Dark Desire After Dark

23

"You're a masochist, aren't you?" Holly asked when he suggested more training.

"We can work with the sword tonight," he said. Though Cadeon had gotten two adjoining rooms at the motel, he insisted on lying on her bed. With his back against the headboard and his legs stretched out, he surfed channels, while she reconfigured anything not bolted down.

"You think I'll need to know how to use a sword before I get changed back?" She could swear he was watching her rather than the pay-per-view he'd been so delighted to find here.

"A lot of factions in the Lore carry them."

"Okay. Fine, let's sword fight."

"Good. Be right back." He rose and exited the room, returning a couple of minutes later with his sword and a broom. After snapping the end off the broom, he tossed the handle atop the bed, presumably for later sparring.

Then, with grave formality, he unsheathed his sword.

"How old is that thing? Have you had it carbon dated?"

He looked aghast, as if she'd insulted his grandmother. "Hey, no disrespecting The Sword. Besides, it's only three or four centuries old."

"Only? I would think that technology has improved since then. Why wouldn't you get a new one?"

"I'm on my way to, remember? Try to keep up, halfling."

She glared. "I meant in the last few hundred years."

"If it ain't broke…This weapon's saved my life many a time."

"How many have you killed with it?"

A shadow crossed over his face. "Too many." Seeming to give himself a shake, he held it up. "Now this is a double-edged greatsword. It's made to cut through armor and cleave a man in two."

"You really still use one of those?"

"Guns are pretty useless on us, as you saw when I was saving your life like a champ two nights ago." He handed it to her. "It's quite a bit bigger than most swords. So it might be difficult for you to maneuver—"

She easily lifted it with one hand, held it out at eye level to check its lines, then made an effortless circular slash.

"Ah, not too heavy, then. But pay attention to the handle—it's made for you to hold it with both hands, like in a batter's grip." He moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her sides to place her hands. "Like this."

"Are you going to smell my hair again?" she said sharply, irritated that she still reacted to his closeness.

"Can I help that your hair attracts males? Yet you act like it's my fault. Now choke up a bit on your grip. That's it. Get a feel for it. We're going to swing it slowly right, then left," he said, guiding her movements.

With each second she grew more comfortable holding the intimidating weapon.

"A little history while you accustom yourself," he said, his mouth right at her ear. "The word sword comes from the Old English sweord, which comes from the root swer, meaning to stab or prick." His voice was as low and rumbling as ever. "Gladius, the Latin word for sword, also means penis."

"It does not." She sounded unaccountably breathy.

"Do you want to bet me?" His chin rubbed over the point of her ear, the stubble tickling the sensitive tip, and she had to stifle a shiver.

Against her will, she found herself growing aroused by the heat of his massive body along her back. She could feel the rigid muscles of his torso flexing and relaxing as he moved with her.

"Since the first sword was forged, it's been a symbol of manliness and virility. You can see why when it's upright. Tell me, Holly, as you grip the hilt, does it call to mind anything you've seen recently?"

"Cadeon," she said warningly.

He continued undaunted, "And if the Latin word sword means penis, then you can imagine that the term for scabbard is its counterpart. That's right, halfling, a scabbard is called a va—"

"Stop! You're making this up."

"I'm not. If you read Julius Caesar's De Bello Gallico in the original Latin, you're in for a laugh, because soldiers are always dropping their scabbards or even using their scabbards to clod their foes over the head."

Another rasp of his chin over her ear. Did he know it was driving her crazy? Oh, of course he did!

"They say every sword has its perfect scabbard."

She refused to allow him to make even sword fighting sexual. "I'm going to double check everything you're saying."

"Be my guest."

"So you read Julius Caesar?"

"In the original Latin, Holls. Do you like me better now that you know I can read ancient languages?"

"I would have been impressed with proof that you can read at all."

"Sharp-tongued Valkyrie. Now here's your fighting stance. Feet shoulder-width apart." He tapped her ankle with his own to get her to step her foot out more.

"Should I stay on my toes?"

"Good question. Normally, no. To withstand hits, you have to keep your balance—which is more easily done on flat feet. You'd be amazed at how hard another sword can come down—it'll throw you. And to give hard strikes, again, you need both feet firmly on the ground. That said, the Valkyrie fighting style is different than most."

