Connie Suttle Likes Sex, But Loves A Kickass Woman More (@subtledemon) #StompvsRomp #Giveaway

               Yes, asshole Ironsmith had stuck around to see how long it took Caylon Black to wipe the grass with my remains. If he’d been the least bit polite, I might have assigned a less judgmental name to him.
               He insisted on being an asshole, which not only upset me greatly, it made me question—again—why I was and where I was.
               “I have not trained with blade or bow, Sursee Black,” I said, bowing properly to him in the Falchani way. “All I have is the power granted to me by my race and a sharp tongue, if the Prince is to be believed.”
               Caylon Black stood, unmoving, on the grass within Avii Castle’s great, glass bowl. He studied me carefully. When he moved, he moved swiftly, throwing the knife so it would graze my ribs.
               It would have left a shallow, bloody cut behind—if it had hit me.
               It didn’t.
               The knife stopped halfway between us; I’d left it hanging in midair. With hooded eyes, Caylon stepped forward to retrieve the knife, only to yelp and drop it to the ground—I’d heated it, handle included, hot enough to burn skin.
               I could have done so much more, including a poison that would have rendered his hand useless from now on, but that I held in reserve.
               “What the bloody hell?” Ilya thought to intervene. I slapped a bubble shield about him—one meant to rotate as he attempted to walk closer. Like a hamster in a ball, he walked in place until he realized the trap. I had no intention to hurt him; I only wanted to stop him in his tracks.
               “Sursee Black, is there anything else you’d like to see?” I asked.
               “You see this?” he held up his burned hand.
               “Aww, I can fix that,” I declared. Walking forward, I took his hand in mine and healed the burn, leaving pink, healthy flesh behind. He blinked as he flexed his hand—the pain had disappeared.
               “Karathian Witches who can heal are extremely rare,” he breathed.
               “Yeah. I get that,” I said. “It’s just a sideline.”
               “I believe Ilya is shouting,” Caylon pointed out.
               I turned toward Ilya, who was still inside his bubble and fighting to get out. “And he’s a Fifth-level,” I muttered, removing the bubble with a thought.