The Clash of Yesterday

by Sawyer Bennett

  Now I have nothing but a three-foot-long stick of wood while she has the deadly end.

  I’m impressed at how she doesn’t get rattled and instead turns a shit circumstance into gold for herself. I’m also impressed she wastes no time coming at me with the spike. I deflect her lunge, let her momentum carry her in closer, then lock my arm around her neck. Before she can angle the spear into my side, I punch down hard on her arm, and the makeshift weapon falls to the ground as she cries out in pain.

  Fuck that tiny part of me that hated hurting her.

  Also fuck that moment’s hesitation in going for the spear because when I finally make a play for it, she’s launching a sidekick that connects painfully to my ribs and knocks me back a few feet.

  From the corner of my eye, I can see the spear is no more than five feet away from us. Either can make the dive that way.

  Either can conjure another weapon.

  We circle each other. When it’s clear neither are ready to end this, we lunge at each other for some hand-to-hand combat. Eliana is a brawler, and her punches and kicks are so fast I can barely see them to deflect.

  But being stronger, I connect to the side of her head with a roundhouse punch. To a mortal woman, it would have knocked her unconscious.

  Eliana merely shakes it off, snarling, “That the best you got?”

  “You know the best I got,” I reply suggestively, and I about whoop with delight as her face turns beet red.

  But only for a moment as she recovers her wits, shaking her head slightly. Knowing that no one can hear what we say to each other given the arena’s size and the crowd’s cheers, she smirks. “Yeah… not sure it was really the best. It was just passable, I’d say.”

  I bark out a laugh because my ego is too big to even let that cut into me. “The amount of orgasms I gave you and the way you begged for more… well, I know that’s just not true.”

  I expect a pithy reply, but it seems my response infuriates her—probably because she can’t handle the truth—and she flies at me.

  We exchange more punches, kicks, and elbows, both getting in good licks.

  None of which will hurt us.

  “End it, end it, end it,” the crowd chants, and I have no clue who they want to win. They just want to see blood spilled, especially since it’s a Meadowlander and a Bluff Dweller fighting.

  We pause in our volleys, deciding at the same time to give the crowd what they want. We simultaneously conjure long swords, and we raise them to clash against one another.

  Eliana hammers at me, causing me to move back. Blow after blow, I’m in defense mode until it suddenly hits me that I’m not going on the offensive. Am I holding back for some strange reason because I have feelings for her?

  Ridiculous.

  I draw on those centuries upon centuries of hate between our clans, remembering this victory is important to them if only for bragging rights for the next one hundred years.

  The next time her sword comes down on mine, I circle mine hard in a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree circle, hers caught up in the momentum of mine until mine comes out on top and hers is held down, the point stuck in the dirt. With her sword temporarily rendered useless, I launch a vicious backhand at her, catching her square in the chest. It actually lifts her off her feet, and she goes flying backward a good ten feet, her sword falling from her hands.

  I’m stalking after her before she even hits the ground, intent on driving my weapon through her stomach, which will end the battle.

  She lifts her head, and I can see I’ve knocked the wind out of her just a bit. My smile is victorious as I stand above her and raise the sword’s hilt with the pointed end aimed at her stomach.

  My gaze moves to hers, and I expect to see defeat.

  Instead, I see triumph, but I only get a flash of it before her legs whip around, kick into the backs of my knees, and force me to go sprawling on the ground.

  Eliana rolls, I see her grab something—the damn spear end—and then she’s thrusting it out sideways, the fucking point sliding into the side of my abdomen like a knife through butter.

  Fuck, that hurts, and I stare in shock at the black blood pouring out as she pulls it out.

  A loud bell clangs, signaling the end of the battle, and it’s her judge sister Rishka who runs up to proclaim her the winner. Eliana stands and gazes down at me for a moment before Rishka nabs her wrist and raises her arm high into the air in victory. As the crowd roars and then starts to chant, “Eliana, Eliana, Eliana,” I push up from the ground and stand with a slight grunt of pain.

