Page 114 - Fourth Wing

own blade from the sheath at my thigh and raise it as I spin toward him,

ready to defend myself to the death. “Is this how you plan to handle me?”
“Eavesdropping, were we?” He arches a black brow and sheathes his

dagger like I couldn’t possibly pose a threat to him, which only serves to

piss me off even more. “Now I might actually have to kill you.” There’s an
undertone of truth in those mocking eyes.

This is just…bullshit.

“Then go ahead and get it over with.” I unsheathe another dagger, this
one from beneath my cloak where it was strapped in at my ribs, and back up

a couple of feet to give me distance to throw them—if he doesn’t rush me.

He pointedly looks at one dagger, then the other, and sighs, folding his
arms across his chest. “That stance is really the best defense you can

muster? No wonder Imogen nearly ripped your arm off.”
“I’m more dangerous than you think,” I flat-out bluster.

“So I see. I’m quaking in my boots.” The corner of his mouth rises into a

mocking smirk.
Fucking. Asshole.

I flip the daggers in my hand, pinching them at the tips, then flick my
wrists and fire them past his head, one on each side. They land solidly in the

trunk of the tree behind him.

“You missed.” He doesn’t even flinch.
“Did I?” I reach for my last two blades. “Why don’t you back up a couple

of steps and test that theory?”

Curiosity flares in his eyes, but it’s gone in the next second, masked by
cold, mocking indifference.

Every one of my senses is on high alert, but the shadows around me don’t

slide in as he moves backward, his eyes locked with mine. His back hits the
tree, and the hilts of my daggers brush his ears.

“Tell me again that I missed,” I threaten, taking the dagger in my right
hand by the tip.