Free Taking the Stage: Soulgirls, Book 2 by Heather Long

about to share something but then thought better of it.
    He rocked back and forth on his heels. The scent of orchids hardly covered the sweet scent of Roseâtre’s desire. He’d know it anywhere, having devoured the musk of it on the stage. The tiger purred his agreement. He still carried the scent of her on his fur, a scent neither he nor his cat wanted to wash away.
    “Why?”
    A fair question. He tossed his blade, catching the hilt easily on the downswing. “If you really want to know, pick up the blade and answer my challenge. The prize of truth remains the same.”
    Her hand twitched toward the blade. It hadn’t been an order, but her expression remained wary. She’s tempted.
    And by the gods, she was tempting.
    “The rules?”
    He had her.
    “No claws or shifting for me. No injuries to vitals for you.”
    “First blood?”
    He definitely had her.
    She crouched, bare legs parting as his shirt rode up. A tease.
    A provocation.
    A thrill.
    “Three stripes. The first one to three stripes wins.” The last thing he wanted to do was mar her creamy skin, but he would be a fool not to give her a fighting chance. A proper battle.
    A warrior’s bid.
    “No torso.” She rested her hand on the blade hilt. Lust perfumed the air and he drew in a lungful of it.
    “Arms and legs only then.”
    “Nothing near the groin.” Her gaze roamed over him, sending blood rushing to his cock.
    “I’d prefer that, yes.”
    “Your fingers can’t wander there on me either.” Was that a smile quirking her lips? Not for the first time he wished scent markers were clearer to discern in members of other species. But either his imagination was going wild or the discussion of battle was turning her on.
    “Your ass is fair game.”
    A throaty laugh met his counteroffer and she closed her fist around the blade hilt. “That means I can touch yours as well.”
    His pulse thudded in his cock.
    “Anytime you want, princess.”
    He tossed the key onto the stone table. It bounced once. Clinked as it vibrated and finally stilled, pointing away from both of them. The silence echoed against the splash of water and she was a blur, lunging from her crouch, blade slicing through the air to clang against his as he narrowly defended.
    Anthony’s tiger roared, the hunt was on and their prey grinned fiercely in response.
    Damn, she was magnificent.

Chapter Nine
    It was a fool who turned down the opportunity for freedom, but Roseâtre had surrendered hers to honor an oath, and she couldn’t in good conscience take the mantle back while Cerveau remained bound to the Royale.
    I won’t .
    Anthony moved gracefully, avoiding her clumsy lunge. “Was really expecting a lot more from you.”
    He emphasized the insult with a deliberate slap across her bottom. The cotton accepted most of the blow, but one finger collided with her skin, stinging the flesh.
    Pivoting, she used a step-ball-change to carry her weight around and slammed the flat of her foot against his ass. He staggered forward, scrambling to keep his balance, and she launched her offensive again.
    It was a flurry of slices, blades singing through the air. At first, it seemed as though he wouldn’t pay her at least the cursory respect of fighting back, but the bite of steel whistling across her upper arm followed by the wildfire of swift pain put an end to that argument.
    “First blood.” His grin grew, hard and wide. His eyes flashed, the pupils elongating.
    Cat eyes.
    “Enjoy it.” She dodged another quick cut and scored her blade down the inside of his arm. Blood, thick and red, welled up from the clean slice. She grinned at his hiss.
    “Point to you.”
    They danced around the clearing, narrowly avoiding the stone table and its offering of food. At the water’s edge, Roseâtre balanced on the rocks. Years of training flooded through her muscles, rusty from ill use. Dancing required balance, but not the ability to deliver focused blows while avoiding the recoil of such force.
    It was