Saltbound and Bloodsworn (by Allison Franklin) novel Chapter 83

Chapter 83 Chapter Eighty-Three

*I feel a bit bad for the bloke, Cole said, leaning against the other side of the wooden fence surrounding the sparring circle.

Sylvan scoffed as he unbuttoned his tunic. Why? We can all use a bit of schooling on occasion.”

Cole laughed and eyed Sylvan with jubilant doubt. “Oh yeah, when was the last time you were schooled?”

“When I met my mate,” he answered with a sly grin.

Cole laughed and shook his head. “True, she nearly took your head off, didn’t she?”

“Couple times.”

“Goddess, I’ll have to ask her for pointers. How she doing today?” Cole asked.

Sylvan shrugged. He hadn’t heard from her. Not that he expected her to be adept at mindlinking. He knew she was training and probably didn’t want to be interrupted. He could sense her mounting frustration, though. An odd mixture of the emotion mingled with intermittent meditation that he was able to glean from stealthily poking around their bond. He didn’t want her to feel his presence within her mind, but he found himself constantly testing the boundaries.

“She’s frustrated about something.” Sylvan finally answered.

“Well, use it,” Cole suggested with a bob of his head toward the other side of the circle. “He may be down a hand, but he’s the lead dragon rider for a

reason.”

“He has the biggest dragon?” Sylvan asked.

“I have the biggest dragon,” Cole corrected.

“Are we speaking in euphemisms?” Sylvan asked, handing over his shirt.

Cole raised a brow. “No, Bessimor is bigger.”

“Then why didn’t you become the lead dragon rider?” Sylvan mocked.

Cole’s brow raised higher. “Cause I decided to chase your ass around the continent.”

“I’m flattered.”

“Are the two of you done stalling?” Morris called.

“In a rush to get your ass kicked?” Cole yelled back.

Sylvan turned as Morris pumped his fists. He couldn’t help but chuckle when he pumped his right hand and winced. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

Morris scowled. “I can take you with one hand. Without your wolf, you’ll need any help you can get.”

“Right,” Sylvan said on a sigh. He turned his head enough to look back at Cole. “Should I play with him or make a statement?”

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Chapter 83 Chapter Eighty-Three

Im Jungry. Make a statement and let’s go.”

Sylvan smiled with deadly promise at the dragon rider across the ring from him. “You heard the man.” He lifted his fists, widened his stance, and beckoned

him forward with the fingers of his right hand. “Come on, then.”

Morris launched himself across the dirt circle. Sylvan deflected his first punch by raising his arms. A few swift-kicks had him pivoting around, stirring up dirt from the way he strategically dragged his feet. The man had a lot of power, but not much precision. It was clear he wasn’t used to practicing his skills.

Sylvan assumed that, like him, not many of his men wanted to unleash their full potential on their leader. Fortunately, Sylvan had men like Cole and Nikolai who refused to hold their punches. After a few rounds of deflection, Morris was out of breath. The vein on his temple throbbed in frustration, and his arms

shook with exhaustion.

“What are you doing?!” he yelled, his wild eyes flicking around to the crowd of onlookers they’d drawn.

Sylvan shrugged. “Giving you a fair chance to land at least one hit.”

Morris growled. “Fight back and I will!”

“Okay.”

Sylvan did as he was asked. When Morris reached around with a left hook, he hit him with an uppercut that sent him stumbling back a few feet. He didn’t relent. He stalked forward, delivered five kicks to Morris’ stomach until he was left bent over and staggering. Sylvan grabbed him by the hair and yanked his

head up.

“Yield?” he asked.

In answer, Morris spat blood in his face. Sylvan’s face twisted with disgust before he delivered the final blows: a punch to the gut and a forceful uppercut to the jaw. Morris flew back and landed in a heap in the dirt. In the distance, the flap of wings and the roar of a dragon broke through the air.

“That will be Demetrus,” Cole said. “Probably coming to collect his rider and défend. Shall we?”

“What’s the rush?” Sylvan asked, turning toward the large crowd that was left in awed silence as their most powerful warrior was left unconscious on the

very ground he ruled over. Sylvan wiped the blood on his knuckles off on his pants. “I’ve gotten a taste. I’d like to see what else the great dragon riders of

Deveraux have to offer. Any takers?” He slowly turned, eyeing each man and woman who looked angry with what he’d just done. “Anyone else want a test

against the measly wolf?”

The wood of the fence creaked, and Sylvan looked at the brawny man climbing over the ferke, his face set, his motive clear. Sylvan smirked, ready for more

fun.

Luckily, not all of the candidates were as easy for Sylvan as the leader had been. A few of them, mostly the women, gave him enough of a challenge to test his skills. He enjoyed fighting women. They didn’t have the strength of most of the men, forcing them to rely on wits, strategy, cunning, and flexibility. All traits most men didn’t take the time to learn, as they felt their brawn was enough to win any battle. That or their dragon. After ten contenders, Sylvan was breathing heavily, sweating through his pants, covered in dirt and blood from wounds that had already healed and surging with adrenaline. With the last contender on the ground, he looked around the arena.

“Alright then, who’s next?” Sylvan asked, raising his arms in question.

He felt heat race up his spine. The kind of heat that came when he saw something he desperately wanted and would do anything to have. The desire was nearly suffocating in its potency, and as the scent of it filled the air, he knew exactly why he felt it as if it were his own. His eyes locked on Isla, standing beside the fence. Her nails dug into the wood as her eyes ventured over his frame. Her face was flushed, her mouth slightly parted, and he could hear her heart thrumming against her ribs like a desperate bird. When her blue, green eyes looked back up at his face, they were heavy-lidded and swimming with heat. She licked her lips, and he moved. As he stalked across the arena, she lifted her chin as though trying to open her airway more to get much-needed oxygen in her lungs.

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Chapter 83 Chapter Eighty-Three

Clace within arm’s reach, he seized her chin, making her gasp in an erotic way that sent his dick pulsing against his pants. He dragged her face across the top of the fence and kissed her roughly. When he pulled away, the crowd was muttouring in an excitement that spelled the same trouble as what they’d created the night before.

“Like what you see, Isla of Tridea? Sylvan asked, brushing his thumb across her swollen bottom lip. now you’re more used to being up close and

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