He frowned and narrowed his eyes at me. “You need a weapon. For now, you can have one of mine. Come here.”
I approached his side of the bed cautiously and, after sizing me up, he reached for a belt on the night table, one of many. “Arms up,” he said.
I lifted my arms and he fed the strap of leather through my belt loops.
“Does Teresa carry a knife?” I asked. It was hard to imagine a girl who looked for dresses and dollies also wielding a weapon.
“She carries two and she knows how to use them.” He tried to buckle the belt, but it was too large for my waist.
“That’s fine,” I said when he went to adjust it.
“Let me just…” He removed the belt in one deft tug and notched another hole in the leather with the tip of his knife, then fit me with it again, pulling the strap until it was snug. His hand gripped the front of my pants as he tugged, the backs of his knuckles brushing against my navel. I shivered from the contact—only because I was ticklish there. Finally satisfied with the fit, he attached a leather sheath with a blade already tucked inside and arranged it so that it lay flat against my hip.
“Is that the knife you used to—”
“No,” he said sharply. “Now, draw your weapon like you mean it.”
I made a grab for the handle and yanked it out clumsily, then held the knife in front of his face. It seemed sharp enough, like it could do some damage, but Cipher didn’t even flinch–he wasn’t scared of me at all. Still, his roving eyes examined me.
“Hold it like this.” He wrapped my fingers around the handle with my thumb just beneath the blade. “Like you’d hold a hammer. You don’t have as much control this way, but it’s a good grip for beginners.” Still holding my hand, he stood and circled me, blanketing my body with his own, like when he’d held me in the kitchen. His skin was warm, which stirred up the wrong sort of interest, and he clearly knew what he was doing, but he wasnotmy friend.
“This is how you jab.” He gripped my knife with his fingers on top of mine, modeling the motion with his arm pressed flush against my own. I tilted my head so that I could hear his instructions. He adjusted my positioning and tucked my elbows inward, closer to my body. “This is a protective stance. You’re short, so go for the gut. Soft places. Strike hard and with conviction, as many times as it takes. Get up under the rib cage if you can.” He guided my hand like a puppet, jabbing rapidly at an invisible assailant. “Now, you try it,” he said and stepped away.
I attempted the same motions, but it wasn’t nearly as fluid or fast.
“That’s good, but you can’t hesitate. If there’s a threat, a Rabid or someone else with bad intentions, you need to do as much damage as possible before they get a hold of you. Because once they do, it’s too late.”
I made a few more attempts, and he nodded with satisfaction. “We’ll practice more later. Always have it on you, even when you sleep or take a shit. Try to keep it clean and dry. But remember, in your case, your best bet is to run.”
“Run? Why not fight?”
His shrewd eyes appraised me from head to foot. “Respectfully, Kitten, a Rabid would make a Whopper Junior out of you.” I dropped my gaze, cheeks burning with embarrassment, and he said, “But I bet you’re a fast runner.”
“I am fast,” I said. I could sprint really well, though not for very long on account of my asthma.
“You could probably outrun a Rabid. Not me though.” He tapped his leg. “Which is why I had to get good at fighting.”
“Did someone bite you?” I asked, sheathing my knife while he inventoried his own weapons.
“Yeah.”
“Someone you knew?”
“Yes.” He glanced back at me, and I saw a flash of something in his eyes. Pain? Regret? “How about you, Kitten? Any disabilities I should be aware of?”
“No, none at all,” I was quick to assure him. He already thought I was feeble and weak. No need to give him proof.
“Ever had the fever?”
“We all came down with it at the same time. Santiago, my brother, thinks we got it from undercooked meat. He and I recovered. Mostly.”
“Mostly?” he asked.
I wasn’t going to tell him I was hard of hearing in addition to having asthma and being small for my age. Not like he could do anything about it anyway, and that was just ammunition for him to use against me later. “Cipher’s an interesting name. How’d you get it?”
“Well…” He brushed the back of one hand against his shirt. “It must be because I’m so… mysterious.”
I barked out a laugh. “You asked people to call you that because you thought it sounded cool?”
