He advances on me, so quick I struggle to block each blow as they come hurtling toward me. Light sizzles across his skin, bathing him in an otherworldly glow that sends my blood racing through my veins. He glistens with the lightest sheen of sweat. His cheek bones look like daggers, and his biceps bulge with each movement. I swipe my short sword but can’t follow through with the movement because of my screaming muscles. I’m tiring, but his stamina has been honed from centuries of practice with Fionn. I think he’s going to swipe with a long sword made of light, so I block that, but he slices across my upper arm with his short sword instead. I can’t block the movement in time, and blood drips out of the wound.

“Fuck, that hurt,” I say, dropping my weapons and placing my hand across my arm.

I expect a biting retort from him, a tease about the tiny cut, but he’s silent. I look up from my bleeding arm and his pupils have dilated. Two inky black orbs with just a sliver of olive green around them stare back at me with an intensity that makes me squirm. His nostrils flare and his face locks in an expression of shock and awe. He drops to the ground on both knees and places one hand over his heart.

“Laurel,” he whispers my name like a prayer, like it’s the last word he’ll ever utter.

“What the fuck? Does my blood smell or something?” He looks up at me, eyes glistening with tears and confusion. I’m totally at a loss. “It’s okay, it’ll heal. The sting’s already gone,” I say to console him. I didn’t mean to make him so upset with my outburst of pain. My fae healing abilities are already closing the wound together, though blood still drips down my arm.

Thorne just keeps staring at me in what seems like wonder. After a few more beats, he seems to decide on something. Standing, he takes a deep inhale, body shivering, then picks his short sword back up. His eyes return to normal, but he still looks off.

“I drew blood, witchling. It’s only fair you do the same,” he teases with an attempt at a roguish grin that doesn’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s okay. You will. Just spar with me again. Draw blood. Please.” He whispers the last word, almost a plea.