Chapter Nineteen
Poachers?” I stared wide-eyed at Laken standing across the room looking out the window to make sure the men left. “They’re here? What the fuck am I going to do? Sic my chickens on them?” A hysterical laugh rushed out of me. Raking my hands through my hair, my mind reeled.
Laken explained they were from the group of poachers keeping a keen eye on McCarthen’s. Him telling me about them was one thing, but them actually showing up in our yard was different. Worse. I pressed the heels of my palms into my eyes. These were my creatures in danger. My sanctuary.
I stood so quickly the motion startled Laken, still on edge, turning him toward me. His lips remained in a tight-set line. His eyes continued wandering around our surroundings, observing, waiting.
“You’re going to teach me how to defend myself.”
That he might not have been prepared for. Shaking his head, he squeezed his eyes shut and reopened them—then it hit. A sense of clarity eased the stress in his features. His lips curled as he gave the slightest nod. “You want to learn self-defense?”
I nodded. That’s what I said. And before he got the chance to argue, “Right now.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
Laken’s lips parted, then he drew them between his teeth. Taking one last glance out the window, he raised his arms above him. The fabric of his sleeves stretched over his muscles flexing. “Alright, McCarthen,” he agreed, “but it’s not going to be fun.”
“It never is with you.”
A rough chuckle rose from his chest as he came closer.
He stood just inches away, a strange tension heated between us like a warning that this was a bad idea.
Bad because I’d basically agreed to getting my ass kicked or bad because of the proximity required to teach one self-defense, I wasn’t sure. Both, probably.
Sliding my gaze over his shoulders in front on me, up his neck and his sharp jaw, a swirling heat rose through my core. I traced the edges of his lips until I met his glare. Holding my ground, I kept my chin held high. Or I did, until he leaned in. And farther in. What the fuck is he—
My breath hitched as his chest pressed into me.
As he reached around me and grabbed… his dagger.
The dagger he’d set on the counter.
Gods.
Laken backed off with a smug little grin. “See you outside, then.” He patted my Gods-damned shoulder.
Catching my breath and regathering myself, I rolled my eyes despite the fact he was already outside and wouldn’t see. I gripped the counter behind me. I hated him. Hated him. And all of a sudden was very much looking forward to learning how to fight him.
Following him and sliding the door shut behind me, I spun around to where he waited in the grass.
“Am I good in this?” I tugged at the skirt of my dress. My pants from earlier would’ve been better, but they got filthy corralling the creatures before the storm this morning. “Not really fighting attire.”
Laken waved me forward. “Do you think the poachers are going to let you go change before attacking?”
Fine. Fair enough. In a nice corset and dress, I treaded over the grass and took my place facing him.
My so-called teacher flipped his dagger in his hand, sizing me up.
“Let’s start with ways to escape a direct attack, since that’s more or less the most probable situation you’ll be facing.
” Laken moved behind me and instinctively I shifted uncomfortably.
An uneasiness tightened my shoulders as I remained a sitting duck, casually waiting to be in danger.
The hellblazers were watching, anticipating me getting my ass kicked. Fiery fuckers.
Laken’s hands brushed around my waist, circling my wrists. Gripping them, he folded my arms behind my back. His knuckles pressed against my spine. His legs braced against mine. Any thought of chickens staring disappeared from my mind.
“Am I supposed to just let you do this?” I asked over my shoulder.
A breath of a laugh rushed from his lips and I felt it on my skin, goose bumps lighting the way. He placed a hand on my spine and explained how to throw my chest forward and either turn to break loose or turn while swinging an elbow back—so I did.
And regretted it immensely.
With a grip around my arm as I turned, he stopped me as our chests collided and our lips hovered but inches away from meeting.
Three breaths rose and fell from his chest before he dared to meet my glare. “Just like that, McCarthen.”
Someone help me from this problem I got myself into—please.
He released me and I inhaled deeply, realizing I hadn’t been.
I tried to pay attention. Honestly, I did! But each touch of our skin sent vibrations up my bones.
Disarming came next. From what I gathered, the odds of someone untrained disarming someone who was trained were next to nothing.
But these few tips and tricks could help in a matter of life or death.
As Laken put it, “You may slit your palm if not careful, but that’s still better than a stabbed heart. ”
“Hold this like you’re the attacker so I can show you.” Laken put a dagger in my hand. A real dagger.
