"He just didn't like me. You think I'm a terrible battle-witch and everyone where I'm from thinks I'm an equally lacking person in pretty much every way," I hear myself say. "Now. You got something smart to say to that?"
I've never in my life spoken to anyone the way I do this man. My own words shock me because of everyone I've ever known, I should want to stay on the good side of the Shadow Knight. He's strong and powerful, the ruler of a world.
Tilting his head, he seems to get my meaning, because he's silent.
The tension between us is too much for me.
"He rejected me. So I drank too much wine one night and woke up here and have been failing at being what you want me to be since then. But I'm done with that and you and him. Think I'm a shitty battle-witch? Go find another one!" Upset and babbling, I slide out from between him and the wall and march across the room.
I'm wired, edgy. My hands tremble and my insides are shaking. None of this should be upsetting me this much, and I struggle to rein in my emotions and figure out why it does.
Jason. It has to be that issue along with being sick of people for judging me and not accepting me for who I am, even if I suck at almost everything I do. There are days I don't know who I am, either.
I don't want him to think of me the way everyone else does. The fleeting thought resounds deeply inside me, surprising me by its force. Why should I care what the Shadow Knight thinks?
Because I like him a little bit more than I want to consider.
"If you want hair on your blossoms, so be it. If you do not, so be it. A battle-witch answers to no one." His response is soft, still amused, his tone warmer than I'm used to hearing from him.
"Thank you," I say with some vindication. Now stop talking about my body. I stretch my neck back and work on calming down.
"Though a man likes not to be choked by hair when he pleasures a woman with his mouth."
The image of his glorious body naked between my legs, gazing at me with the intensity he often displays in battle, preparing to unleash his tongue on the most sensitive part of me . . . it stirs a primal part of me, one much stronger and instinctive than a high school crush.
Fanning myself, I start to think I'll never be able to calm down.