The Sleeper's Harp (The Arcane Artifacts, #1)

Chapter 18 - Story of Betrayal

"Now, go change back into those sexy little shorts you were wearing earlier. I need to blow off some steam. Meet me downstairs in five."

She made a sound of complaint in the back of her throat. "I'm not sparring with you."

"You are. Want me to throw you over my shoulder? Rules of the house. You live here, you spar with me."

"That's bullshit. You made that up just now."

"So? Doesn't make it any less of a rule."

She squared her shoulder and planted her feet, crossing her arms. "And, what? You're just going to start making up rules whenever you want?"

"My house, Sugar. I can make whatever rules I want. Now, go get dressed."

"I'm wearing this."

He arched an eyebrow. "Pajama pants and a tank top? Well, all right. I don't mind if your tits pop out. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing them after last night."

She screeched, face turning a dark shade of red, and pushed past him, elbowing him as she went.

"Fine," she hissed. "I'll go change."

He fought the smile threatening his face. Fought, and lost. Then he adjusted his pants and headed downstairs.

***

The sight of Eleanor, sweaty and panting, did so many things to him. She shot forward, trying to land a punch to his side. He dodged, moving slowly like a human might, then spun around and put her in a chokehold. She grabbed his forearm and dropped her shoulder, pulling him forward, then elbowed him, freeing herself from the hold. "Good," he said, pleased. "You're already better than you were an hour ago."

"How long do we have to keep doing this?" she panted, bending over to plant her hands on her knees.

"'Till I get tired of touching you, Sugar."

"You're a pig."

"Oh? Did you think so last night, when I had my fingers inside you?"

"What the fuck?!" she sputtered in outrage. Her face turned a darker shade of red and she stalked away to the water dispenser. He watched her gulp down a full glass, watched the movement of her long throat, before pulling his eyes away.

A quick glance in the mirrors showed him panting, too, muscles corded from the increased blood flow. His long black hair was braided tightly down the side of his scalp. The shaved side was going to need attention in a couple of days.

His eyes flicked back to Eleanor. She was filling her glass again, probably stalling.

"What made you want to learn martial arts?" he asked, crossing his arms, watching her. He'd been curious but had refrained from voicing the question until now. She tensed, then shrugged, but didn't answer. "In my experience, Sugar, there's always a reason. Want me to start guessing?"

She threw a glare at him. He already had a solid theory. There was a reason he was good at his job. Drawing conclusions was one of them.

"All right," he added, when she didn't respond. "You said that asshole—Luke—trashed your apartment? The one manhandling you inappropriately behind the club? You've got some history with him?"

Her face, red with exertion only minutes ago, went pale.

His jaw clenched. A new realization struck him. The blood pumping past his ears turned to a roar. He took a step forward. She flinched—fucking flinched. He froze. Red spots popped into his vision. "Did he hurt you, Sugar? Before?" he asked, voice sharp enough to cut.