Fae Guardians Series

Chapter 7: I Dare You

Avery

I fought the black spots dancing at the edges of my vision as I pressed the small stiletto's tip into the Fae's neck. Sweat coated me. My hand trembled from the venom coursing through my body. Had to strain to keep from losing consciousness again.

The Fae grinned at me like a lunatic demon. Did he not feel his skin burning from my weapon? Or did he think bringing a comatose human into his bed would grant him a quick f**k? I thrust the blade in deeper, remembering all the court cases of Fae getting away with this s**t even in court. Humans didn't have enough knowledge of their kind to incorporate blockers against their charm. So they walked free more often than not. Only a few like me and Maggie and a scattering of others knew the truth. We'd petitioned, wrote countless letters, went on strike all for nothing and why I tossed down the picket sign for knives.

"Back away," I forced the words out to avoid my voice trembling or giving any sign of weakness away.

If he knew I barely held on, he'd overpower me. I couldn't let him. I'd kill him before I gave in.

"I don't think so, sweetheart." He clamped a hand over mine, jabbing the blade deeper into his neck.

Blood gushed from the wound and I tried to pull away.

His hand was hot over mine. Where he touched me it sent a shiver through me. No, I couldn't be attracted to this monster. Must be the leminax poison or he could be the same kind of Fae as Malcolm.

Either way, he was dead. Which was what I should've done the first and second time I met Malcolm. I wouldn't make the same mistake a third time or let this one go.

I jerked my hand back as hard as I could. Satisfaction coursing through me that his dark eyes widened. That's right, bastard. I am stronger than most humans.

His hand slipped from mine. I flipped up on the bed, standing on wobbly legs. I aimed for his groin and threw the knife.

The thunk as it sunk into his thigh made my smile falter. I'd missed. And why wasn't he writhing on the ground?

Fuck, f**k, f**k!

I scrambled off the bed, removing two small push daggers from my dress. Both dragon-blessed. One pure iron, the other pure silver. They'd cost me a fortune, but he wouldn't be smirking after these.

These were for close combat. Fitting since this was a small bedroom and he stalked toward me like a lion after a lamb. Well, this little lamb had claws and teeth and I'd use every one of my weapons until one of us was dead.

"My, my, aren't you full of surprises, sweetheart."

"You don't even know the half of it." I braced for his attack, spreading my feet slightly less than shoulder-width apart.

"Turn over your weapons and I won't bend you over my knee and spank you."

Inside, I heated at his words, wanting dominance. Too many dates had been hesitant. Asking for permission constantly. It killed my libido to have someone I'd dated three weeks to ask permission to kiss me. Yes, I was all about equal rights and respect, but when I repeatedly said, 'Don't ask me anymore, kiss me or hell, just f**k me.' It got old quick.

If I wanted a man to stop, I knew how to knock him back into place. I wanted someone to take charge. To kiss me up against the wall. To feel me up. To put their hands on me roughly.

Fuck! Why was I thinking about s*x now?

"Spank me?" I scoffed. "You wish."

He sniffed the air, his eyes dilating. "Oh? I think you wish so more than me."

Shit, s**t, s**t. Was he the type of Fae that could smell arousal? I clutched my push daggers tighter. It didn't matter, soon he would be dead.

I licked my lips and his gaze followed the motion. Holy hell, the s****l tension between us thickened.

His lazy grin told me he felt it too. "Drop the knives an' I'll think aboot lettin' you live, assassin."

At least that was an improvement from sweetheart and a whole lot more accurate.

"Make me." I gestured pointing one of my daggers at him.

Not thinking he'd be stupid enough to take my dare, I gasped as he charged forward. My instincts kicked in and I ducked low. I stabbed him in the side with one of the blades before his hands were around my throat.

He hauled me up, slamming me into the wall. A picture frame banged to the floor. I grunted. Then I stabbed him in the shoulder with the other push blade.

His hiss was satisfying. Except he didn't let go of my throat. Spots danced before my eyes and I clawed at his hand. Kicking with all my might.

The wall dug into my back. His weight pressed into me, pinning me against him, and I became aware his entire body covered mine. His eyes narrowed a split second before his lips came so close to mine that I froze. My body trembled in desire and need.

Then he released me, stepping back so fast I crashed to the floor.

He yanked out my knives, his knuckles turned white as he clutched them. "This isn't over."

Did he mean our fight or our near kiss?