Defiance

by Sadie Moss

  Each of my messengers has been a warrior for his entire existence.

  Me? I’ve been a hunter for a good portion of mine, but as I’m quickly reminded, that’s very different.

  I was trained in how to take down an animal, how to move silently through the woods, and how to handle weapons.

  But I wasn’t taught battle strategy or how to fight against an opponent who can strategize and fight back. I wasn’t taught how to fight with the weave.

  And if we’re to have any chance at all at destroying Kaius’s connection to his messengers, I need to learn.

  Over the next few days, the men and I build a routine. We rise early with the sun and have breakfast together before we all four stumble sleepily into the empty yard outside to begin our training, whether it’s cold or hot, raining or snowing.

  While living in Ironholde, Callum was often dismissive of my training. As far as he was concerned, I just needed to learn how to get a handle on my unexpected connection to the weave, to keep me from having accidents in public. So Echo and I focused mainly on me achieving control over the weave, not on how to use the weave to aid me in the event of a fight.

  Now, however, Callum’s dismissiveness is a thing of the past. His marching orders are quite clear: we’re training for combat, and we’re training hard.

  The previous lessons I had with Echo have helped me stop tripping over the weave, and I’ve gotten pretty good at traveling that way. Still, I struggle to control the fabric of the universe for harder and more involved tasks.

  But the reality is, despite my prowess as a hunter, I’m small and weak compared to my messengers. It makes the most sense for me to be able to use the weave in the context of a fight, so I have no option but to master it.

  Every day, I awake, I eat, I train. Every evening, I eat, I fall into bed, and I die a death of sheer exhaustion until the sun rises, and I do it all again. Through it all, I can’t help but wonder at all the things that have happened to me that have led to this.

  One afternoon, Echo and Callum go into the city for supplies, and though I beg to join them just so I can have a break from the brutal training regimen, their argument that I need more practice can’t exactly be discredited. Which leaves me and Paris alone on the grassy plain overlooking the valley, as he kicks my ass in swordplay.

  I duck a powerful blow from his blade, stepping into a wide, low stance that gives me more power behind my thrust. In the split second I have before he redirects his attack, I latch onto the weave and lasso the thread around my blade, forcing my intent into the steel. When our blades meet again, the weave turns my sword to heavy stone, knocking Paris back several steps.

  Unfortunately, the blast also knocks me onto my back.

  I hit the ground hard, and all the wind expels from my lungs. For a minute, I can’t take a breath, though by the gods, I still have hold of my sword like a true warrior. Then I suck in a lungful of air and let the breath out slowly as a dull throbbing ache starts in my lower back.

  Farse, that hurt.

  “Again!” Paris barks, twirling his finger in the air.

  I gasp for breath again, the sun beating down on me nearly as brutally as that blow from the weave. “I need a break.”

  “You wouldn’t get a break in a real fight.” Paris’s voice is hard. The ‘fight master’ version of him who trains me in combat is so different than the languid, casually sensual messenger I’m used to. He walks around my prone form and digs the toe of his boot into my side. “Get up. Do the drill again.”

  I groan but roll to my feet, pulling my sword around as I fall into combat stance.

  Paris hardly gives me a chance to find my balance before he lunges.

  I parry his blow with my sword, reaching for the weave to empower the block. A grin dances over my face as the weave turns my block into a battering ram and sends Paris’s blade veering away. But he’s too good of a swordsman to be distracted by a heavy blow. He twirls with the momentum and leans back into a new strike, his sword coming down at me with supernatural swiftness.

  The blow sends me rolling, and Paris chases after me, giving me no leeway. I block a thrust from above, lying on my back at his feet. I’m at a disadvantage here, and if this were a real fight, I would already be dead. A true opponent with murder on their mind could take off my head with a single blow.

  I whip a leg around Paris’s knees and knock him to the ground. He topples sideways with my blow, surprise flitting over his face as he catches himself on both hands.