  Holding my hand over my wound, which will easily be healed once I leave the field, I catch Eliana’s eyes as she and Rishka move together in a circle to acknowledge all sides of the arena.

  I give her a nod, deep and thoughtful. A congratulations.

  She gives me back the tiniest smile before I’m forgotten as she and her sister hug in delight.

  I turn and walk off the battlefield, and, oddly, I’m not too bothered that I lost. I’ve beaten her before, and I’m sure I’ll beat her again.

  She outperformed me tonight, using her cunning well.

  Fuck if I don’t admire the hell out of it.

  And she’s now won our bet.

  I wonder when she’ll collect on it.

  CHAPTER 8

  Eliana

  “To Eliana,” Rishka exclaims for what seems like the tenth time in the last hour. She hoists up her cup, filled with potent Faere liquor, and the rest of our clan does the same, echoing her cheer. “The fiercest, baddest Meadowlander warrior around. Besides me, of course.”

  Everyone laughs, including me.

  We’ve been celebrating for hours in our tent, the mood too jubilant not to rejoice in my victory over Ronan and the Bluff Dwellers. Bragging rights for the next hundred years, although it doesn’t erase the sting of him getting the ad account for Carrick Byrne.

  I play the battle over in my head. It was well fought, and when he managed to dispatch my battle-ax so easily, there was a moment when I thought he might win.

  It wasn’t anything that brought me shame or concern for losing to such a skilled warrior. No, my mind immediately went to our bet and the fact that if he won, his prize was to fuck me. I can’t be sure of it, but it seems my brain—deep in its darkest recesses—admitted that would not be such a bad thing.

  But now, back around my people and my sister shouting my praises, lauding her pride in me, I know it would be a horrible idea to go back there again.

  It would be… disloyal.

  Didn’t mind being disloyal before though, did you? Over and over and over again.

  Gods, I hate my conscience sometimes.

  I move off from Rishka before she can toast my greatness again. It was nice the first few times, but now it’s just off-putting because she has never been all that proud of me before. It seems a bit disingenuous now because she’s floating on the high of beating the Bluff Dwellers as a whole.

  And I don’t feel that at all, really. I don’t feel like strutting past their camp and looking down my nose at all of them just because I happened to take Ronan down today.

  Oh, I’ll totally lord it over Ronan, especially for beating me out on that ad campaign, but I just don’t feel that same antipathy toward our Brevala enemies the way other members of my clan do.

  What I am feeling is tired, though.

  It’s been a long few days of competitions—which I won my fair share in the individuals—and even though my body recovered very quickly from the pummeling Ronan gave me, I’m a bit emotionally whipped. It was hard going up against someone like him, especially when he tended to jumble up my insides.

  I walk through the tent, accepting more hugs and congratulations and giving my farewells for the evening. Tomorrow, we’ll be packing up and heading back to our respective homes. My family will go back to Brevala, and I’ll head back to Seattle and resume my life there.

  As will Ronan.

  Let it go, Eliana. Doesn’t matter if he’s i
n Seattle… there is nothing there to even think about.

  And I resolutely believe this, despite my inner voice piping up. I would never have anything with Ronan. Our families are sworn enemies, so much so that death resulted from the last time a Meadowlander and a Bluff Dweller thought to have a canoodle in a lake. It doesn’t matter if either of us feel differently, we’re talking about a betrayal of blood and lineage. All the times we’d avenged my aunt Dahlia’s death would be for nothing if I were to even look kindly at Ronan.

  As of this moment, I decide I’m over it. I resolve to put him out of my mind as I walk back to the small sleeping tent I’m sharing with Ilona on the main dwelling’s outskirts, passing the revelry still going on.

  Ilona is still back at the family tent, so I was looking forward to just crawling into bed and going to sleep. Just as I’m about to pull back the flap, someone steps out of the darkness from around the corner. My first instinct is to go into defensive mode, but before my body even tenses, it relaxes when I see it’s Ronan.

