Chapter 31
MOTIVATION
“AGAIN.”
“I can’t,” Felíne complained. If she raised Daybreak over her head one more time, her arm would detach at the shoulder.
“Yes, you can,” Kal said.
Felíne’s arm dropped to her side, the axe’s handle barely dangling from her weakened grip.
They’d been at this for over two hours. Once they’d passed the section of Stillwater Wood that Kal had violently redecorated, he’d led her into another sizeable clearing, this one a tranquil paradise in comparison.
Or rather, it would have been, if the expansive meadow weren’t outfitted as Kal’s personal training ground.
Racks of weapons lined one edge of the forest. A fenced arena stood at the opposite end for sparring, the ground at its center packed from the feet of an untold number of opponents.
The oblong field boasted an archery range, wooden dummies for swordplay, and targets spaced at varying intervals for thrown weapons practice.
They stood several paces from one such target, the face of which was marred with a pitiful scattering of gouges, evidence of Felíne’s blatant inaccuracy. The grassy area surrounding the target, on the other hand, had been pockmarked with impacts from her terrible aim.
Felíne dropped the axe and crumpled to the ground. She lay on her back, shoulders aching equally: the left from the grim’s claws, the right from overuse.
Kal’s stern, handsome face appeared upside down above her. “Get up.”
She squinted up at him, his umber curls falling forward. Whatever sun had risen earlier in the day had retreated behind a thick gray blanket of cloud cover. Shining blue fragments of clear sky peeked through as the clouds rolled lazily overhead, winking at her. “No, I think I’ll lie here a while.”
Kal’s face disappeared, and Felíne’s eyelids drifted closed.
The meadow was quiet. The air smelled humid and clean, and she filled her lungs with the ambrosian breeze.
Birdsong from a dozen different species melded into a symphonic melody, twining with her image of the wood, lulling her.
Fine blades of grass tickled her palms at her sides.
A moment later, a deluge of icy water cascaded down onto her chest. Felíne gasped and shot forward. She whirled.
Kal stood several paces away, an empty bucket tucked under one arm and an infuriating smirk playing across his lips. Any semblance of peace she felt was instantly shattered.
“You beast,” she seethed. “I will kill you!”
Kal’s unimpressed look dared her to try.
Felíne swiped Daybreak’s handle off the ground, gripped it with both hands overhead, and, without pausing to consider her actions, sent it arcing through the air.
The blade would have cleaved Kal’s skull.
He dodged at the last moment, and the hatchet bit into the wooden dummy behind him with a resounding thud.
Felíne wasn’t done. She plucked a set of throwing knives off the rack to her right and flung them, wrists whipping faster than she thought possible. The first one missed Kal’s torso by less than an inch. The second flew wider, slipping from her wet grasp, her accuracy impacted by emotion.
He grinned. Felíne grabbed for a broadsword.
Gods, it was heavy. But she was infuriated.
She swung the blade overhead and nearly toppled backward.
Felíne forced her momentum forward, aiming for Kal.
He stepped close to her and, with a deft move, stole the hilt from her grasp.
He twirled the hefty blade with one hand as easily as if it were a quill feather before tossing it away.
Felíne growled. She fisted her hand and threw it forward with more force than she believed herself capable of. To her astonishment, it collided with Kal’s jaw.
Something popped. Pain lanced up Felíne’s hand, into her wrist.
The shock in Kal’s expression morphed to outrage. “You idiot woman,” he hissed. “Are you trying to break yourself?”
“No,” she snarled. “I’m trying to break you.”
He grabbed her forearm, yanking her into his body. “With a weak-wristed punch like that?”
Felíne wrenched away from him with little success. The taunting in his voice fueled her anger, her recklessness. “I’ll show you a weak-wristed punch, you fucking brute.”
He only held her tighter, closing the distance between their faces. “Call me a brute one more time and I’ll show you how brutal I can be.”
“You bru—”
Kal closed his mouth over hers. The kiss seared her.
Felíne didn’t know what possessed her, but all of her anger, fear, anxiety, and want poured into Kal as she kissed him back.
Her lips became a conduit for a lifetime of emotion, fusing with Kal’s, unbridling her burdens and discharging them onto him.
It wasn’t the least bit fair. She should have felt guilty.
But Kal absorbed all of her pent-up energy like a drowning man starving for breath. He didn’t shy from her onslaught; he welcomed it.
Felíne hadn’t been able to beat him with a blade and only succeeded in injuring herself with her fist. She couldn’t fight him and win. On the field of battle, they would never be equals.
