Obsidian Flame (Guardians of Ascension #5)(54)
Author: Caris Roane

“I don’t want to fight you, Leto. You’re weak. It wouldn’t be fair.”

“I’m not so weak that I couldn’t take you right now.”

“Oh, the words you speak to me.” He put a melodramatic hand to his chest. “Yes, take me, please.”

“Again, f**k you.”

“Again, I’d be delighted.”

“You’re so full of shit.” Leto moved fast.

Casimir moved forward, closing the distance in three strides. He shoved his power straight at Leto’s chest and blasted away. But Leto brought his sword down, which deflected the hand-blast energy. At the same time, he caught the tip of the blade against Casimir’s arm, just a bite, but he sliced through the billowy sleeve and the blood flowed.

Casimir dropped to the stone floor, holding his arm. “This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

Leto moved in for the kill and lifted his sword high. Casimir lifted his hand once more, lowered his chin, and sneered. He wouldn’t hold back this time and Leto was pretty sure this one would hurt, but like hell he was backing down.

However, a hand-blast from the side, from Marguerite, knocked the downward aim of Leto’s sword, forcing the blade to fall harmlessly aside. Her second hand-blast, issued within a fraction of a second of the first, deflected Casimir’s flow of power and shoved it in the direction of the bed Leto had been using. The blast hit the wall overhead and showered the bed and floor with a number of harmless silver sparks.

But the soldier in Leto went back to Casimir and lifted his sword once more.

Grace stepped in between and shook her head. “No, Leto. You must listen to Marguerite. She says he is not to die, that he has great purpose in the coming weeks.”

Leto lowered his sword. He was breathing hard and his chest hurt. He blinked. Sweat stung his eyes. He shifted his gaze to Marguerite, who drew close to Grace. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s something I’ve intuited for several weeks now. Strongly intuited. He must live.”

But Leto shifted his gaze to Casimir, who still sat on the floor, holding his loose sliced-up sleeve over the wound. Blood pooled on the floor. Good, he’d cut him fairly deep.

Leto shook his head and addressed Marguerite once more. “He can’t be trusted. He belongs to Greaves. He’s allied with him.”

Marguerite shrugged. “What can I say? I saw him in a vision—not the particulars, just the sense that he plays a role on behalf of Endelle’s faction in the coming months.”

The nausea returned. Shit, he was dizzy all over again. But he glanced at Casimir and was appalled that the bastard was actually lifting the hem of Grace’s gown. He heard him sniff.

Rage brought his strength returning and he lifted his sword once more, moving away from Grace. “What the f**k, Casimir? Both of these women are begging me to spare your life and you’re deliberately taunting me? Come out from behind Grace’s skirts and face me.”

But Casimir leaned back so that now he sprawled on the dark stone floor, supporting himself on his elbows. His tight pants as well as his position left nothing to the imagination. “It doesn’t matter to me whether I face you or face away from you. Both positions are equally pleasurable.”

“You sonofabitch.” He made a move toward Casimir, but Grace caught his free arm and her touch stilled him. He looked down at her, trembling all over again at her scent, her nearness.

“Enough, Leto. He must live.”

“Yes, I must,” Casimir said. “I scent her, Leto. You know what that means? I’m her breh.”

“You f**king liar.”

“But I scent her and if I’ve read Grace accurately, she scents me as well.”

He glanced at Grace, ready to have her refute Casimir, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Instead she stared at his chin, two spots of color on her cheeks. This couldn’t be possible.

He turned to Casimir and narrowed his eyes. “You can’t scent her. I scent her.”

“Wildflowers and earth. A sweet spring meadow after a light rain.”

Leto took a step backward. “This is not possible. She can’t have two brehs.”

Casimir grinned then looked Leto up and down. He even offered a sigh. “Looks like a ménage à trois made in heaven to me. I’m game and you’ve already offered to f**k me.”

If Leto hadn’t been feeling so damn weak, he would have jumped on the Fourth ascender and beaten him until that arrogant smirk could never return to his face, ascended healing or not.

But Grace suddenly left Leto’s side. She dropped down beside Casimir and without a moment’s hesitation folded a strip of clean fabric into her hand and began bandaging his arm.

Leto shook, not just with rage but with despair. What the hell did it mean that the woman meant for him was also scenting the bastard-from-hell?

Casimir didn’t deserve Grace.

But that thought brought him up short since neither did he.

Neither did he.

Christ, what a f**king mess.

* * *

Casimir looked at the small white hands that bound his arm. He was charmed. Mesmerized and charmed. Her scent flowed into his nostrils and up into his brain until he was dizzy. He was aroused all over again as though he’d never understood arousal before. His desire for her trebled and he once more leaned close and sniffed. He couldn’t get enough of her meadow, earth, and wildflower scent.

She tied the knot of the bandage and backed away from him. But he followed, caught her arm, and drew her wrist beneath his nose. He shuddered as he took in the fragrance of her skin.

“Stop it,” she said, trying to pull away from him, but he held her fast. He pushed his own wrist beneath her nose. “Tell me what you smell so that I know I’m not imagining this.”

He expected her to turn away, but instead she sniffed. He heard her sigh. “Like spicy mulled wine.” She met his gaze, her beautiful gold-green eyes and pale lashes.

He nodded and smiled. “Intoxicating, isn’t it?” He was pleased. Beyond words.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

Leto dropped down behind Grace and put his arms around her. She seemed to freeze at the intimacy. “You may not have her, Casimir. She is mine. Mine.” The last word held such reverence that Grace gasped and leaned into him, reaching up to touch his cheek.

The woman was torn. This was not going to be simple.

Casimir’s head spun, a dizzying sensation, like he was on a carnival ride that was moving too fast. He wanted to draw a sword into his own hand and take Leto’s head here and now, but he had never learned the art and now regretted it. He wanted to do battle, but he’d never been a soldier. He made love, not war.