“Then what do you want?”
“Tell me something about you.” I want every word.
She rolls her eyes to the side in thought, a tease. “I don’t know if I can.”
I lean all the way over until our chests press together, and I whisper in her ear, “And I don’t know if I can keep my hands off you long enough to teach you, but I’m going to try, so you can too.”
Aren’t you the sweet talker?Kelter says.
I don’t acknowledge him. She’s the only one I want in this moment with me. And he knows it, withdrawing from my thoughts in a slow drag. He must be infiltrating my mind more than I think, because I actually feel bad for the guy, chained to a wall and starving, no way to satisfy his cravings except through me.
She’s breathless by the time I pull away. “I’ll try.”
I climb off her and get to my feet before I lose control. Her heart speeds up, her desire surging into me. She’s not going to make this easy. I cross my arms and look down at her filthy shirt and dirt-smeared face. “Lesson number one: don’t lie on the ground turned on by your attacker.”
She fails to glare at me properly, signs of a smile slipping through her eyes and pursed lips, then stands up. “Then stop having muscles everywhere.”
I sheathe the knife. “Stop thinking about me.”
“I’m not,” she denies, and a gust of wind rips leaves from the surrounding trees.
“You’re a lousy liar.” I hold the handle out to her. “Now try to kill me.”
“Funny.”She snatches the knife from my hand, immediately taking on a side stance and pointing it at me. Her face hardens into a fierce stare.
Damn, she’s perfect. “Stab me.”
“You’ll move?”
“Of course,” I lie.
She folds her lips in and squints at my chest as if I were a mile away. Then, with the determination of the entire Service Sphere combined and no more physical strength than that of a damn twelve-year-old, she drives the blade into my chest.
“Ow!” The knife falls between us, and she shakes her hand out. “You didn’t move.”
It’s not easy to stay silent as I crouch down and pick it up. When I’m standing before her again, I slip the flat edge under her chin and force her to look up at me. “Lesson number two: unsheathe,thenstab.”
Her nose wrinkles. “You set me up.”
I unsheathe the knife and smack it back into her hand with a loudslap. “You fell for it.”
She holds it up again with a clumsy, crooked grip and zero strategy. Shit. As much as I love how clueless she is when it comes to handling a knife, she’s dead if I can’t teach her something—unless she learns to control her magic.
“Donotlet me stab you.” Her eyes roam over me, searching for where to aim and stopping on all the spots I expect from her.
“But you want to, don’t you?”
She grins, a rare occurrence and a complete distraction. “Maybe.” Then she makes her move, opting for my stomach this time. I block her arm before she gets anywhere near me. She recalculates quickly, stubbornness fueling her speed and strength. Another jab. I deflect it. She tries for my side, my stomach again, my heart. I whack her arm out of the way with ease.
“Faster,” I instruct.
She groans and doubles her efforts.
I block dozens more attempts. Her chest heaves, her movements sloppier by the second. Every ounce of her conviction pulses through me. I thwart another stab toward my ribs, and the knife flies out of her tired hand.
“You’re too fast.” She pants and glares at the blade embedded in the forest floor. The ground shifts below us in an angry jolt.
“Lesson number three: hold onto your weapon.”
