Quite a lot.
"Want something to hit that's a bit more lively?" drawled a quiet voice behind him.
Malloryn merely stared at the automaton. The former assassin made a cat seem sloppy, but he'd heard the faint creak of the door. Bloody Gemma. Sending Obsidian up here to nursemaid him, no doubt. "I think I'm still recovering from our last bout."
"You gave as good as you got."
Malloryn sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair as he turned to confront his protégé's lover. "Did Gemma set you upon me?"
"No. She's distracted. She's been teaching your wife some self defense techniques and now she's trying to convince the duchess to wear something red tomorrow night."
"What is it with Gemma and red dresses?"
"I wasn't talking about a gown. It seems they share a fondness for fine undergarments."
His mind immediately pictured Adele in a flimsy little scrap of silk in vibrant red.
He didn't have to wonder about the precise color of Adele's nipples anymore. The softest, palest of pinks, imprinted in his memory as firmly as his signet ring into hot wax.
Knowledge he'd generally prefer not to have.
Just like he hadn't wanted to know what precise sound would escape her when she cried out with pleasure.
Malloryn punched the automaton's padded flanks, but though it might help alleviate the nightmares he fought, it did nothing to vanquish those licentious thoughts. "I did not need to know that."
Obsidian smiled faintly as he began stripping his coat off. "Consider yourself warned."
They'd been enemies once upon a time, and Malloryn had struggled to trust him, but all of that changed when Obsidian helped rescue him in Russia. Curiously, the assassin was the one Rogue who almost seemed to understand him.
Obsidian didn't push where he felt he wasn't wanted—unlike certain others. And he knew how to keep a secret.
It was becoming remarkably easy to deal with him.
"So you just happened to seek me out?"
"I knew where you'd be." Obsidian hauled his shirt over his head and folded it atop his coat.
"I'm growing a little weary of everyone nursemaiding me...."
"You're on edge and you're tired. That's the sort of combination that sees mistakes creep in. Considering you're the one in charge, you cannot afford to make mistakes."
Nobody else spoke to him like this. Anger flared. "You dare?"
"Technically, I outrank you, Your Grace," Obsidian said dryly. "So I'm not afraid of the Duke of Malloryn act."
"Do you want me to curtsy?"
"No." Obsidian padded toward him on bare feet. "I want you to fight."
They met in a flurry of blows.
Obsidian had an inch or two on him, and hence a longer reach. He was faster, stronger, and had trained all his life to be an assassin.
It was the only time Malloryn had ever found himself outclassed.
He took it as a challenge, each and every time.
The man who feared to face a worthier opponent was the man who stopped learning. Already, his bouts with Obsidian had tightened his reaction time, and taught him a unique style of combat he'd never known before.
He staggered back beneath a blow, and Obsidian pulled up to give him a chance to get his feet.
"Don't go easy on me," he warned. "If we go up against Dido and Jelena, then I cannot afford to be too weak or slow."
"You'll never match them for speed or strength."
"I know."
Which meant he had to be able to protect himself long enough to work out their weaknesses. Everyone had a weakness. Even him.
But his greatest strength was using his mind to dissect others.
The next time he and Jelena crossed paths, he would kill her. There was no other option.
He just had to master the tremors that lit through him whenever he heard her name.
They fought on, and Malloryn lost himself in the rush of blood and the slam of knuckles to ribs. This time, Obsidian showed no mercy. Malloryn hit the mats once. Then again. No matter how hard he pushed himself, his thighs were soon quivering, and while he saw the next feint coming, he couldn't move in time to avoid it.
Malloryn crashed onto his back, the breath slamming out of him.
"Enough," Obsidian said, leaning down to offer a hand to haul him to his feet.
"Not yet."
"You're exhausted. If you'd been taking better care of yourself, then I would not call this, but I am. You are done for the night."
"I am—"
"If Balfour attacked right now, he would defeat you," Obsidian said. "You never know when the next attack will occur. Don't let your pride push you too far."
Malloryn gritted his teeth as he shook himself off. "Sometimes I regret allowing you into COR."
Obsidian smiled faintly, pouring them both a glass of blood. "I'm sure you do."
Rolling his shoulders, Malloryn accepted the glass.
"Your mind was elsewhere tonight," Obsidian pointed out.
It left him an opening. If he wanted to talk he could choose to accept it, or not. Sometimes he appreciated the fact the assassin didn't pry.
Malloryn drained the glass, ignoring the faint prowling stir of the predator within him. It wanted more blood. "I thought I was prepared for Balfour's games. But he had Jelena kill another girl today." He could see the poor thing draped across Catherine's grave, both a desecration of human flesh and mortal memory. "I don't know what sort of message he's trying to send, beyond a taunt. I thought it meant the female Rogues were at risk—particularly as both girls he's killed look like Gemma—but he's not made a move against them."
"Don't worry about Gemma. She's dangerous enough to protect herself, and he knows he will have to go through me too." Obsidian leaned against the wall. "And maybe there is no message. Maybe he just wants you distracted."
Malloryn dragged a towel over the back of his neck and clung to each end. "That did cross my mind. Which means he's up to something. The dead bodies. The letter on my desk. He wants me to look close to home, rather than watch out for what he's doing."