I take that as the end of the conversation, and I sneak around him into the kitchen.
I had been surprised to see bags of blood in the mini-fridge the first night here. He’s stabbing a straw into one now, Capri-Sun style, as I tuck a mug under the coffee machine.
“Ugh,” Asher cringes as he looks at the bag of blood like it personally offended him.
“Expired?” I ask, doing my best to be polite, even though I have about a million accusations swirling through my head.
“No, I just forgot what it tastes like from a bag.”
I scoff. “Right, you’re used to the fresh stuff.”
So much for polite.
“What?” His brows scrunch in an expression that is way too innocent for a big, bad vampire. Part of me wants to reach over and smooth my finger over the groove between them. The other part wants to punch him in the throat.
“I guess only straight from the vein is good enough for you?” My tone is scathing.
“I don’t… No.” He stammers, and I roll my eyes. “No, this place I go to in Portland started using glass bottles a few weeks ago. I got used to not having that stale, plastic taste anymore, but I couldn’t find anywhere like that here. So…” he holds up the plastic bag, “back to plastic it is.”
“Huh," I say. It’s my turn to scrunch up my face, and I try to make all the different things I know abouthim make sense. It’s like piecing together a puzzle when half of them are missing the picture.
“Ready to practice? We’ve got some time before we need to head out.” He crinkles up the empty bag and drops it in the trash can under the sink, then takes a swig of mouthwash before returning to my side.
“Sure, yeah.” I attempt to clear my head as we settle on the floor pillows, mirroring each other.
We fall into an easy rhythm, with me following the breathing pace he sets, and it takes enough focus to use the proper muscles that my mind doesn’t wander.
Well, not at first anyway.
After a couple minutes, I start to notice him. His intensity, and the way he focuses on this task, this moment, as though it is the only thing in the world right now. The dark lashes that sweep against his cheekbones every time he lowers his gaze. The muscles cording his forearms.
“You’re getting it," he says, interrupting my thoughts and I blink back into reality. “Let’s add in some grounding.”
He instructs me to stand and copy his movements, as we did before. He plants his feet shoulder width apart, and I copy him. He stomps each foot, and I startle, my wide eyes darting from his feet up to his face, and that sideways smile invites mine out to join it. Without a word, he deliberately stomps one foot, followed by the other, then looks pointedly at my feet.
I stomp and my stomach tenses in an effort not to laugh.
This is so weird.
He raises his arms up above his head, spreading his hands wide, and tips his head back with his eyes closed. I don’t mind this form of teaching; staring at him is turning out not to be a hardship at all. In fact, I wonder if maybe we should add a lunch session to our routine, too. Before I can follow hismovements, my skin tingles and fluffy, perked ears twitch into being on my head.
I sigh and drop my arms; the sound bringing Asher’s attention back to me, and his arms fall too as he opens his eyes.
“Ah, well, now we can see if this helps," he says. “Again, from the beginning.”
He puts his hand on his stomach, jutting his chin at me to do the same, then closes his eyes and breathes. I follow for three breaths before he adjusts his position, planting his feet and then taking a deep inhale as he reaches for the sky.
I mimic his movements, breathing in and noticing how the air fills my lungs as I reach as high as I can. I close my eyes and tilt my head back as I exhale, pulling my hands into my chest. I take another breath, not caring if I’m going off script; I’m doing what feels right, what my instincts are telling me to do.
When I open my eyes a couple breaths later, there’s a new expression on his face.
“You did it," he says, his intense eyes sparkling with triumph.
I suck in a quick breath. My hands dart to my ears, and a smile blooms across my face. I feel lit up from the inside. Invincible.
“I did it!” I squeal. My first time having any sort of control over the shift. I’m about to burst, so I throw my arms out and leap into him.
Physical touch is natural for shifters; apparently, it’s foreign to evil vampires. Asher stumbles back a step before his entire body goes rigid. My arms are wrapped around his waist, my face smashed into his chest, when I feel his hands tentatively curl around each of my upper arms.
