“Vandal’s up,” Walker said, interrupting my dark musing by wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me closer. The lovely, spicy Walker smell of manly man sank deep into my blood, and I couldn’t help but wonder if we could bottle whatever it was he exuded. “Now you’ll see some real fighting, not the feeble bit of sparring that we’ve seen so far.”
There was pride in his voice, pride and satisfaction and pleasant expectation, as if he were anticipating a precious gift. I gnawed on my lower lip as Vandal swaggered into the swordplay ring, calling out taunts and slurs against his opponent (one of the Canadian team). Would it change his relationship with his teammates if I turned him back into the old Walker? Would he resent them for demanding he give his all for them, or would he see them