  “You fight like a girl,” he goads me, then rolls away to leap gracefully back to his feet.

  I narrow my eyes at him. “I take that as a high compliment.”

  With a snarl, I leap back into the fight.

  Several moments pass as we block and thrust, our movements becoming faster and more frenzied. I’m surrounded by the weave, completely connected to it, using it to trip his feet, to strengthen my blows, until I’m not really certain where the weave starts and I end.

  “Harder!” Paris urges, grunting as he parries a blow. He twists his blade, catching mine and knocking my sword right out of my hand.

  I let out a groan of disgust and snatch my weapon from the grass. He’s pushing me harder than usual today—and he’s hardly broken a sweat. Meanwhile, I feel three shades from death.

  But I imagine what fighting Kaius will be like, and the cold rush of terror that fills me at the thought strengthens my resolve.

  Just like Paris demanded, I work harder.

  Around and around we twirl, our feet dancing over the ground, in and out, forward and backward.

  Focus, Sage. Focus. Let the weave help you. Like a second weapon, an extension of yourself.

  I wrap the weave around my hilt to strengthen yet another blow, and I come in at a different angle, twisting my sword just like he did earlier—

  And Paris’s blade goes flying.

  We both go still, staring at each other as we process what just happened.

  Holy farse. I disarmed him.

  A grin spreads over his face, and he looks over his shoulder at his sword in the dirt. It landed point down, that blade sunk several inches into the ground as the hilt waves gently in the breeze.

  “Well done.” He props his hands on his hips, his smile beaming brighter than the sun. “I’m impressed, little soul.”

  I nod, too breathless to speak, and then flop to the ground on my back. I let my arms splay out to either side to give my lungs more room to drink greedily at the air, listening to the sound of Paris’s footsteps as he retrieves his sword.

  I must doze for a moment, because the next time I open my eyes, I find him settling on the ground beside me with two flagons of water and a plate of fruits and nuts.

  “You all right?” he asks, amusement lacing his tone as he cocks his head at me. “You act as if I’ve murdered you.”

  “You’ve been utterly brutal.” I chuckle drily, only half joking. Then I push up onto my elbows so that I can look at him more easily. “I sometimes feel as if you’re all attempting to kill me yourselves before Kaius gets the chance.”

  “Of course we are. It’s what messengers do with naughty little souls.”

  He reaches over and taps my nose. I once might’ve found the gesture infuriating, but now it just makes me smile. Once, it might’ve been condescending or dismissive, but now I can feel the affection in his touch. And I crave more of it.

  More of his affection.

  More of his touch.

  “I suppose I can’t speak for my brothers,” he says thoughtfully as he draws his hand back. “But I know I push you because I’m worried about you.”

  He tosses me a strawberry, and I catch it in mid-air, sitting up the rest of the way so I can pop it into my mouth. Sweetness bursts over my tongue as I bite into it. “Worried? Why? You’ll be there with me.”

  Paris rotates a berry between his thumb and forefinger, staring at it as if it will tell him the secrets of the universe. Then he sets it back on the plate without
biting, and his sapphire eyes lift to meet mine.

  “Sage, the three of us are powerful. But we’re not all-powerful. We’ll do what we can to protect you, but our protection is not absolute or guaranteed, no matter how hard we try.”

  His voice is low, and there’s a rasp of pain in it that plucks at my heartstrings as if he’s reached right into my chest.

  “I know that, Paris.” I dip my head a little to catch his gaze, trying to let him see the sincerity in my expression. “And that’s why I’m training so hard. I don’t want to be dead weight in this effort, a delicate flower the three of you have to protect. But I do trust you to have my back.”

  He nods, although he doesn’t look eased by my words at all.

  “What is it?” I ask, my brows pulling together.

  There’s something eating him; I can feel it. It’s the same thing that’s turned him into a tyrant every time he trains with me, the same thing that makes him push me almost past my limit.

  He doesn’t answer me for several long moments, his gaze growing unfocused as he seems to retreat inside himself, lost in some internal memory or thought.

