Chapter 7 #2
She'd been grumbling since he'd woken her twenty minutes ago, knocking on her door with a warning that she had ten minutes to dress.
The look she'd given him when she emerged—hair scraped back in a messy tail, eyes still puffy with sleep, expression suggesting she was contemplating his murder—had hit him right in the chest.
He hadn't slept well himself. Not surprising.
He'd lain awake for hours after she retreated to her room, staring at the ceiling, body refusing to settle.
The kiss played on repeat behind his eyes.
.. the desperate way she'd pressed against him and the needy sound she'd made against his mouth…
how perfectly her small frame fit in his arms.
He'd eventually dealt with the worst of it in the shower. Cold water, then surrender. Neither helped the wanting. The feel of her stayed with him. Refused to fade.
But he was used to nights of fractured sleep, and morning brought focus, discipline and purpose.
And the female who'd shattered his control was trailing behind him, bitching about the hour like she hadn't turned his world inside out less than twelve hours ago.
"I'm not a morning person." She squinted at the ceiling lights as if they'd personally offended her. "If anyone says 'good morning' to me, I will commit a felony."
"Noted."
She made a sound that might have been a growl. He bit back another smile. He might have been a War-Commander, but he wasn’t stupid. If she thought he was laughing at her, he was fairly certain she’d murder him on the spot.
Draanth, she was glorious.
They reached the training hall, and he paused at the entrance. The room was large and open, training circles etched into the floor. His senior warriors were already gathered, waiting.
"You can sit there." He nodded to the bench along the side wall, already turning toward his warriors.
"Yeah." She flicked her wrist like shooing a fly. "Bench. Leash. Got it. Go do something hot and sweaty away from me."
She dropped onto the bench with all the grace of a female who wanted to be horizontal. Crossing her arms over her chest, she slumped against the wall, eyes already half-closed.
His attention stayed on her a beat too long as he fought the urge to go to her. To smooth the tired lines from her face… to pull her against his chest and carry her back to his quarters where she could sleep properly. In his arms. Like she should.
Draanth. He turned and joined his warriors.
He began the Diraanesh in first position.
He led from the front, settling into movements he'd practiced since childhood.
The ancient sequence flowed through him like water.
.. each movement was precise and deliberate, building strength and flexibility while teaching combat fundamentals passed down from generation to generation of Latharian warriors.
Around him, his senior warriors moved in perfect synchronization.
At this level, the Diraanesh required harmony and focus.
It required the practitioner to empty their mind and let muscle memory guide them through strikes disguised as stretches, blocks disguised as breathing exercises, and footwork patterns that could save a warrior's life in combat.
But his mind was not empty.
He was aware of Harper on that bench the way he was aware of his own heartbeat. Even flowing through the forms, his sharpened senses tracked her. Her scent. The weight of her gaze on his back.
He slid a sideways glance toward her. She wasn’t dozing anymore. Instead, she was watching him.
Her gaze traveled across his shoulders as he moved through a deep stance. Traced down his spine as he extended into a forward strike. Her heartbeat had picked up. Her scent had shifted, carrying something that had the predator in him wanting to turn around. To hunt.
He held the position longer than required, flexing all his muscles.
The sequence moved into combat-focused forms, and he moved through blocks and strikes with the kind of controlled power that came from decades of training. His fist cut through the air hard enough to create sound. Precision that had earned him his rank and his reputation.
He wasn't showing off. Not really.
He was... showing her what he was and what he could do. What the protection of a War-Commander actually was.
A soft snort from his seniors behind him told him… yeah, he was showing off. He didn’t care.
No one approached the little female during the entire session. More than that. Not a single warrior glanced her direction for more than a fleeting moment. No one walked near where she sat. No one so much as turned their body toward her.
Good.
Gossip about the incident in the docking corridor yesterday had spread through the station like wildfire.
Every male on this station now understood exactly what would happen if they showed interest in the human female under War-Commander Kirr M'Aab's protection.
The warrior he'd pinned against the wall had been transferred to another section by evening. The message was clear.
She was his to protect. Approaching her meant death.
The Diraanesh concluded, and the session shifted to sparring.
He took on his warriors one by one, testing their skills, correcting their positions, and, inevitably, winning each bout.
He wasn't trying to impress Harper now. This was his level of competence, the result of years spent honing himself into a weapon.
But he remained aware of her watching, and that awareness made him sharper. More focused.
When the final bout ended, he dismissed his warriors with a nod. They dispersed toward the equipment racks and refreshment stations, and he turned toward the bench.
Harper was sitting up straighter now, her earlier sleepiness replaced by something else. Her eyes tracked him across the room, a slight flush on her cheeks. She straightened her spine, as if trying not to look affected.
He bit back his amusement. She'd enjoyed watching him.
Good.
He stopped in front of her and looked down at her. She had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes, the size difference between them obvious and... based on the way her pulse jumped... not entirely unwelcome to her.
"Training is done." He stopped in front of her, sweat cooling on his skin.
"I noticed." She waved at the now-empty hall, not taking her eyes off his shoulders. Off his body. "What was that first part? The… slow sequence. Looked like yoga until it suddenly didn't."
"The Diraanesh."
"Diraanesh," she repeated, like she was tasting the word. Then she paused. "Is that... I mean, do you—"
She looked away, then back. "Are there self-defense classes? On the station? For women?"
The question caught him off guard. She wanted to learn to fight?
"There are classes." He reached for a towel, attention still fixed on her. "But no one will teach you the Diraanesh."
"Oh." Nodding, she looked down at her hands, and her small expression made him feel a brute. "Right. Okay."
"No one will teach you, because I will."
Her head snapped up, eyes wide with surprise.
He let the offer sit. The prospect was appealing on multiple levels... not least the idea of putting his hands on her body to adjust her stance, standing close enough to feel her warmth while she learned the ancient techniques. Teaching her something that mattered to him.
"You?" Her voice came out slightly strangled. "Personally?"
"If you accept instruction, it will be from me." He didn't want anyone else's hands on her, even for instruction.
"No, I—" She stopped. Swallowed. "I just didn't think... I mean, you're a War-Commander. Isn't this like… below your pay grade? Surely you have other things that are more important."
He held her gaze. "You are a priority."
The flush on her cheeks deepened. Her mouth opened, closed. Opened again.
"Fine." She exhaled through her nose, like conceding to gravity. "But I'm not doing this as a pet project. I want real instruction."
He extended his hand to help her up from the bench. After a moment of hesitation, she took it. Her palm was warm against his. Small. Her fingers barely wrapped around his hand at all.
Pulling her to her feet, he held on a moment too long. She stood close enough that he could count her freckles. Close enough to see the awareness in her eyes, and the hitch in her breathing.
Then she stepped back, pulled her hand free.
"So." Her voice wasn't quite steady. "When?"
"No." She crossed her arms. "Give me a time. Otherwise, I'll talk myself out of it."
He tilted his head. "After your next visit to medical. Then we begin."