“And what if I try to sabotage your visit?” I asked.
He didn’t even blink. “Then I’ll punish you,” he replied smoothly, his easy movements gaining a hint of intent.
There was one move I’d learned that hit a nerve, one that might actually work here. He disliked being thought of as a monster.
“What are you going to do? Tear me apart like you did that Grim?” I taunted, and was rewarded with the tense outline of tendons along his jaw.
I swung at his chin, missing by a fraction of a second as he dodged. I pulled back just as he started to counter.
“Oh, low,” he said, eyes narrowing, hands hovering in front of him now. “I like it low.”
My pulse stuttered.
He feinted left, and I shifted to block, but in an instant, he pivoted to my right, too fast for me to counter. His elbow slammed into my midsection, and the world tilted as I hit the mat.
A sharp pain tore through my diaphragm, stealing my breath.
“You all right there?” Reagan asked.
I gave him a grimace of a smile. “Just perfect,” I murmured, pushing past the pain. But as I tried to stand, a tug in my stomach pinned me down.
His gaze drifted to where I clutched my middle. “Lie down.”
I faced him as he crouched beside me. “Why?”
“Just humour me.”
I leaned back against the rubber mat, letting my muscles sag and breathe.
“Gwinifer was right,” I said dryly. “You’re a terrible instructor.”
Reagan met my gaze, his hand hovering over the spot where his elbow had struck, just between my ribs. There was a flicker of challenge there.
I had definitely struck a nerve.
“Does it hurt?” he asked, fingers pressing lightly against the spot.
“It’s fine,” I said, flinching as he applied pressure.
“Uh-huh. Mind if I lift your shirt?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yes.”
His face had gone cool, unreadable. He wasn’t that bothered by my words; he kept fighting, which suggested that something else annoyed him.
“I can take the pain away,” Reagan said, his brows flat. “I just need to touch your skin.”
“It’s not necessary,” I said, brushing his hand away.
“I’d rather not send you off on your first assignment injured,” he insisted.
Injured? That was excessive. Was he actually bothered by this? I nearly laughed. Gwinifer had struck me countless times and never looked the least bit apologetic. Butheregretted hurting me?
Interesting.
“Fine,” I muttered, lifting the hem of my shirt with one hand and propping myself up with the other.
He placed a hand just above my navel, stiff and clinical. A rush of warmth prickled across my skin, his power spreading intiny pulses, like sparks running from his tendons and vanishing beneath the sore spot.
