He lunged, scooping up Night-Fang mid-stride, and drove the blade at Lucien's back.
Lucien twisted, faster than anything his size should have been able to move, and caught the blade again.
But this time, Kael was ready. He let the momentum carry him, using Lucien's grip against him, and the edge of Night-Fang scraped across the black veins in Lucien's gauntlet.
The sound that followed was not metal on metal.
It was a scream.
Lucien recoiled, his first real reaction of the fight—a sharp, involuntary jerk as black ichor welled from the scratch in his armor. The wound was small. Insignificant. But Lucien stared at it like it was the first wound he'd taken in years.
"You drew blood," he said, and something in his voice shifted. Not anger. Something closer to surprise. "Interesting."
He backhanded Kael across the face.
