Chapter 20 #2
“Already thinking of attacking me?” He chuckled while she glared at him.
He headed toward a barrel full of spears with sharpened iron heads, barbed tridents, forked staffs and various other weapons she had no name for.
He yanked out a heavy bar mace, turning it in his hand casually as if it didn’t weigh a thing.
He held it up. “What do you think of this?”
“There’s no way I can hold that,” she scoffed, coming to stand beside him. She hesitantly took it from him and nearly dropped it on her toes.
He grasped the mid-section of the iron rod and held it before she could do any damage to herself.
Her face grew hotter. “It’s heavy.”
“Hm.” He slid it back in place and pulled out a simple, wooden staff. “What about this?”
“It’s kind of too long, don’t you think?
” She took it from him and marveled at its length; it was taller than her.
She couldn’t imagine herself expertly wielding it, but she could imagine herself stumbling and impaling herself by accident.
She shivered, placing it back where he’d got it from. “How about you let me choose a weapon?”
He stepped away, waving a hand at the weapons bin. “Be my guest.”
Biyu picked at the various weapons. Some pointy, some blunted, and others too cumbersome for someone as unskilled as her—like the three-sectioned staff that folded up and unwound, or the chains with metal spiked balls at the ends of them.
She finally settled on a short dagger the length of her two palms stacked atop each other.
She held it up for him. “This one.”
Nikator didn’t look impressed. “You sure? A simple dagger?”
“What’s wrong with it?” She twisted it around in the air, pretending to strike an opponent. “It’s light and short enough for me to use.”
“There’s nothing wrong with it.” He motioned for her to take her place in the middle of the sandy training yard. “I like daggers myself, but my weapon of choice is a simple straight and double-edged sword. You can’t really go wrong with the versatility.”
Biyu stared at the sharp edge of the blade, her uneasiness growing.
What if she actually stabbed him? Although she had wanted to slap him once or twice, she didn’t actually want to hurt him.
Her desire to smack him around vanished and was replaced by an uncoiling anxiety that was only spreading thicker.
She lowered the weapon. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“What if I hurt you?”
Nikator’s soft mouth split open into a smirk. “You think you can hurt me? That’s cute.”
“C-cute?”
“What did I say about being a parrot?”
“You—” She narrowed her eyes at him. He situated himself a few feet away from her, weaponless, and his hands tucked into his pockets casually. The sunlight made the sapphire of his eyes glitter like real gems, and his hair looked even more scarlet. Her heart skipped a beat. “Where’s your weapon?”
“I don’t need one.”
“Are you saying you’re not worried about me scratching you or stabbing you?”
“Correct.”
Biyu wasn’t sure if she should feel relieved to hear that or insulted. She decided to feign the latter, because that was more fun that pretending otherwise. She waved the weapon in front of her in what she hoped was a menacing manner. “Don’t cry to me if I cut you.”
A single eyebrow notched up. “You must have a lot of confidence. The last time you held a blade, it was quite the show, but I don’t remember you being threatening at all.”
She remembered the last time, too. They had plummeted off the ledge into a similar training courtyard. The rain had plastered over their tangled bodies. Her knife had pressed against his throat. And he … had looked down at her like he had wanted to devour her.
The memory made her blush. “W-why do you want to spar right now?”
“It’ll help us unwind, don’t you think?”
“Unwind for what?”
“Stress.” He shrugged, giving her a sidelong look. “You seem to be pretty anxious lately. Some exercise can help.”
Biyu didn’t want to think about yesterday and her heated tantrum—or whatever else she could call that moment of pure rage.
It was already embarrassing enough that he had witnessed all of that, and now he wanted to somehow help?
Did he care about her in some twisted, weird way?
An uncomfortable, warm feeling stirred in her chest and she didn’t want to examine exactly what it was.
She tightened her hold on the dagger and winced as a shard of pain shot through her injured palm. She had rebound the bandages and applied medicine like Nikator had yesterday, and it had only reminded her once more of the tender care he had showed her.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Um. What should I do?”
“Attack me, of course.”
