Chapter 49 #2
Clearly seeing her reluctance, he said, “I hope you’re never in that situation. But I need to know you’ll do whatever it takes to survive. Can you promise me that?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I promise.”
Relief bled through him. “Thank you.” He reached out, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. His eyes searched hers. “However hard you fight, know that I’ll be fighting just as hard to reach you.”
Feeling the truth in his words brought her comfort, even though the thought of taking a life still made her sick.
“We’ll train with your knife another day,” Carver said. “For now, I want to focus on showing you how to break free of different holds.”
When he grasped her wrists, she couldn’t help but notice the soft rasp of his callused skin against hers. It raised the fine hairs on her arms and made it hard to concentrate on what he was saying.
“If an attacker has you like this, you’re unable to run—or even use the ring effectively—until you break free. Instinct will tell you to pull away from me, but I’m stronger than you. You won’t win that way. Instead, step closer.” He paused, waiting for her to do so.
Heart still beating a little too fast, she did as he said.
“Do you feel that?” Carver asked.
She felt everything. Her body fairly hummed at being so close to him, and she could feel his own awareness spike. It was edged with desire, and something more. Something deeper.
“Amryn?” His voice was a little rough. “Did you feel the tension in our arms? How it naturally relaxed when you came closer?”
She forced herself to focus—just as she sensed he was forcing himself to focus. “Yes.”
“Good. That release of tension means your attacker’s hold will inevitably loosen. You’ll be able to twist away now. Try it.”
She twisted her wrists, and her hands slid free.
“Good,” Carver said. “Let’s try it again, faster this time.”
He grasped her wrists once more. She stepped closer, already twisting her wrists in an effort to free herself. It worked.
“Again,” Carver said.
They continued practicing until Amryn’s movements were fluid and strong. Confidence poured through her, and she couldn’t help but smile as she broke his hold once more. “I can’t believe how well that works!”
Carver grinned, pride and pleasure sparking.
“You’re a fast learner. Let’s try another type of hold.
” He came around her, and it took great force of will not to turn and watch him.
Not that she didn’t trust him behind her, but because her pulse was skipping with the knowledge that he was going to touch her again.
His chest brushed her back as his arms circled around her, locking her arms to her sides. The scent of sandalwood and spice surrounded her. “This hold might feel more unbreakable, but as long as you don’t give in to panic, you can still get free. All right?”
It wasn’t panic flaring through her right now. Still, she managed to nod.
“Breaking this hold won’t be quite as painless for your attacker, but we’ll see what we can do. Rather than exerting your energy by pulling away from me, you need to drop all your weight down. Go limp.”
She did as instructed, and Carver’s grip tightened to hold her. Somehow, they were even closer than before, the heat of his body burrowing into hers. But though he tried to compensate for her body’s sudden shift, his hold wasn’t as strong as before.
“Your next move will be determined by how low you manage to drop,” Carver said. “An elbow to my stomach, groin, or inner thigh will all deliver shock, and just enough pain to make me flinch back. That’s when you shove away. Got it?”
“Yes.”
“Elbow me.”
She did so, gently.
He chuckled. “You’ll want to hit a little harder than that.”
She frowned. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t. I promise. You need to practice using more force.” When she still hesitated, he leaned in, his warm breath teasing the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Come on, Amryn. Let your harpy out.”
She snorted, a little breathless. “What is it with you and your fascination with harpies?”
“I’m only fascinated by one harpy,” he corrected. He brushed a kiss to the sensitive skin beneath her ear, and a shiver ran through her. “It’s quite a strong fascination, though,” he admitted softly.
Pulse racing, Amryn whispered, “I think I’m getting that.”
“Good,” he said, humor staining his voice. His hold tightened. “Try to break free.”
She took a breath, then did as he’d instructed. She dropped her weight and threw an elbow into his stomach—Saints, it was a wall of solid muscle. Her elbow throbbed, but she shoved against his hold.
She broke free. A thrill shot through her, and she spun back to face him.
His smile was wide, satisfaction filling them both. “Good. Let’s try it again.”
They did, practicing the move until she could do it seamlessly. Then he taught her another technique, and they practiced that.
It didn’t take long before Amryn was breathing hard.