  But finally, he seems to come to a decision. He dips his head in a private nod and then looks up to meet my gaze.

  “We push you so hard because we fear losing you, Sage. It’s happened before. We had a fourth once. Before you.”

  21

  The gravity of his statement settles on me like a boulder.

  “A fourth brother?” I murmur, leaning toward him as if to keep the trees and wind from eavesdropping on our conversation.

  “A sister,” Paris says quietly. His gaze goes soft again as he adds, “Her name was Layla.”

  I blink, surprised. “A warrior? A messenger, like you?”

  Paris nods. “Yes, just so. She was brilliant. A great archer. She could skewer a rabbit nobody else could even see from fifty yards away.”

  “What happened to her?” I’m reeling at the thought of a female in their very masculine dynamic. Callum especially wasn’t amenable to me in the beginning, and he bared his machismo more than once in my presence, never letting me forget that I wasn’t as strong as he is.

  Things have changed between us now, but it still shocks me to hear these men once had a sister.

  Paris’s brow creases, and he looks away, gazing out over the valley. “She died in one of Kaius’s wars.”

  I reach over to touch his knee, trying to send him strength and sympathy without making him feel uncomfortable for his rare show of emotion. “I’m so sorry. You must have loved her.”

  “Like a sister. She was our sister.” He clears his throat, then returns his gaze to my face. “We all mourn her loss even still. It’s been many years. Yet we still blame ourselves for her death. Callum, especially.”

  “Why is that?”

  Paris shrugs, pain reflecting in his brilliant blue eyes. “Because he’s our leader. We make no moves without his order, and he gave the order that sent us into the viper’s nest that killed Layla. Bracus, another god and an ancient enemy of Kaius’s, destroyed her. Ripped her from existence.”

  I cover my mouth, my stomach rolling at the thought. The pain Callum must feel every day.

  Even without knowing what that pain was caused by, I’ve seen it in him since the day I met him. He carries the hurt deep inside like a soul wound, turning him hard on the outside. Even knowing logically that her death isn’t on his hands, he surely thinks so.

  “We all feared getting attached to you, Sage. Because we feared another loss. We’ve carried the burden of Layla’s death for so long.” Paris trails off, then reaches out to cup my cheek. “I don’t want to lose someone for whom I care so deeply.”

  My heart aches for him. And for Callum and Echo.

  I put my hand over his and lean into his touch, nuzzling my cheek against his fingers. “I’m so sorry, Paris. Truly. More than I can ever say.”

  When I look back up at him, his face has changed. He’s staring at his own hand, my fingers wrapped around his and my skin brushing against his palm. The tightness in his brow has faded, replaced by a longing I wholly recognize.

  My heart skips a beat and picks up the pace as I straighten, letting my gaze fall to his full, perfectly shaped lips. Of all the men, his are the most beautiful, which only makes sense, considering he’s the one who cares the most about his appearance.

  I want to feel those lips on mine.

  But I feel suddenly shy even as the thought burns through my head. Being with Echo came so naturally, and he took control while being entirely tuned in to my needs. If I walk this path with Paris, will he just take what he wants and leave? Will he still care for me once he’s had the forbidden fruit? I think of his fingers wrapped around a strawberry, the leaves twirling in his fingers before he puts it back on the plate uneaten.

  I don’t want to be that strawberry.

  “Paris…”

  The word lingers on my tongue as I lean in to him slightly. He sways toward me as well, meeting me in the middle. He stops just shy of my lips and hovers for an achingly long moment. His eyes are so close, I feel like I’m falling into those blue depths, as if I could drown in them.

  “Kiss me,” I whisper, though the words are barely out of my mouth before his lips press against mine.

  For all of his sensuality and charm, there’s something disarmingly soft, almost tentative about the way Paris kisses me. It’s different than the way he usually kisses—if the few times we’ve done it give me enough experience to have any idea what he usually does—and I have a feeling it’s got everything to do with what he just told me.

