Iyana's blade clashed against Wyatt's for the umpteenth time, the sound of steel scraping steel ringing loud.
Her lungs burned from the exertion, her legs moved on instinct, and a sharp sting at the side of her forehead reminded her of the earlier blow—the surge of dark energy that had slammed her into the marble pillar. Blood had been trickling down the side of her face since then, sliding past her cheekbone and down her jawline, but she hadn't spared a second to wipe it.
There was no time. This fight needed to end.
But Wyatt was proving to be as skilled as she was—perhaps more so. Years of experience backed each of his strikes. Every time she tried to find an opening, he would already move to counter. Still, she didn't back down. Not once.
Because backing down wasn't something she ever did—not when someone she loved was still in danger.
In the midst of it all, a sudden gust whipped through the room, stirring her blood-matted bangs into a frenzy.
Her brows drew together.