Instead, she punished him with her mouth, sentenced him with her passion.
She bit his lip, eliciting a low growl from Kal’s throat.
His arms wound around her waist, hands roving erratically over her back, shoulders, and butt, desperate to feel her.
His tongue thrust into her open mouth, and he grabbed her under either thigh, hoisting her into the air.
Felíne gripped his neck and fisted her fingers in his hair, tugging his head back. Her injured wrist twinged, but the pain was distant, drowned by her fervor. Kal’s eyes were wild. Gold bands shot through the black of his irises, saturating their inky depths with bursts of heat. With need.
Felíne was entranced. After everything, all of her lying, all the secrets she’d kept, every attempt to deceive and run off, he still looked at her like that. Like everything that made him a man was saturated with wanting her.
Felíne kissed him again, moaning into his mouth.
Kal carried her to an untouched section of the meadow, and her back settled into soft grass. He knelt between her legs, eyes sliding over her. Felíne’s skin rippled with gooseflesh. Her tunic was soaked. She shivered, but not from the cold.
Kal bent forward, folding his warrior’s body over hers, bracing himself on his palms. His tongue darted out and touched her bottom lip. Felíne reached up and gripped his nape, pulling his mouth down onto hers again. Gods, he tasted divine. Like that morning’s coffee and male yearning.
A gale swept through the meadow, and the little hairs along Felíne’s forearms stood on end. Her wet clothes clung. “I’m soaked,” she breathed into Kal’s mouth.
“I bet you are,” he growled.
Something firm pressed into the delicate juncture between Felíne’s legs as Kal lowered himself, fusing their torsos, and a whimper escaped her. Oh, divine Goddess. The sensation spread through her belly, obfuscating her thoughts.
“Kal…” Dear gods, was she panting? “Kal, my clothes are soaked.”
He broke the kiss, pushing up onto muscled forearms. “Shall we remove them?”
Heat blossomed. One of his hands played at the hem of her sodden tunic. The thought of those strong fingers and that sinful mouth on her bare flesh rewired her brainwork. She squirmed. Why were her clothes wet again?
“You devil,” Felíne accused. “You planned this.”
Kal’s head tilted as he regarded her. “You give me too much credit,” he said, a smile tugging up one corner of his lips. “If I’d have known this would be the outcome, I would have doused you ages ago.”
She lifted a brow. “So you weren’t trying to get me out of my clothes?”
“Come now, Kitty. I’m always trying to get you out of your clothes.”
Felíne laughed at the simple sincerity in his expression.
A tenderness crept into his molten eyes. It was brief, but long enough for her to notice. Kal kissed her again, a slow, soft touching of lips. She craned forward, craving more.
He rose out of reach, settling back on his knees. “See. You’ve got more energy left than you thought.”
Felíne huffed, disappointed by his retreat. “Apparently, just not for throwing axes.”
“I don’t know,” Kal mused. “I think we’ve discovered your motivators.”
Felíne sat up, and Kal helped her to her feet. “Which are?”
“Anger is one.” He held up a finger. “That throw at my face was the best one you’ve had all day.”
She waved his hand away. “And the other?”
Kal playfully flicked his finger toward Felíne’s chest, grazing one peaked nipple under the clinging fabric. Her nerve endings trilled, and she gasped. “Lust,” he teased. “It appears our sweet little kitten has lascivious claws.”
She gaped.
A smug expression suffused his features. “Oh, Kitty. Don’t look so shocked. You become quite agreeable when you want something. And now I know what you want.”
Wait. Was that all this was? A way to unveil her impetus? The way Kal looked at her with desire. The way he touched her. Kissed her. Was it all just to motivate her to be more compliant?
Kal reached for her, and she stepped back. “So, all that was what? To manipulate me?” Felíne couldn’t entirely conceal the hurt in her tone. “To get me to train harder?”
Kal dropped his hand, brow furrowed. “I didn’t say that.”
“Yes, you did,” she insisted. “You think just because I want you, I’ll do whatever you ask?”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?” she challenged. “You just said you know what I want. That my desire is a motivator. That it makes me agreeable.”
“It is. It does. But that doesn’t mean I’m using it to manipulate you.”
“Oh?” Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure. “You weren’t manipulating me a moment ago? You weren’t just kissing me to properly motivate me? To prove a point?”
“No,” he ground out.
She made to move past him, and he blocked her path.
“Why are you being like this?”