  It. Relaxes.

  I relax when I see it’s Ronan.

  What the hell?

  I put on my fiercest glare. “What are you doing here?”

  He saunters up to me, looking down with a cocky smile. “I thought you’d come to collect your prize for beating me?”

  My skin flushes, but I lift my chin. “Queen Nimeyah already gave me my prize.”

  And it was a good one. A wishing crystal that would make any reasonable wish come true.

  “No,” he drawls with a censuring tone. “If you beat me in the arena, you get to fuck me.”

  “That wasn’t really the bet,” I say with exasperation. “I believe you said you’d fuck me.”

  “You didn’t say no when we were discussing it,” he points out. “And besides… I think your exact words were that I was a reward if you won.”

  Damn it. I did say that, but only because I meant I would be the one winning and getting a reward, not necessarily agreeing he was a prize.

  Which he’s not.

  Okay, parts of him are.

  “Ugh,” I exclaim in frustration over the conversation in my head.

  “Come on, Eliana,” he cajoles, moving in a little closer. “Come back to my tent with me. Let’s celebrate your win. You’ll see I’m a good sport at losing.”

  “But you hate me,” I blurt, wanting to just get to the point.

  Ronan frowns as if something just struck him, and he tips his head slightly. “But see… I don’t hate you. That’s odd.”

  “Yes, it’s odd. It’s not natural. It goes against thousands of years of mutual loathing. There are loyalties we must observe, families to appease, and we can’t just be selfishly—”

  My words are cut off as I’m suddenly in Ronan’s arms and his mouth is melded to mine in a fiery kiss of longing. Damn it all to hell, but I immediately succumb with my hands diving into his thick hair.

  His hands go to my ass, fingers inching up the dress I’d put on after my bath this evening. One digit presses through the material, catching me through the ass cheeks and I moan with need.

  But something niggles.

  We can’t do this.

  At least…

  “Not here,” I say as I tear my mouth away from his. “Nowhere near here. No one can find out.”

  Ronan doesn’t respond, but I feel the pull on my belly as we’re bending distance. It’s a magical ability we have to travel great distances in a flash. It involves envisioning where we want to go, locking onto it, and then pulling it close. We bend the linear distance so we can step from one place right into another.

  In this instance, Ronan had envisioned Brevala when he whisked us away from Faere. The Cernian Falls actually, the lake glistening silver in the moonlight.

  It’s pointed that he brought us here, for he could have taken us back to Seattle. But Brevala would be safe for us tonight with everyone back in Faere.

  I can’t tell if he’s making a statement that maybe we can somehow work things out, but it jars me enough that I pull back from his embrace. The moon is bright enough that I can see the consternation in his eyes as he watches me like a hawk.

  “This is just not a good idea,” I say, cooler thoughts prevailing now that he’s not touching me.

  “It’s a fucking great idea, and you know it,” he replies smoothly.

  “Why? Because we’re great in the sack together?”

  “Can you think of a better reason?” he retorts.

  No. I can’t think of a better reason. But the thought of disappointing my family… hell, of perhaps angering them to the extent my wings could be taken, has me backtracking.

  “I’m going back to Faere—”

  He’s on me before I can even complete my sentence, and, somehow, he has my hands pinned behind my back and his body pressed so hard into mine that I’m bending backward. “Fight it inside your head if you want, Eliana. Hell, you can fight me physically if it makes you feel better. But you and I both know you want this as much as I do.”

  “I don’t—”

  “You do,” he talks right over me, bending me back a little further so his face is hovering over mine. The moonlight makes his green eyes glow and they’re utterly freaking mesmerizing. “Remember that time in Rome… you fought me then.”

  “You fought me back,” I whisper.

  Because we had pummeled the hell out of each other and ended up fucking like animals. It was hate sex at its finest. We had just battled in the Coliseum and Ronan had won. Back in those days, I had to glamour myself to look like a man, as women weren’t allowed to fight. But, of course, being a Light Fae himself, Ronan knew exactly who I was.

