Tempest explored the second floor, thankfully without a chaperone. While she loved Briggs and didn’t mine Brine, she was tired of being watched. She just wanted to be free to roam without being studied. She was jittery, but that was on the account of going nowhere near the training hall in days. Boredom did not suit her. Walking was not cutting it but at least no one bothered her. Persons of questionable reputation kept to their shadowy alcoves and doors. No one dared touch her, though she did receive a fair number of glares, scowls, and mutterings.
“As if it was my fault, damn criminals,” Tempest bit out as a woman glared at her so hard she thought her hair would light on fire. She had not given her attackers up, and she was the one to save their lives. It was bloody unfair.
Life is unfair. Aleks’s voice echoed through her mind.
She smiled and wandered farther through the upper levels which were considerably more opulent. Tempest snuck through a gaudy, expansive ballroom, an attached kitchen of-sorts, and a handful of stupidly large bedrooms which she learned were currently unoccupied. With the masquerade fast approaching, she reasoned that most, if not all, of the bedrooms were reserved for important guests—heads of factions, brigands, smugglers, and the lot. If only she could be a fly on the wall. Tempest would bet her daggers that the rooms had secrets just like their owner.
She scowled at the mere thought of the Jester and stalked down a smaller corridor on her left, then another. Her mind wandered, and, by the time she got a good look around, she had no idea where she was. Damn. That was sloppy.
“Come on, Temp,” she muttered, tossing her head from side to side, trying to figure out where she was. The second floor was larger than she’d expected. She crept down the corridor as silently as was feasible. No need to alert anyone she was here.
Two voices speaking softly pulled her attention to an open doorway on her left. She slunk closer and paused, leaning against the wall.
“It will be okay,” a familiar female voice said. Nyx.
“I don’t think so,” Mal’s chilly voice answered.
Tempest’s nose wrinkled. She hated that bastard. She pushed from the wall and moved to pass the doorway, catching a glimpse of Nyx smiling softly in a warmly-lit room. It screamed of intimacy. No need to bother them.
“No need to run away, Tempest, though that is what you’re good at, is it not?” Mal called.
Freezing, she turned on her heel and strode into the room. If he was going to toss out insults, he’d better be prepared for the consequences. Mal crossed his arms over his chest and cocked his head to one side, white hair flashing in the firelight as he looked down his nose at Tempest with arrogant, ice-blue eyes.
“Nyx, it’s nice to see you,” she said softly, pointedly ignoring Mal.
“And the coward shows her face,” he muttered.
Tempest stiffened. “You think someone who stands up for what they believe in is a coward?” she fired back, closing the distance between them. He wouldn’t win this battle. What he’d done was wrong.
“Is that what you were doing when you protected the scum who attacked you?” Mal asked, a bark of laughter escaping him. “What kind of person does not want to see justice performed on those who harmed them? They were not innocents. You protected the guilty.”
Tempest stabbed a finger against his chest. “And who appointed you as judge, jury, and executioner?” She hid her smile as his jaw began to tick in agitation. She was getting to him.
“I’m beholden to no one, little Hound. The Dark Court is my playground.”
“Don’t let the Jester hear you say that. I’m sure he has a stringent punishment for those who challenge his position.” She cocked her hip and smirked. “I was the one who was attacked, and, by your own rules, I should have been the one to serve justice to those who wronged me. Why did you take it into your own hands? Were you just so bloodthirsty that you shunned real justice? Because that’s what it looked like from where I was standing. You’re nothing but a washed-up version of Destin.”
Mal’s eyes flashed, and he lunged for her arm, but she was expecting it. Tempest deftly moved out of the way and swung her leg out to sweep his feet out from underneath him. Mal jumped over her leg then snapped a kick toward her stomach. She dodged the kick, her blood singing.
“Tempest—” Nyx began, moving toward the two of them, but Mal put out a hand to stop her, his gaze not leaving Tempest.
“Leave this to us, Nyx,” he snarled. “It’s long overdue.” He grinned at Tempest, all gleaming teeth and wicked intent. She found herself matching his almost-snarl rather than being intimidated by it.
“It seems we can finally agree on one thing.”
“It was bound to happen.” He waved a hand at her. “Then let’s see you do your worst, Lady Hound. Or are you all show?”
The insult riled her. She knew he was baiting her, but she couldn’t help it. Tempest went on the offense and threw a straightforward throat punch. He blocked with a solidly muscled forearm, and she swept under his guard to land a punch to his ribs. He spun and grabbed her around the waist, like a lover’s embrace, and lifted her off her feet. If he got her onto the floor, she’d lose. Mal was just too big.
Tempest jabbed her elbow into his stomach, and his grip loosened. She ducked out of his arms and put space between them. He began to circle her, but never reached for his knives, so neither did she. He smiled and then attacked. Several minutes passed with their brutal to-and-fro, neither of them giving an inch as their skin grew slick with sweat and their breaths came in heaves and stolen gasps. She scowled at him. He was the most vicious sparring partner she’d ever had. He clearly wouldn’t have any compunctions about tossing her around; yet, he hadn’t done so.
“You’re going easy on me,” she spat, brushing her blue hair out of her face.
He shrugged. “I didn’t want you to feel as weak and powerless as you are.”
Hell, no.
Tempest yelled and attacked. It wasn’t sparring anymore. It was her against him. He’d challenged her ideals and her worth. She got in one good uppercut before he gained the upper hand and toppled her to the ground, straddling her hips to keep her in place while his hands pinned her wrists.
His white hair hung around his face, giving them a curtain as he lowered his lips to her ear. His breath tickled her skin as he growled, “Are you done yet?”
“Not even close,” she breathed. He pulled back, just far enough so her gaze could focus properly on his blue eyes. If he was going to use all his strengths, so was she. For the first time in her life, Tempest played dirty.
She kissed him.
She clenched her gut, preparing for the man to loosen his hold and jerk away from her. Instead, Mal did the exact opposite; he tightened his fingers around Tempest’s wrists. She gasped, her mouth giving him the opening he was looking for. A shudder went through his massive frame that blanketed hers. His hard body melted into hers, and he kissed her like a desperate man, passion threatening to drown her.
Tempest turned her face to the side, gasping into his snowy hair as she tried to remember what the hell she was doing. Mal grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled softly. She arched her neck, and his heated mouth moved feverishly down her skin.
He moved back to her lips, leaving a trail of licks and nips. The kisses deepened, and his tongue rasped over her teeth. Mal kissed her like he needed her to breathe. His lips easily pressed against hers, molding their mouths against one another. It was a desperate claiming.