Total pages in book: 215
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206625 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 827(@250wpm)___ 689(@300wpm)
“That’s not up for discussion.” Something flashes in his eyes and is quickly replaced by a cool mask of indifference.
“Seriously?” I should know better, considering he’s avoided it this long.
“It was a mistake. You and I are going to be stationed together for the rest of our lives, never able to escape the other. Getting involved—even on a physical level—is a colossal blunder. No point talking about it.”
I barely keep from clutching at my chest to see if all my organs are where they’re supposed to be, since it feels like he just eviscerated me with four sentences. But he had been just as into it as I was. I was there, and there was no mistaking that kind of…enthusiasm. But maybe it was the churam. “What if I want to talk about it?”
“Then feel free, but it doesn’t mean I have to be a part of the conversation. We’re both allowed our boundaries, and this is one of mine.” The finality in his tone makes my stomach curdle. “I’ll agree that keeping my distance didn’t work out so well, and if today’s little stunt was about getting my attention, then congratulations. It’s yours.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I swing my feet to the side of the bed. I need my boots and to get the hell out of here before I make an even bigger fool of myself.
“Apparently I can’t trust Liam to report deadly situations or Rhiannon to train you on the mat, seeing how easily Barlowe had you pinned, so as of this moment, I’m taking over.”
“Taking over what?” My eyes narrow.
“Everything when it comes to you.”
…
The next day, during what should be our flight hours if not for the howling, subzero winds outside, Xaden has me on the mat. Fortunately, he has his shirt on, so I’m not distracted by what I know is under it. No, he’s not only wearing fighting leathers and boots, he’s strapped to the nines with what looks to be a dozen different daggers in a dozen different sheaths.
Is it absolutely toxic that I’m attracted to this look on him? Probably. But one look, and my temperature rises.
“Leave your blades off the mat,” he instructs, and nearly a dozen riders glance our way from other mats.
At least Liam has been given the time to go train himself a couple of mats over against Dain—a first. Most of the squads are in here, making use of the unexpected free time, so thankfully everyone is busy training instead of watching us.
“But you’re armed.” I glance pointedly to his sheaths.
“You either trust me or you don’t.” He tilts his head to the side slightly, exposing more of the rebellion relic curving up around his neck. The same relic I caressed with my hand while he had me against the foundation wall more than a month ago.
Nope. Not thinking about that.
But my body has no problem remembering.
I blow out my breath in a long sigh and step to the edge of the mat, unsheathing every dagger I own and the ones I’ve won, then laying them on the floor.
“I’m unarmed. Happy now?” I turn to face him, putting my arms out. My long sleeve covers the bandage on my arm, but the throb is insistent. “Though we probably could have waited a couple of days for my arm to heal up before doing this.” The stitches pull, but I’ve had worse.
“No.” He shakes his head, unsheathing one of his daggers and walking forward. “The enemy doesn’t give a shit if you’re wounded. They’ll use it to their advantage. If you don’t know how to fight in pain, then you’ll get us both killed.”
“Fine.” I shift my body weight in annoyance. Little does he know, I’m almost always in pain. It’s pretty much my comfort zone. “That’s actually a good point, so I’ll let you have it.”
“Thank you for being so gracious.” He smirks, and I ignore the immediate surge of warmth low in my belly. He flips his palm upward, showing me the dagger with an oddly short blade. “The problem isn’t necessarily your fighting style. You’re fast, and you’ve become pretty damned formidable since August. The problem is you’re using daggers that are too easy to pluck out of your hands. You need weaponry designed for your body type.”
At least he didn’t say weaknesses.
I study the blade in his hand. It’s beautiful, with a solid black hilt engraved with Tyrrish knots, old, mythical runes of intricate swirls and ties. The blade itself is clearly honed to lethal perfection. “It’s spectacular.”
“It’s yours.”
My head snaps up, but there’s no lie in his onyx eyes.
“I had it made for you.” His lips curve slightly.
“What?” My mouth opens, and my chest tightens. He took the time to have it made? Shit. That gives me feelings I really don’t want to have. Soft, confusing feelings.