This seemed dangerous. “Are you sure? Is this going to hurt?”
Laken’s lip parted, offended yet ready. “Reece, come on now, do you trust me?”
Yes. No? Trust was a big word; eager to stab him, though… that had a ring to it.
He told me what not to do first, not to push the arm left or right because they’d swing back too quickly.
“But instead…” He flicked his eyes to me before wrapping his hand around mine.
My pulse beat against his fingers. “By hitting the inside of the wrist while shoving the back of the palm, folding it on itself”—I dropped the dagger—“you can disarm your attacker.”
He demonstrated at real speed next, hitting my wrist and bending my hand. Pain shot down my arm. The weapon flew and I gawked at Laken. “Ow! That hurt!”
“Told you this wouldn’t be fun.” He shrugged. “You can’t sugarcoat self-defense.”
I flipped him off. One demonstration left and we’d be done. I could make it.
“And our last session: attacks.” Laken stood tall, an easygoing smile painted on his face as he rocked back on his heels.
Passing the dagger to me again, he continued. “Now, I’m going to let you come at me here.” He angled toward me, an amusement glimmering in his eyes, and motioned me to attack.
It took a moment to process. I snapped my head at him, brows furrowed. I must’ve heard wrong. Attack him? What the—?
Laken lit up with a laugh. “Go for it,” he teased. “You’re not going to hurt me, love.”
Love? Oh. I could attack easily.
I wrinkled my nose, flashed a mocking smile, and did as I was told.
Lunging, I didn’t make it within a foot before Laken stopped me.
A tight grip wrapped around my wrist, and as naturally as he flirted, he swiped the weapon from my hand.
Twisting my arm behind my back and holding it there, his chest pressed flush against mine—with the dagger to my throat.
The air exploded and dissolved around us. Nonexistent, yet existing too intensely. Heat poured into my stomach, pooling lower and lower like lava. Each breath he took pushed against me harder.
Slowly, my eyes dragged from the dagger’s edge to his gaze. He stopped breathing, then blinked and quickly resumed. “Unhand me,” I said, my words a mere whisper, as that was all I could muster.
A wicked smirk curled his lips. “And that,” he emphasized, “is why this is important.” As he removed the dagger from my skin, I found myself missing its edge.
Stepping back, my boot slid in mud from the rain. Something similar to “shit” slipped from my lips. My knees buckled and even Laken lunging and wrapping his arms around my waist couldn’t save us.
He pulled me into his chest and took the brunt of the fall. He dropped into the damp grass and mud. I fell onto him, which in my opinion, was much, much worse.
Hands on either side of his face, straddled over his body, my hair hung from where I hovered just inches from his face. From his lips. Laken’s full, familiar lips that reminded me of home. His hands ghosted my hips.
There was always something easy about Laken. Someone that everyone felt comfortable talking about life with. Someone you could trust without reason. Someone you could fall back into step with even after years apart because each touch, each glance, felt like magic.
But that didn’t mean it was.
The steam rising from my arms, however, was magic.
“Shit.” I threw myself off Laken, jumping to my feet. Staggering away, I swatted and patted at the waves of smoke.
Every single time Laken got under my skin, this Gods-damned magic acted as if it were the one dealing with him!
And it only made everything worse! Bouncing my eyes around for a solution, I tried to think of something because calming myself obviously wasn’t happening.
I could still feel Laken under me. The pond? Gross but—
“Come here,” Laken said from behind. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to hurt him. I needed… he grabbed my hands.
“Laken, stop!” I pulled away, or tried to, but he held tight.
His gaze clashed with mine, and I couldn’t tell if his eyes hardened or softened, but whatever it was—I felt it in my bones. “Trust me.”
I swallowed. Gulped.
Laken lowered his lips to my wrist, so gently touching them against my pulse. The steam rose against his skin until he blew a breath down my arm. He reached up with one hand, wrapping around my elbow. And with the other, he began tracing shapes along my arm.
“What are you doing?” I asked in a raspy whisper.
He continued doing so. “Drawing runes, it’s a method we learn in training.”
“But you don’t have magic?”
“No. I don’t. I’m not using magic. I’m providing direction for yours. Your magic will recognize what they mean.”
He drew circles and swirls, lines and marks. The heat in my bones dissipated. The steam smothered under his touch. My racing heart slowed to a normal rhythm.
“You learned that with the Wraiths?”