Chapter Thirteen #2
I do not want to pry, but I know that he is not fine. I tell him when something is going on with me. At least, I think I do. What is stopping him from giving me the same in return?
That is what friends are supposed to do for each other.
I reach behind my head and gather my hair into a high ponytail, then pick my sword up off the ground. When I bring it up and in front of me, Draven lunges. Fast.
I block the strike and we start our dance.
My eyes catch Draven’s as we circle one another, his irises golden again. I let out a breath of relief and revert my focus back to my sword.
I get a few hits here and there, but begin to notice that Draven is hitting my sword harder than he usually does. I look back up at him and see that his irises are red again.
Back and forth they change over the course of our spar. Back and forth my focus falters between my own movements and him.
I start to move toward him and he swings from a high point down on my sword, knocking it out of my hand. That was way too hard for me to be silent any longer.
“Ow, geez,” I say.
Draven ignores my comment, but looks back up at me. His eyes are an even brighter shade of red, almost to the point they are glowing.
He looks terrifying.
“Let’s try something new,” he says.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a blind fold.
I back up. “What are you doing?”
He walks behind me, gently placing the blind fold over my eyes. His fingers lightly press against my face as they move to the back of my head, tying the blindfold underneath of my ponytail. He picks my ponytail up and runs his fingers through the strands to the very ends.
“I want to see how you do in a situation where you cannot see. Can you tap into your enhanced hearing well enough to be able to fight your opponent without your eyes?”
“Probably not,” I say flatly.
“I do not think you give yourself enough credit.”
I feel his warm breath against the shell of my ear. I shiver.
It is silent for a moment, then he is beside me again.
“Do you trust me,” he asks.
His breath brushes the edge of my ear once again.
“I don’t know,” I admit.
He is silent for a moment. The air building with tension around us. This time, his lips lightly graze the shell of my ear. His chest presses up against my shoulder. My body hyperaware of where he touches me.
“Are you scared of me?” he asks.
Goosebumps break out along my skin. Heat starts to gather in the bottom of my stomach, spreading to my core.
“Yes.”
He moves away from me.
I sit with the silence for a moment and try to focus on the sounds around me. I take deep breaths, analyzing each individual noise in the air.
Then, I hear him raise his arm.
His sword comes down and I push mine out to block it.
I stand there in amazement for a second, smiling. My hearing has finally settled.
Draven lifts his sword for another hit and I block it perfectly once again.
And so, we begin.
We fall right back into our usual dance as I hear every move he makes and know every step he takes before he takes it.
This time, I hit his sword as hard as he has been hitting mine, his breathing getting heavier each time our blades meet.
Thoughts of his changed demeanor makes my anger sharpen with each strike.
We continue our spar, moving up an inch with each clash of our swords. I feel the mat end under my feet as we step into the grass, but we do not stop. We keep moving forward.
He stops for a moment, then suddenly comes at me with even more strength behind each strike. Each hit he takes against me, feeling harder than the next.
Each hit he takes, not feeling like him at all.
I shake my head as I start to back up, ready to be done with this. His sword hits mine at the same time as my heel catches the mat edge.
I fall backward, my sword falling along with me. Draven falls forward at the same time, his hand moving underneath my head to block it from hitting the ground.
He lands on top of me.
His hips are settled between my legs while my back is against the mat. I feel every hard inch of his body pressed close to mine. My skin feels like it is burning against him.
His warm breath grazes the side of my cheek. He is so close, that if I lifted an inch, his lips would press into my skin.
He must be holding himself up because I feel no weight pinning me down. Just the comfortable presence of his body heat and a familiar leather and smoked vanilla smell.
Neither of us makes an effort to move. But then, I feel a light brush of his fingers glide across my forehead.
He drops his fingers down, tucking a loose piece of my hair back behind my ear. I suck in a breath at how delicate the contact of his fingers against my skin is.
His fingers continue to slowly trace lines over my features until he reaches my lips.
I stop breathing.
One of his fingers traces the outer edge of my lower lip then comes back to the middle, gently tugging on it. His chest starts to heave against mine. His breaths becoming shallower with each one he takes.
How easy would it be for me to glide my tongue across the pad of his finger to see how he would taste. Just this one time. Just to see if he tastes the way that he smells.
His finger pulls off of my lip, almost too quickly. The slight pressure of his chest releases off mine, and the air over top of me goes cold. My body immediately misses the presence of his.
I lie there for a moment, not wanting to take the blindfold off and face the moment we just had.
The arena doors open, then slam shut.
Slowly, I lift my hand to the blindfold and pull it down. I sit up, looking around for him.
He is gone.
I scoot to the edge of the mat and shift uncomfortably at the ache low in my belly. My body feels like I have tiny sparks of electricity shooting through it. I can still feel phantom caresses of his touch.
As I sit there, my own fingers trace over everywhere he touched, desperate to feel it again. I press my pointer finger into my bottom lip and sigh. Looking down at my arms, I see that I am still covered in goose bumps.
I flop down onto my back as I cover my face with my arms and scream my frustration into the air.
What have I done, once again.