"How?"

"They rely on speed. They can get behind you before you even have time to turn your head. Their swords are usually smaller, rapier-like, made more for thrusting jabs than for striking. If one were to fight me, she'd try to prevent my sword from hitting hers at all. They most often kill with a blow to the back."

"That doesn't seem very sporting." It went against everything she'd been taught—or, at least, that she'd learned from westerns and movies with galactic honor systems.

"Sword fighting in the Lore isn't sporting. It's about keeping your head on your shoulders. Okay, now chest up." He placed his palm on her shoulder and pulled back. "Raise the sword in front of your nose and let the tip drop to about forty-five degrees from your face. This is called the middle position. From here you can block blows from the right or the left. Now let's modify this a little." He maneuvered her body so that she was standing with her shoulder in front.

He kept touching her, but she couldn't pinpoint an instance where it was unwarranted.

"If you turn to the side like this, it reduces the visible area of your body, making you a smaller target."

"Are you going to use your stolen broom handle, or not?"

He raised his brows. "You think you're ready to cross swords? Very well."

When he released her to collect the stick, she nearly swayed and was glad he didn't see.

Facing her again, he said, "I'm going to strike, and I want you to block." Raising the stick, he knocked it against the sword, and they began to spar.

As they circled each other, he continued his instruction. "Never hesitate. Never appear nervous. Elbows at your side. Keep compact."

His hits were slow enough that she could block them each time. "Avoid multiple combatants. Like in hand-to-hand, don't be ashamed to run if you're outnumbered."

As they increased in speed, adrenaline began to pump through her.

"Throughout history most sword fights have been decided with the first blow. Not like on TV. Every movement counts."

He was striking faster and faster, but she was still able to parry.

"No, no, no, you could have evaded that strike," he said, just when she'd thought she'd given a particularly good block. "Never block when you can evade. And remember, your surroundings are key. Always keep them in mind. Anything can be a weapon." He tossed a pillow at her, and she sliced it cleanly in two! Tufts of filler floated in the air—

He smacked her bottom hard with his stick. Which infuriated her.

"Don't like gettin' spanked? Then keep your eyes on your opponent."

Aggression flared, and she struck out with a yell. He shot out of the way, and the sword cleaved through the bed side table and phone.

Holly's eyes went wide. "Cadeon! I could have killed you! I'm sorry!" When he shrugged, she said, "You don't think this is noteworthy?"

"No. Slaying furniture is fun. I'm more concerned about the fact that we're sparring, and you're stopping to apologize. Where's the heart of the killer? Where's your merciless side? You're acting like a skirt."

"A…skirt?" she said in an incredulous tone.

"Hey, here's an idea. If you can draw blood before my premium pay-per-view show comes on in ten minutes, then I'll get you your pills."

She gave him a look that said it's on, then launched an attack. He deflected her next blow, but realized that she'd held back so she could strike a second time even faster. Quick little female. He barely got out of the way, letting a lamp die for him.

She's going to be one of the greats, he thought, but he said, "Is this all you've got?"

Lips thinned, she slashed diagonally upward with stunning speed; he had to block with his stick—she sliced the end off.

"Oh, dear, did I cut off the tip of your gladius?"

Cade winced. She was literally out for blood and was growing increasingly enraged. Again and again, they circled, with her striking and him dodging. Finally, he could say, "Your ten minutes are up, halfling. You lose—"

Her sword whistled down, missing his shoulder by millimeters. "Holly, back the hell down. We're done."

Eyes glowing silver, she said, "I'm just getting started."

He realized that if he couldn't hurt her, he'd have to fight dirty. When she charged once more, he spun around to get behind her. He lightly kicked the back of her knee, sending her off balance.

"Ooh!" Even as she staggered she swung a roundhouse slash. A picture on the wall fell victim.

"Now, are you done—"

Banging on the door sounded. A deep voice outside said, "Open up, this is the police."

Her face went white, her jaw slackening. The sword dipped in her limp hand. "Oh, my God!" she whispered. "What are we going to do?"

Cade himself was about to have a ball with this. "Duuude," he murmured. "You are going-to-jail."