A Court of Whispers and Song

Chapter 40

He came at her with a sudden jab to her right side. She blocked, ducking enough to take out his left leg. He, of course, recognized her move coming from a mile away. Grabbing a hold of her ankle, he tossed her until she flipped over, her back slamming to the mats. She twisted and rolled until she popped up to her feet. His annoyingly handsome face was there when she did.

Azriel was steadfast in teacher guise, hands planted firmly on lean hips that she was now intimately acquainted with. One glimpse at his scowl and forehead lines showed he was not amused with his pupil.

A brutal wind ripped over the training ring, biting her to the bone. Gwyn had never been so glad Rhysand bought out Emerie's entire cache of fur-lined female Illyrian leathers for the trainees. Even so, the cold eked through the layered, thick material, her flesh bumpy under the tight fabric.

Still, the brisk air didn't deter either of them on long nights when nightmares roused them from sleep. When not even a passionate kiss was enough to chase away the darkness, the fear, as well as poised fists and kicks. Sometimes Gwyn would need to be more aggressive, something she wasn't entirely sure of yet in the bedroom. Yet being the most intriguing word.

So, instead of letting Azriel have his way with her in warmth and security, she recently crawled out of bed with him following her. Up the well-acquainted stairs together to face the chilling night air.

She stood, out of breath, her sweat freezing on her exposed skin. The shadowsinger was, of course, the consummate portrait of a warrior. His chest rose and fell even and smooth while hers mimicked hummingbird wings.

"What happened? You're being careless, Berdara." His hazel eyes were fierce and sharp, weighing.

Gwyn met his intensity, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, I won't blame a particular someone who has been a major distraction at practice over the past month."

Azriel's lips twitched as she kenned they would. His gaze dipped to the way her breasts lifted above her arms. As she also predicted.

"So, you're blaming me for slipping in your training? Fuck, Berdara, a novice could have beaten your ass tonight."

"Is that so?"

Azriel stepped forward into her space, his wings twitching in annoyance. Wings she was finding increasingly hard to not touch the closer they became, inviting her curiosity each time they were in bed. When they first pleasured each other with their mouths over a month ago, Gwyn managed a sneaky brief caress of his wing.

The first, but not the last. Since then, if Azriel was at home, they occupied any free time with pleasure as they consumed one another. And Azriel was voracious. The mere thought warmed the air a scant bit.

But since that eventful day, Azriel had a point. Training had become harder. They had both been naked. Exposed. Seen, felt, and tasted the most intimate parts you could share with another. And knowing exactly what Azriel looked like with no clothes on? What his face looked like gloriously screwed in pleasure?

The shadowsinger distracted Gwyn.

Everything about him was a fantastic distraction. His muscled form. His strength. The way he moved smoothly as rain over stone. His beauty both inside and out. The intensity of his look that she only suddenly realized had almost always been there. Before, she thought the shadowsinger merely regarded her form. Her precision with her fists and blades, strictly for correction.

Now, though, Gwyn realized there had always been an eagerness to his gaze. Sometimes stopping her mid-swing. There was no denying the heat of his stare caressed more than his shadows stretching over her skin. Even when there was a whole rooftop between him and her. His eyes were impossible to miss, even if the rest of Azriel's face reflected poise and indifference.