I narrowed my eyes. “You’re almost fast enough to have a speed Talent.”
Devon grinned, the effect far more charming than I would have thought possible, given how much I hated him. “Almost,” he agreed. “But sadly, I don’t have any speed magic. But if you’re ready to give up, just say so. I’ll let you lose with a little bit of dignity.”
“Never—”
He raised his sword and came at me again, but I blocked his blows by following the steps, moves, and positions I’d memorized long ago. Then it was his turn to counter every move I made. Then my turn again. In a weird way, it was almost like we were dancing.
But this was way more fun.
Devon grinned again, enjoying this as much as I was. That hot spark I’d sensed in him before burned much brighter now, warming his eyes and softening the sharp edges of the guilt and grief that weighed down his heart. It was almost as if he found a certain freedom in the fight, or at least a distraction from the worrisome emotions that constantly ate at him.
He might be enjoying the fight, but that didn’t mean I was going to let him win. I was never that nice.
Determination blazed through me to beat him, and I had no qualms about using my magic to help me do it. So I studied Devon, using my sight to bring everything about him into supersharp focus, from the honey highlights in his dark brown hair to the flecks of black in his green eyes to the small quirk of his lips. But most of all, I focused on his hands and feet, watching how he adjusted his grip on his sword and rocked forward onto his toes.
He attacked just the way I thought he would, so I wrapped both hands around the hilt of my sword and put everything I had into parrying his blow and striking back with another, harder one of my own. Devon’s sword spun out of his hand. Before he could recover, I had the point of my blade pressed up against his heart.
“What did you say about losing with dignity?” I mocked.
He tipped his head, accepting the loss with far more grace than I expected. Certainly more grace than I would have.
Devon backed away from my sword. I let him, even though part of me wanted to surge forward and stab him, just so he would feel the same sort of pain I did whenever I looked at him. But he didn’t deserve that—or my hate. Not really.
Devon stepped off the mat, leaving me alone.
“Anything else?” I mocked, staring over at our audience. “Or can I leave now?”
Instead of answering me, Claudia looked at Mo. “I’m satisfied. She’ll do.”
“I’ll do for what?”
She turned her cold gaze back to me. “Why, to be my son’s new bodyguard, of course.”
Me? Be Devon’s bodyguard? Protect one of the most important members of a Family? Of the Sinclair Family?
I was so stunned I simply stood there, holding the borrowed sword and wondering how it had ever come to this. Then the reality of the situation slapped me across the face, and I whipped my angry glare over to Mo.
He shrugged. So this was the deal he’d made, the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity he’d been crowing about. Of course, it was once in a lifetime. Because I wouldn’t survive for long if I agreed to this nonsense. Someone had already tried to kill Devon once; it wasn’t too much of a stretch to think they’d try again. And if I was the one standing between Devon and more assassins, well, it wouldn’t turn out so great for me.
Mo, Claudia, and the others got out of their seats and walked around the glass partition. I stalked over to Mo the second his flip-flops touched the mats.
“Are you out of your greedy little mind?” I hissed.
“What were you thinking, offering me up as a bodyguard ?”
“Well, it was better than them throwing you in the dungeon here, which is what Claudia originally wanted to do,” Mo murmured. “Just trust me on this, okay, Lila? Please?”
There was that stupid please again. If Mo kept doling those out, I wouldn’t know what to do when he returned to his usual greedy self and stopped using them. Still, the please made me hold my tongue. For now.
Devon started speaking in a low voice to his mom. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he didn’t look happy. Probably insisting that he didn’t need a new bodyguard, and rightly so. From what I’d seen, Devon Sinclair was more than capable of taking care of himself.
But he finally sighed and nodded, giving in to whatever order his mom had given him. The two of them approached me and Mo.
“Devon,” Claudia said. “Why don’t you take Mr. Kaminsky and everyone else to the dining hall and see if they’d like some refreshments? I would like to speak to Miss Merriweather alone.”
“But—” Devon began.
Claudia gave him a pointed look, and he sighed again and walked past her toward the doors. She gestured to Mo. He gave me a sly smile and hurried after Devon. So did Grant, Reginald, and the two men standing guard. Mo pulled the doors shut behind him, leaving me alone with Claudia.
I raised my chin, not giving her any inkling of the uncertainty chewing through my gut like a chainsaw. I didn’t know what sort of game she was playing, but I was nobody’s fool—or pawn.
“I know all of this has been upsetting,” Claudia said. “Perhaps I should have done things differently.”
“No. Really?”
She ignored my sarcasm. “But several threats have been made against my son’s life in recent months. Threats that have already resulted in the loss of several of our most trusted guards, including Ashley.”
Her lips pinched together, and her green eyes darkened, almost as if she felt genuine sorrow over Ashley’s death, but she turned away before I could get a lock on her emotions.
“In the past, it has been a great honor to serve as one of the Sinclair guards, but Ashley is the third person this year to die protecting Devon,” she murmured. “Because of that and some other matters, there have been some . . . defections from the Family recently.”