  We were the last combatants, just as we were tonight, and he had gutted me with a sword. It wasn’t a killing wound to me, but none of the fifty thousand Romans cheering Ronan’s victory knew that. I had to lay there and play dead until they carted me off with the other bodies where we were dumped in the lower cellars. Later, slaves would come and bring us to pyres for incineration.

  Ronan came by not long after they’d dumped me. I had just sat up, looking down at my stomach wound, which was already mostly healed. Had Ronan been using iron, it would have taken days to recover.

  He was smug, leaning against a column. The area was dimly lit with a few sconces. I had glared at him, stood, and moved past him. He followed me through the maze of tunnels that would lead us out of the Coliseum, and it all started with a taunt.

  “Your fighting skills are puny, Meadowlander,” he’d said.

  I answered with a sidekick that knocked him back several feet.

  He flew at me, crashing me into the stone wall so hard that rock crumbled loose and dust floated around us.

  We traded barbs and threw each other around. The more we fought, the more it didn’t seem like we wanted to kill each other.

  Until, somehow, my back ended up pressed to his front with his beefy arm tightening around my throat. I thought he might try to choke me out, which would have been near to impossible, or perhaps break my neck, which would hurt but not kill me.

  Instead, his other hand dove under the front of my tunic, easily burying into the swaddling-type undergarments one wore under gladiator clothing, and I was stunned when he so easily sank his finger into me because I was already soaking wet.

  “Aaagh,” he’d taunted me. “Knew you were turned on.”

  “How?” I sputtered, outraged at my own body.

  His answer was to press his hips into my back, so I could feel the thick ridge of his desire.

  And we didn’t speak again after that. Somehow, I ended up bent over a bench while Ronan rode me hard from behind. He did it with his hand wrapped in my hair, twisting my neck a bit painfully so I could see what he was doing.

  He made me watch him fuck me.

  Made me watch as I slammed back against him, having no desire for him to let me go.

  Our climaxes were almost painful, both of us achieving ours at the same time.

&n
bsp; When he was done, he walked away without a word. I straightened, felt his seed running down my leg, and, yet, all I could think was… Damn, that was good.

  “You’re remembering the same as I am, aren’t you?” he says, his gravelly murmur floating over me, knocking me out of that memory. “That night in Rome… how hard we both came? We can fight again tonight if you want.”

  I blink, taking in the confidence by which he knows what I’m feeling right now. Yeah, I wouldn’t mind battling him again, but it’s not needed. I want him without the need to provoke our anger because no matter how wrong it is, there’s also something very right about the way we make each other feel.

  I shake my head. “No need to fight.”

  Ronan’s eyes fire, my meaning sinking in, then he kisses me again. This time, he’s not demanding my yield, but rather coaxing me to him. He releases my hands, and they go around his neck.

  I sigh into his mouth, and then I lose track of time.

  Our clothes come off, melted away by magic. Not sure if it’s his or mine. We sink to the bare grass, dewy and refreshing against my heated skin. Lips and fingers and teeth everywhere. So much touching, the need mounting within us until it feels almost too frenzied.

  And just about when I’m about to demand he fuck me, Ronan lifts me off the ground, his great brown wings, the exact color of his hair, flapping in a slow but powerful rhythm. My legs go around his waist and his hands squeeze my ass. I can feel the tip of his cock at my entrance.

  I’m not sure if he thrusts up or I slam down, but then he’s inside of me while we continue to rise higher and higher into the air.

  His hips move, driving into me, and it feels so good that my wings release. But I don’t help with flight, merely keep them tucked behind me where I can feel them shivering at every stroke of him inside me.

  On and on, he fucks me slowly as we float through the warm air of Brevala. His kisses are deep but gentle, and, when we orgasm, it’s into each other’s mouths as we just hold clinging tightly together while suspended among the clouds.