“Mother of Christ, did she do that?”
Hoyt scowled at him and decided his punishment for the night wasn’t quite done. “No. For God’s sake, do I look like I could be beaten by a woman?”
“She strikes me as formidable.” Though he would have preferred keeping clear of magic areas, he could hardly leave the man sprawled there. So Larkin walked over to Hoyt, crouched. “Well, that’s a mess, isn’t it? You’re coming up a pair of black eyes.”
“Bollocks. Give me a hand up, will you?”
Agreeably, Larkin helped him up, gave him a shoulder to lean on. “I don’t know what the bleeding hell’s going on, but Glenna’s steaming, and Moira’s locked in her room. Cian looks like the wrath of all the gods, but he’s out of bed and saying we’re training. King’s opened some whiskey and I’m thinking about joining him.”
Hoyt touched fingers gingerly to his cheekbone, hissed as the pain radiated to his face. “Not shattered, there’s some fine luck. She might’ve done a bit more to help instead of pounding a lecture on my head.”
“Words are a woman’s sharpest weapon. From the looks of you, you could use some of that whiskey.”
“I could.” Hoyt braced a hand on the table, prayed he’d regain his balance in a moment. “Do what you can, would you, Larkin, to get the lot of them together in the training area. I’ll be along.”
“Taking my life in my hands, I’m thinking. But all right. I’ll try sweetness and charm with the ladies. They’ll either fall for it, or kick me in the balls.”
They didn’t kick him, but they didn’t come happily. Moira sat cross-legged on a table, eyes, swollen from weeping, downcast. Glenna stood in a corner, sulking into a glass of wine. King stood in his own corner, rattling ice in a short glass of whiskey.
Cian sat, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. His face was white as bone, and the burns the loose white shirt didn’t cover, livid.
“Music might be nice,” Larkin said into the silence. “The sort you hear at funeral pyres and the like.”
“We’ll work on form and agility.” Cian cast his glance around the room. “I haven’t seen a great deal of that in any of you so far.”
“Is there a point to you being insulting?” Moira asked wearily. “A point to any of this? Slapping swords and trading punches? You were burned worse than anyone I’ve ever seen, and here you are, an hour after, up again. If magic such as that can’t take you down, keep you down, what will?”
“I take it you’d be happier if I’d gone to ash. I’m happy to disappoint you.”
“That’s not what she meant.” Glenna shoved irritably at her hair.
“And you interpret for her now?”
“I don’t need anyone to speak for me,” Moira snapped right back. “And I don’t need to be told what to do every bleeding hour of every bleeding day. I know what kills them, I’ve read the books.”
“Oh, well then, you’ve read the books.” Cian gestured toward the doors. “Then be my guest. Go right on out and take out a few vamps.”
“It’d be better than tumbling about on the floor in here, like a circus,” she shot back.
“I’m with Moira on this.?
? Larkin rested a hand on the hilt of his knife. “We should hunt them down, take the offense. We haven’t so much as posted a guard or sent out a scout.”
“This isn’t that kind of war, boy.”
Larkin’s eyes glittered. “I’m not a boy, and from what I can see it’s no kind of war.”
“You don’t know what you’re up against,” Glenna put in.
“Don’t I? I fought them, killed three with my own hands.”
“Weak ones, young ones. She didn’t waste her best on you.” Cian rose. He moved stiffly and with obvious effort. “Added to that, you had help and were lucky. But if you came across one with some seasoning, with some skill, you’d be meat.”
“I can hold my own.”
“Hold it with me. Come at me.”
“You’re hurt. It wouldn’t be fair.”