“I came to Seattle to fight you,” he says, making me freeze.
“Fight me?” I remain perfectly still within the circle of his arms, but my heart thuds a rapid beat. “Why?”
His eyes glitter like dew drops, but he doesn’t make a move against me. “I was sure that if I could beat you, I’d gain my strength tail.”
“Because I got mine early,” I say, my heart sinking, but I blink before he can see the disappointment in my eyes. “And what about your love mark?”
He shakes his head. “Growing up in a family like mine… love was never in abundant supply. I guess I thought that if I’m going to fail anyway, at least I can go down fighting.”
His lips brush my temple, a daring move. “I’m running out of time. I don’t have any choices left.”
“How long do you have?” I ask.
“A month until my twenty-first birthday.” His voice becomes wry, cynical. “My family tolerated my unique marks, but they won’t accept failure. Since nobody can die at The Ball, this was the safest place to challenge you without anyone getting truly hurt.”
I remember the way he grabbed my wrist when I was about to exit the hallway, the deliberately combative hold he placed on me. And after that, his challenging statement that he would be the one to test my strength. He had nearly provoked me into a fight both times, but then he backed off.
My hands fly up, planting on his chest so that I can shove him away from me, harnessing my power to make myself stronger. “So, you did come here to use me.”
A wash of anger rushes through me, mostly at myself, because I should have kept my guard up. Opening myself up to possibilities only ever gets me hurt.
He rights himself with the same perfect reflexes that made me assume he was already proficient at combat. I don’t doubt he is. For the first time—or maybe it’s the thousandth time—I wonder what the hell is wrong with the acquisition of tails. Why are some of them so hard for some of us to gain?
I force myself to focus on the problem at hand because—damn—now he’s standing between me and the door.
He speaks before I can take a step toward it. “Would it make a difference if I told you I changed my mind?” His breathing is less regular than I expect as his gaze runs the length of my body. “If I told you that I’m sorry I ever thought I should challenge you?”
The tips of my claws have come out, but I close my fingers into my fists. “No,” I growl. “It doesn’t make a fucking difference.”
I shake my head slowly, unable to let go of my bitter anger. Angry with myself for being angry. If I didn’t care, I wouldn’t feel emotion this intense. He gave me a flower, danced with me, and made me feel sexy for an hour or two. None of that should affect me this much. None of that should have drawn me to him this much.
For a moment, Julian’s face is blank, hiding whatever emotions he’s feeling. Then a slow smile grows on his face. “Then you won’t mind obliging me.”
He backs up toward the door, grabs the nearest chair and slides it under the door handle.
I tilt my head to the side and give him a scathing once-over. As if a chair will pose an obstacle.
He, on the other hand… All of the muscles in his chest and arms shift and ripple as he strides toward me.
Damn, he’s beautiful.
My head shakes. I refuse to be distracted, planting my feet, discovering that the slit in the dress gives me plenty of mobility. Enough to spin and kick. He dodges the blow with lightning reflexes, catching my foot and pushing. I backflip before I can lose my balance, ending up beside the glass table. I wait for him to catch up, aiming another blow at his chin—this one with my fist. He blocks it, and we trade quick attempts to make contact for the next thirty seconds.
Yet, it feels like a lifetime. Every impact thrums through me, not hurting, sending a heady thrill through my chest. It’s been a long time since I tested my skills against an equal partner. At the end of a sequence that includes equal misses on both our parts, he lunges for my waist, knocking me off my feet. We catch air, but he twists, landing beneath me so his body takes the fall. My knees slip to either side of his hips, straddling him, our lower halves pressed up against each other in a way that is far too pleasant.
My lips part. I gasp, fighting the heat striking through my core before he rolls us across the ground, positioning himself on top. He gives me a smile, the heat in his gaze increasing, and I have to remind myself that I’m still furious with him.
One of my heels is within reach. I snatch it up off the floor, driving the stiletto toward his chest like a dagger. His eyes widen a second before he rolls off me.
The heel flies through the air and the stiletto lodges in the door, sticking with a thud.
He darts toward me again, but I’m already reaching for the other shoe. He lurches backward, ducking just in time. The second heel thuds into the wall and lodges there like the first.
I jump to my feet, prowling after Julian as he raises his hands in front of his chest defensively.
“Admit it,” he says. “You’re angry because you want more.”
“Like hell I do,” I snarl.
He isn’t dissuaded as he backs around the room and I follow him, my focus intent.
“You feel what I feel,” he says. “There’s a spark between us. The kind that only happens once in a lifetime.” He dodges my fist. Blocks my next punch. “I want to know what we could be, Olivia. Marks or no marks. If I could take back my motives for meeting you, I would. But I don’t regret being here with you.”
I wrench myself backward, considering him warily. I’m afraid of opening myself up. I’ve been rejected enough already. But what if his intentions are real? What if he’s not hustling me?
“Screw it,” he says, taking advantage of my silence to lower his arms, leaving himself completely exposed. “You’re too beautiful for this.”
He inclines his head at the door. “I won’t stop you from leaving. If you want to walk out that door, I promise you won’t see me again. But if—by some small chance—you want more, all you have to do is ask.”
I step up to him, searching his eyes. In response to my movement, he draws me closer, his bare chest rising and falling rapidly, and his lips hovering close to mine. But he doesn’t kiss me. There’s a challenging distance between us, as if he’s expecting me to either pull him closer or finally push him away.
Either way, it’s up to me.
With a frustrated moan, I decide I need to know what he tastes like before I consider walking away. I run my hands into his dark hair, drawing him to me. My lips press to his mouth. The scent of forest and river water is intoxicating, but the taste of his mouth makes my head spin as his lips claim mine. The intensity of our kiss deepens, combining with the sudden sensations of the power within me, making me want so much more…
Still kissing him, I’m already working on the belt looped through the top of his tailored pants when he reaches for me, pulling me hard up against him, his mouth tasting mine as if he can’t get enough of the tang of raspberries and limes that lingers on my tongue.
I catch my breath as his warm kisses storm across my cheek and neck. I’ve gotten nowhere with his buckle when he scoops me off my feet, carrying me to the edge of the bed.