“This is a very long way from everything you’ve got.” He opens his arms. “Here I am. You’ve wanted to hurt me since I chained you. Use any move you want.” He points at the wall of metal. “Any weapon. Show me what you’re made of, half breed.”

I growl and throw myself at him, doubling my kicks and punches, pummeling faster than I ever have in my life. I even try the dirtier moves—a jab to his throat, a swing at his crotch, a knee crunch. He throws me off like I’m a five-foot twink, not a six-foot fighter with a hundred and eighty pounds of muscle to hurl.

I grab a wooden baton from the wall, then charge at him with a yell, my whole body behind the strike. The baton shatters against his arm.

“Shit, Flanagan! You’re like bloody Iron Man.”

“More!” he shouts.

I chuck what’s left of the baton away and sweep up the dagger he discarded. Screaming like a mad man, I charge at him, blade raised. At the last moment, he steps out of my way and leaves me heading straight for the wall. I leap, run along the brick—the entire length of the wall—then, pushing off, flip in the air and land like a cat.

“Whoa!” I laugh with shock. “What the hell?”

“Good. More!”

I run at him, dagger raised, but at the last second, jump and climb him like I did the wall. Wrapping my legs around his neck, I grab fists of his hair and spin, purposely toppling over to take him down with me. We crash onto the springy wooden floor in a tangle of limbs, both laughing. But I still have the dagger in my hand, and I felt its blade slice his shoulder as we landed.

“Shit, shit. Flanagan. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Let me see.”

“I’m unharmed. You did well.”

Somehow, I’m underneath him. That wasn’t the plan. Panting from exertion, I push his chest up to check his skin. I expect to see a red line across the side of his neck, but it’s clear.

“I got you. I know I did. I felt it.”

His lip curves. “There is no injury.”

“What the hell are you made of, Flanagan? Kevlar?”

“A steel blade cannot cut me.”

I check his eyes for what must be a windup, but he’s wearing his serious face. “So you really are made of metal, then?”

He smiles—that resigned smile I saw at breakfast. “Silver is the only metal that can break my skin.”

“Really, that’s—that’s incredible. You must…”

Flanagan’s furnace-like heat, his immense power, and that rain-washed-forest scent are storming my senses, sucking the breath from me. Tingling Flame causes pleasure to ripple between us at every point of contact. I bury a moan as my cock swells rock hard against his thigh.

Fuck.