She was grateful for the towering shade trees that protected them from the late afternoon sun.
And while Carver never hurt her, his grip was strong.
It was a little jarring, since he had been treating her with extreme gentleness while her bruises from Market Square had faded.
But even though her face grew hot and sweat dripped down her spine, she wasn’t ready for this to end.
It didn’t matter if every touch from Carver was instructional, it still lit her up, making her skin tingle pleasantly.
When his hand brushed her hip to correct her stance, her heart tripped—then raced.
And when she did something right, the smile he’d flash . . . Her knees weakened every time.
She barely registered the passage of time.
She got lost in all that Carver was teaching her, letting a new sense of empowerment fill her.
All she knew was the softness of the grass underfoot, the citrus scent of fruit growing in the nearby orchard, and the ache in her muscles as she repeated the same move again and again.
While she was gaining confidence, there were moments of frustration. Like when her skirt tangled around her legs and nearly tripped her as she spun free from one of Carver’s holds.
She kicked at the billowing fabric. “This really isn’t fair. My skirt keeps getting in the way.”
“It’s not fair,” Carver agreed. “But since you’ll most likely be wearing a dress when you’re attacked, that’s what you need to practice in. For now, at least. My sisters sometimes use training leathers.” His eyes shined, flirtation in his voice as he said, “I’m more than happy to get you a pair.”
Her cheeks burned at the thought. She’d seen men in fighting leathers. She couldn’t imagine a woman wearing such a fitted thing, let alone wearing something so indecent herself.
“Let’s try it again,” he said.
She turned, and he grabbed her from behind. She tore away as they’d practiced, but Carver grasped her wrist, jerking her retreat to a sudden stop.
She froze, thrown by his unexpected move. He’d never grabbed her once she’d gotten free. But they’d trained for this hold, too.
She pushed forward, breaking the tension in their arms. With a hard twist, her wrist broke free.
Unfortunately, her victory was short-lived.
Carver dove forward, snatching hold of her. He dragged her closer, and Amryn’s foot caught his, tripping him.
A scream strangled in her throat as they both fell, his hands locked tightly on her waist.
He hit the ground first, a grunt exploding out as she landed on top of him. Her hands splayed across his chest, her head rearing back to keep their foreheads from hitting.
Their breaths tangled harshly in the air between them, the only sound for a long moment. Their faces were mere inches apart as they both breathed hard, their bodies flush against each other.
“Are you all right?” Carver rasped.
Heart pounding, she scanned his face. “I should be asking you that, since you’re the one who broke my fall.” Realizing her weight was still pinning him, she shifted onto her knees, which had landed on either side of him.
His fingers dug into her sides, keeping her in place as she straddled him. “I’m fine. You knocked the wind out of me, that’s all.” His lips hooked up in a smile. “It’s not the first time you’ve left me breathless.”
She snorted a weak laugh, though the way he was looking at her—and the feelings swirling inside him—made her blush. “Careful, General. You have a fearsome reputation to uphold.”
“Maybe I’m not worried about my reputation.” His thumbs traced against the smooth material of her dress, and her belly dipped in response.
Following her instincts—and responding to the desire she felt in him—Amryn leaned down and brushed her lips over his.
It was a tentative kiss, but it felt bold. She rarely took the initiative in this area. But even though her mouth was soft against his, the kiss felt no less powerful than any other they’d shared.
She felt his spike of elation, tinged with the barest hint of surprise. But when she drew back, he was frowning.
Her heart clenched. “What?”
Eyes serious, he said, “Promise me you won’t ever disarm anyone else like that.”
A breathless laugh escaped her, pleasure rushing through her. “I promise.”
Lying in the grass, he stared up at her. His blue eyes were alight, awe filling him. He lifted a hand, his fingertips tracing her lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered.
The depth of meaning he placed in those simple words left her speechless.
His focus lowered as he gently palmed the side of her neck. Right over the scar left by the rebel’s blade. The mark might never fade completely, but it no longer caused her pain.
Her pulse raced beneath his touch.
With gentle pressure, he coaxed her mouth back to his. The heat of his lips infused her entire body, making her blood warm. This kiss was slow and deep. Unhurried and exploratory.
It was, undeniably, a brand on her soul.