He bore no weapon, merely wore a pair of black silk trousers and delicate little slippers. His hair was long, white, tied back in a long braid.
Blood still dripped from a the gash on Dakshana’s face.
Chadstone bowed to her, expression serene, blue eyes hooded, almost sleepy. And then he drew one fist back for a strike.
What happened next was beyond comprehension. One moment Dakshana was on her feet, the next she was face-down on the ground, arm twisted up behind her back, disarmed. He’d done it all with lightning speed, with bare hands.
It was over.
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