Last of Daylight

6.1 Deceive Yourself-But Your Heart And Soul Know The Truth

{January 2006}

For over four years, Rayne went to school, helped her mom out at the bookstore, trained with Xelan until midnight, and then died at Nox's hands in her sleep. She was eighteen going on two hundred, but Rayne barely felt it. She felt like a fighter, like a killer.

Crazy.

That's how Rayne felt. If she ever told her family, they'd surely lock her up. Sagan was the only person she could turn to, but Sagan was battling her own demons. While Rayne loved Tameka, her most pragmatic friend would tell Rayne to ignore Nox. Simply don't engage the King of Cinder until he left her alone—improved fighting skills be damned. Or Tameka would tell Rayne all the strange feelings mixed up in the dreams were hormones, and that Rayne should get over her immature notions about virginity. In that same vein, there was no way Rayne was talking to Kyle or Andrew about it.

No.

Rayne was alone in this storm.

She entered the dream dressed in black tactical pants and a black sports bra, this one with extra straps. Black ribbon coiled around her biceps and swirled down her arms to lace around her fingers. Rayne touched her hair and found it pulled back in a fishtail braid from her face. Practical, but cute.

The loose red soil sifted beneath Rayne's toes. Was it too much to ask for combat boots? Why did Nox never grant her sensible footwear?

"All those nerve endings let you feel the dirt and predict my attacks a mite faster. You need every advantage I'm willing to afford you."

Finally, an answer.

Like always, Nox addressed Rayne through the black pyre between them. Even with the obstruction, she knew how he'd dressed. The same as every night: black leather pants, no shirt, and no shoes.

A filter still distorted Nox's face. He'd tied his hair back as if finally acknowledging Rayne as a challenge. It emphasized the impression of a sharp jaw, angular nose, thick brows, and sculpted cheekbones.

Why must Rayne's tormentor be attractive?

Nox's carriage was one of self-regard, but not so much to suggest conceit. It was a natural esteem probably born of his station.

But that's not why Rayne's thoughts had drifted to Nox lately in a non-fighting sense. Here, in these dreams, she could act however she wanted without fear of his judgment, scolding, or concern. Nox accepted Rayne in the simplest terms. Understood her even. Which was a terrible tactical advantage in a relationship solely based on enmity.

Uncertain when the fight might begin, Rayne walked alongside the blaze, keeping him within her sights. "Did I graduate to actual exercise for you?"

Laughter rumbled from Nox's chest. The King of Cinder mocked her and paid her a compliment all in the same sound. He sidled along the fire with her in a dance, respecting her as a warrior by maintaining constant eye contact. Silken in that baritone, he said, "You gain skill with every session. Soon, you'll make a formidable adversary thanks to my private instruction."

"You mean thanks to Xelan's nightly training, and my willingness to work my ass off in order to stop your invasion schemes?" Rayne stopped and glared at him, her feet spread shoulder-width apart in her favorite fighting stance.

Through the black fire, Nox shrugged, and it was graceful despite the breadth of his shoulders and the bulk of his chest. The gesture said Nox knew Rayne was lying to herself. Their sessions did make her into a better fighter. He said, "Whatever you need to tell yourself."

Nox stopped circling and faced Rayne across the pyre. "You're so eager tonight. Good. We'll test the limits of your abilities. I will hold back far less than any night before. Are you prepared, Celindria?"