Page 67 of The Witch in the Dead of Night

“That’s not exactly untrue, but if you can’t stand to hear me speak—” that was an understatement “—then perhaps a practical training exercise will better hold your attention.”

I shot him a questioning glance. “Practical?”

“It means doing something rather than theorizing.”

“I know what practical means.”

“Good.”

“Hey!” I protested as he grabbed me by the wrist, dragging me to my feet. He shoved me roughly into the center of the courtyard. I hadn’t so much as blinked before he shot forward, stopping just short of wrapping his hands around my throat. “And now you’re dead,” he said simply.

“Stop that,” I snapped, swatting his hand away.

He backed off, smirking. “Defend yourself.”

He snapped forward again, this time sending me stumbling back with a shove to my shoulder. I cursed, falling flat on my ass. He shook his head, “Tsk, tsk.”

I scrambled to my feet, panting. He launched another attack, this time landing inches from my face, forcing me back against one of the moss-covered columns that held up the cloisters. Dampness pressed at the back of my skull as my chest heaved. He cocked his head. “You need to learn to anticipate your opponent’s movements.”

“You’re too fast,” I wheezed.

“That’s a sorry excuse if I’ve ever heard one.”

“You’re a vampire!” I cried.

He backed off, drawing himself up tall. “And you’re a witch, are you not?”

My hands curled into fists. He snapped forward again, a smug grin plastered across his features. I glanced down, making a wild gamble about where his next steps would land. As he reached for my throat, I forced the flagstones beneath him to part, sending him stumbling sideways.

His grin widened as he steadied himself. “Now you’re getting it. Vampires are quick on their feet, so your best bet in a fight is to knock them off of them. Use your opponent’s strengths against them.”

“Or burn them to ash,” I mumbled.

“What was that?” he called.

“Oh nothing.”

He shot toward me again. Unsure how to react, I conjured a pulse of cold air. It washed over him, barely ruffling his hair. I retreated hurriedly, tripping over my own feet in an attempt to widen the distance between us.

“You can’t rely on instinct alone,” he warned. “You have to use your head.”

“If I had more time—”

“What are you, a damsel?” he snapped. “Mordric won’t always be there to rescue you every time you’re in trouble.”

Heat rushed through my veins and fire whipped from my palm before I could stop it, nearly lashing him across the cheek like a whip. He shot out of reach, grinning. My eyes widened as the flame dissipated into smoke that floated toward the moon. At least the blaze hadn’t been blue.

“Think, witch,” he urged. “Haven’t I taught you anything?”

My mind whirred. Magic unspooled from my fingertips, taking the shape of a thick, ethereal mist. Stretching my hands outward, I urged it to grow until it filled the courtyard. The prince vanished from sight.

“It’s a decent idea,” he purred, his voice moving around the courtyard, “although it obscures me from you as much as it does you from me.”

The mist shuddered as his voice spilled into my mind. And the moment you make a sound, I’ll have you.

I clamped my lips shut, holding my breath. For a moment, I heard nothing but the distant trill of a nightjar.

I shrieked as cold fingers wrapped around my wrist. I jerked sideways, my toe catching on the flagstones I had forced apart moments ago in an effort to trip Enhart.