Rand belonged to the “insult well and often” school of practice fighting. At first, it had made Kyra nervous, but it did make things more interesting. She smiled. “If I’m just a pretty dancer, come get me.”

He rushed her again, this time with a more controlled attack. As Rand passed, she dropped to the ground and hooked her ankle around his knee. She didn’t move away in time, and he fell on top of her, pinning her knife arm with his side. For a moment she was stunned, but as he shifted to bring his own knife around, Kyra realized her legs were free. She kicked up and wrapped both ankles around his head and under his chin. The unexpected move snapped his head back and he loosened the pin on her arm. Twisting her wrist, she grabbed her dagger and passed the sheathed blade across his throat.

A fair kill. Kyra whooped in triumph and flopped back down, grinning at the high ceiling as she caught her breath. It was clumsy, but she’d take it. Her elbow was raw from pressing against the mat, and she waited for Rand to get off her so she could inspect it.

“What you think, Rand? Not bad for a thief girl.”

“Pure luck. When you do that one out of every two times, then you can say something.” But there was amusement in his voice.

“Most times you won’t have the luxury of resting after a fight.”

At first she thought it was Rand speaking, but then her opponent climbed to his feet to reveal James watching from the side. This was the first time he’d seen her practice. Kyra jumped up, all cockiness draining away as she turned to face him.

James locked gazes with Rand until the redhead cleared his throat and looked away. As Rand stepped off the mat, James removed his outer tunic, tossed it on a nearby box, and took his place. He reached a pale but well-muscled arm toward Rand, who tossed over his dagger. James caught it and beckoned Kyra toward him. She stood, frozen in place, wondering what he wanted and why he was there. James motioned again, more curtly. This time she obeyed.

“Let’s see what you’ve learned,” he said, settling into an all-too-comfortable fighting stance. It wasn’t a request.

Kyra tried to ignore the prickling up her spine as she raised her blade and they started to circle each other. She had never seen James fight before. He moved deliberately with no wasted motion, graceful yet dangerous, and his eyes never deviated from her face. There was no taunting or boasting. James just circled her with cold, unswerving focus. He said nothing, and his face gave no indication of his thoughts.

A long time passed with no attack. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that activity around the warehouse had stopped. People were watching.