“No,” I grunted. I lashed out with my free hand, trying to connect nails to skin, but only finding purchase in his leather jacket. He snaked his other arm around my back to grab my free wrist and twisted it behind me. With both arms locked in his grip, I was trapped.
“Clearly, you needed this practice,” he said, his tone far too patronizing. “What’s it going to take to get you to fight back?” he hissed into my ear as I bucked against him, trying to free myself.
He hardly seemed to have to put forth effort to hold me in place. “Come on, Farrow. Unleash your anger, I know it’s in there. Fight me.”
Every opponent has a weakness.
Casimir was a stronger fighter than me in every way; agile and quick, his movements honed by decades of practice. I was already weakened from nausea and exhaustion from the repeated onslaughts of his glamour. Casimir was too confident, too assured of his edge over me, and I needed to claw back my power in this fight. My only hope of gaining an advantage over him was to root out his weakness and exploit it.
“Why do you care so much that I fight back?” I rasped out, my voice sounding strained.
When he hesitated, I froze.Oh.
And there it was. I saw my path ahead clearly. “Youdocare, don’t you?” I guessed, releasing a peal of laughter that I knew would only aggravate him. “You want me to trust you blindly, and you can’t stand that I don’t. Why is that, Casimir?” I taunted.
For a split second, his arms tightened around me, and then faltered, and I knew I’d hit my mark. But I was ready. The moment his fingers loosened around me, I sprang into action, kicking out hard against his ankle. In his haste to maintain his balance, he released my right arm, and with as much force as I could muster, I thrust my elbow into his throat.
Casimir choked in surprise and pain. I whirled away from his reach, panting in triumph.
I shot him a smug smile. “Looks like I’m not the only one who needs a little practice.”
He choked out a laugh between coughs. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that, Farrow?”
“You’re one to talk,” I snarled.
To my surprise, he shot me a crooked smile. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Cautiously, I mirrored his movements as he relaxed out of his fighting stance.
“Catching your opponent off guard isn’t a bad strategy,” he admitted. “Though I’m not sure your particular approach will work on anyone else.”
His features had smoothed into a cool mask once again, but something ferocious was boiling just beneath the surface. I had gained the upper hand, and it had taken him by surprise. By speaking aloud a truth he was too afraid to acknowledge, I had exposed him, made him vulnerable. And he didn’t like it one bit.
“You wanted me to fight back,” I reminded him. “Maybe you just don’t like it when I play dirty.”
He gave a conciliatory nod, his gaze trained to the stone floor, the obsidian blade resting at his side. “No, you did well.”
“But?” I pressed him.
“No buts, Farrow. You gained an edge over me. Exploiting your opponent’s weakness is a smart approach.”
I averted my gaze as I mulled over the implications of this declaration. Were Casimir’s feelings for me his weakness? He’d all but confessed as much. But now, as if determined to punish me for my indiscretion, he stepped closer, confronting me with the truth I’d spoken into existence.
“Why don’t you say it, Farrow?” he said, his voice low and cruel. He was inches from me, his breath warm against my skin. “Say it,” he commanded.
But I couldn’t. If it was true, then why had he rejected me earlier? Perhaps he was merely toying with me. He’d goaded me into fighting back, and I’d done the same to him.
I turned my cheek, refusing to even look at him.
But he wasn’t having it. Cupping my face roughly in one hand, he tilted my chin so I had no choice but to meet his gaze. I nearlyflinched at the rage I saw there, swimming beneath pools of honey. The smile he gave me was full of poison.
“You’re wrong about one thing, though. I like it when you play dirty.”
I waited for him to retract it, to give some sign that he was joking. I scanned his face, searching for signs of impending laughter—and landed on the tight line of Casimir’s mouth. My gaze flicked up to see his eyes darken.
He was pissed, but still in control of his emotions, if just barely.
I surmised he was begrudgingly pleased with my progress, but he hated the fact that I’d gotten the upper hand. As I glared up at him, I wondered what it would take for him to lose that tightly wound composure. Another second passed before he abruptly stepped away, the mask slipping back into place.