  He just bared a secret part of himself to me, revealed something about him and his brothers that they could quite probably have kept from me forever if they chose to.

  But he decided to tell me. And I realize as my lips move gently against his that his reserve in this moment isn’t because of shyness—it’s because of fear. What he just told me is heartbreakingly, painfully true. He lost someone he loved once, and every step he takes closer to me puts him at risk of losing someone he loves again.

  None of us are safe. We haven’t been since the men snatched me away from Kaius’s palace, going on the run with me as wanted fugitives.

  Death, total extinguishment, lurks on the horizon for all of us.

  Maybe the smarter, saner thing to do would be to shove away the feelings that are developing between me and each of the messengers, to keep our distance so that there’s less chance of getting hurt.

  But I don’t want to. I would rather carry a wound in my soul for the rest of my life than fight against the love I feel for these three men.

  “Paris,” I murmur once more against his lips, my hand reaching out to roam over the hard muscles of his arm, his shoulder, his chest. “Let me have you.”

  My voice is soft. It’s not a demand, not even quite a request.

  It’s more like an offering.

  Because implicit in the words I speak are the ones I don’t, the ones I know he hears anyway.

  You already have me.

  I feel his muscles relax under my touch, and he breaks our kiss just long enough to draw back and meet my gaze. His smile is slow and languid, and he bites his bottom lip before he says, “I think you had me the first day we met, little soul. And every day since.”

  Then he kisses me again. And this kiss—this is the kind of kiss that might claim another part of my soul.

  It’s consuming, hot as wildfire, and all Paris. I swear I can feel the essence of who he is in this kiss, and when he rolls me onto my back and drapes his lean, muscled body over mine, I pull him into my embrace eagerly.

  We roll around on the grass, the exhaustion from our heavy training session forgotten as we grind against each other, our lips always connected as we taste and explore each other.

  When his hands move to the lace ties that run up the back of my dress, I mirror his action, straddling his hips and tugging at his shirt until he allows me to pull it off. The bri
ght sun reflects off the perfectly sculpted planes of his chest, and I take a moment to stare at him, completely unashamed of my ogling this time.

  He’s beautiful. Inhumanly so, with broad shoulders, strong abdominals, and a narrow waist.

  While I’m distracted by the sight of him, he takes the opportunity to tug the sleeves of my dress down my arms, letting the top half of the garment settle around my waist. Now I’m as topless as he is, and a shocked little noise escapes me as cool wind ghosts over my skin, making my nipples pucker into hard points. I cover my breasts with both hands, momentarily distracted from my desire.

  Paris chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches up to wrap his fingers around my wrists, pulling my arms away from my body.

  “What if someone sees?” I whisper, although my core is throbbing, and I feel myself growing wet as Paris’s cock stiffens beneath me.

  The beautiful blonde messenger smiles, his teeth gleaming in the light as he gazes up at me, brow arched.

  “Like who? The wind? The trees? The weave?” He releases my wrists and moves his hands instead to my breasts, cupping the aching flesh and brushing his thumbs over my peaked nipples. “Let them see. I want the universe to know you’re beautiful. And that you’re mine.”

  He rolls one nipple between his thumb and forefinger, tugging on it just hard enough to make me whimper and arch into his touch. He chuckles, the sounds sliding down my spine like melted butter.

  “And if my brothers come back and see us…” Now his grin is positively sinful. “Well, you’ve already experienced a little of what the three of us can do to you when we work together.”

  My entire body flushes with heat at the memory. Callum put his mouth on me while Paris and Echo touched me everywhere else, and the sensations they elicited inside my body were unlike anything I’d ever felt before.

  Unconsciously, I grind harder against Paris, and he groans, sitting up and wrapping his arms around me. His lips replace his fingers on my nipple, and the shock of his warm, wet mouth on my sensitized skin makes my whole body jerk. I cling to him, throwing my head back as he sucks hard, drawing my breast into his mouth.