Page 187 of Savage Throne
I stepped into the attack, my arm coming up to deflect his strike.
Fuck!
The blade sliced into my flesh, but that was the point. It was the distraction.
With my other hand, I drove the jagged stem of the glass toward his neck.
There we go!
He caught my wrist mid-thrust, so quick I wasn’t sure if his hand hadn’t been attached to the glass the entire time.
Shit.
I spun away from the blade.
He predicted my direction and slammed his other hand into my neck. The force was brutal, sending me staggering back.
Air rushed from my lungs.
Pain bloomed in my throat—sharp and hot—but I didn’t let it slow me down.
I recovered quickly, twisting out of his reach as he advanced again. His blade gleamed in the low light, slick with my blood.
He missed.
I jumped several feet back.
He just remained still and watched me.
What’s your next move?
Adrenaline coursed through my veins making every second stretch into an eternity.
Then, he moved.
But he didn’t come my way.
Instead, he leapt into the air with a speed and agility that contradicted his age. His form was a blur as he crossed the table, going back to his side.
What the fuck? Stay here and fight.
But, I had the edge, and he knew it.
His feet landed on the other side with an echoing thud.
His jacket whipped around him in a dramatic flourish.
“Smart, son.” He slung the blade to the ground. It clattered. He gave me a half bow. “You got in my head. I’ll admit that.”
I raised my eyebrows.
“You won’t do that again.”
I froze for a moment, watching as my father pulled his formal jacket off and tossed it carelessly to the ground.
Then he yanked off his dress shirt in one fluid motion, revealing the body that had once seemed larger than life to me as a child.
Muscle corded his bare arms and chest. Every inch of him was a true display of violence and survival. A map of scars and bullet wounds, pale lines and ragged dots crisscrossing his bronze skin.