She didn’t wait for an opening—she doubted she stood a chance, anyway—just rushed toward him.
She slashed at his face, but Nikator stepped back expertly, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it away from him.
She nearly fell forward from the motion, but his arm snaked around her waist and held her upright.
His breath was warm as he breathed against her ear.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” He released her and stepped back. “Try again.”
A shiver ran down her spine at his closeness, and the loss of that warmth now that he was a few feet away.
Biyu ran to him again and he dodged her strikes.
His steps were nimble, his gaze never straying from hers, and there was a calmness in his expression she had never seen before.
Like he was dancing to a tune she had never heard.
Something calm, something dangerous, maybe.
But something that coalesced with the beat of his heart.
A sense of peace fell over her too as she fell into a rhythm.
Two steps forward, slash, jab, forward again—she was sure she looked unskilled, sloppy, and ridiculous.
But he didn’t ridicule her, he didn’t even try fighting back, just let her attack.
Bit by bit, all her worries, all her anxieties, everything she had been holding onto slipped away.
The iron-clad grip she had on her feelings loosened.
And she could finally breathe a little. Relax, even.
Forget things as she moved forward in this strange dance.
Half an hour must have passed, maybe even longer.
Biyu’s breathing was labored. Sweat poured down the sides of her face and drenched her clothes.
Her thighs burned. Her arms were sore from holding up the dagger and being in a sighting position.
She dove forward, her foot stumbling, and Nikator caught her in his arms the next second.
The weapon slipped from her fingers and she peered up at him.
A slow smile graced his lips. He was sweating, too, but not from exertion. All those layers he had on, not to mention the sweltering heat, must have been unbearable. And yet he didn’t complain.
He helped her to her feet, but just as he was about to pull away, Biyu grasped his forearm and anchored him in place. He stilled, his blue eyes flicking to her.
They hadn’t spoken the entire spar and now that it was time to speak, she had no words.
She could only breathe heavily, blinking through the sweat trickling down her eyebrows.
She didn’t release his forearm, her fingers pressing against one of the straps that held a short knife beneath his leather sleeve.
“Why did you—” She swallowed down the nerves buzzing in her belly. She was warm all over; from her head down to her toes. Not from the heat. But from his closeness. From the strange way he made her feel. “Why did you want to spar with me? You didn’t even try to hit me.”
Nikator studied her quietly. He raised a hand and slowly grasped a strand of hair that had come undone from her low bun. He tucked it behind her ear, and a trail of warmth followed the motion. “You looked like you needed a break.”
“Why do you care?”
He didn’t say anything this time, only watched her.
A small tremor wracked over her body and she couldn’t stop the tightening of her chest. He was her enemy.
He had helped ruin her life. He was never going to be her ally.
But she wanted to touch him, to embrace him, to feel those arms around hers so badly.
She needed him more than she needed anything else, and that shocked her down to her core.
He wasn’t supposed to care for her. He was her watcher, her guard, her executioner.
And yet he cared for these little things about her.
He wasn’t kind.
He wasn’t … her friend, and he never would be.
Biyu was tired of running away. Tired of pretending that he didn’t spark desire in her. That he wasn’t absolutely beautiful. That something about him didn’t tempt the darkest part of her, and warmed the coldest part of her heart. The broken parts, too.
She touched the side of his face and he froze beneath her touch. His eyes searched hers and she waited for him to push her away, to retreat, to do anything that told her he didn’t want this. That he didn’t want her. But he made no move to do that, only stared down at her.
He was too tall for her, even if she went on her tippy toes.
She grasped onto one of his shoulders and tried anyway, raising herself up.
She hovered like that for a few seconds, her mouth parted, and her calves burning from keeping the position.
That small attempt seemed to break something in him and he grabbed her hips gently, leaning forward.
He pressed his lips against hers and kissed her, hard.
His touch was electric, forbidden, heated.
He pulled her flush against his body and every part of her flesh ignited in flames; his mouth moved slowly, devouring her, and her eyelids fluttered shut. She couldn’t think beyond his lips. Beyond his hands on her.