought it was a good idea to give a female a sword, but House Sunsinger is not so foolish.”
“Then prove them fools and best me. You can go first.”
Commander Soth heaved a heavy sigh, finished reassembling the pistol and set the weapon aside.
She glanced at Jace. “You can wait your turn outside.”
Nodding stiffly, he exited the room and shut the door behind him. This did not bode well. Soth would defeat her, and then Jace would have to challenge him. Or spend the next few days under heavy sedation, until the effects of the pheromones faded from his system.
Jace wasn’t confident that he could win a duel against Soth, because in addition to the size advantage, Soth was older and more experienced. Jace paced the hallway for several irritated minutes, plotting strategies for defeating Soth, before the door opened again. Much to his shock, Soth staggered out, holding a bleeding, broken nose and cursing in Cy’reni.
“She beat you?” Jace’s jaw dropped in shock.
“Damn House Wintersend and every idiot in it,” Soth snapped. “Your turn.”
“You can’t go to the med bay for that. It’s off limits,” Jace reminded, sending the other Cy’ren into a new chorus of expletives.
Frowning at the door, Jace scrambled to think of plausible ways that Bryn could have bested Commander Soth, but in his amazement most of the ideas that came to mind involved luck or sorcery. Jace didn’t believe in either. Squaring his shoulders, he reentered the room and locked the door behind him.
Lieutenant Viera stood in the center of the armory, calmly checking the edge of her blade. A trickle of blood went ignored as it slid down the side of her neck from a scratch at her throat. The enticing scents of blood and phase pheromones mixed in the air and Jace growled low. How was he supposed to fight when he couldn’t think straight?
“Ready?” Bryn set her stance and raised her blade.
Jace drew his sword. “What are your victory conditions?”
“You yield or I knock you unconscious. Or I kill you, though I’d rather not. I don’t think Captain Hawke would appreciate that.”
“She might. She threatens it often enough.”
“So you have a problem with women in authority?”
“No.” Jace slowly circled right, and she moved left, matching him step for step. “I have a problem with authority.”
He lunged, and she parried and came at him. His eyes widened as she rained a flurry of blows that drove him back—she was strong and damn fast. That must have been where Soth went wrong. Soth probably assumed he could overpower her, and she struck at him with the speed of a viper. Thankfully Jace was also fast, and he defended himself before going on an offensive of his own. He had to be fast to compete among his brethren, as the other shadow swords tended to be broader and burlier, like Soth. Most of them were born to fight for their house, but Jace had
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