“Jesus,” she murmured. She turned once more to meet his gaze. “This is like some kind of miracle.”
He was done moving furniture and stood in front of her. “You’ve got the right grip on your weapon and your stance is perfect.”
She nodded. Her mind still felt a little loose, like it had been stretched to great lengths and was finding its way back into itself. However, when he folded his sword into his hand, she felt a thrill roll through her, a warrior’s thrill. Holy hell. A smile pulled at her lips and cheeks. A smile? Goddamn, she wanted to fight and now she had a new vocabulary.
All down both sides of her back, angling in a wide V-formation, she felt a tingling sensation. Wing-locks?
What a rush.
She didn’t have them yet, of course. Kerrick said given her level of power she might develop wings before the first year was out. Right now, she did feel their presence, their beginning, and it was a rush. If she ascended, she would grow fangs and wings. Of course, that was one thought too many, and she weaved on her feet.
Better to focus right now on just the sword, just learning to fight for who-knows-what-reason.
When he narrowed his eyes and dropped his shoulders, her biceps flexed as though understanding exactly what he meant by those simple physical signs. She brought the sword in front of her and held it with both hands, fully upright. She felt a need to growl, which was ridiculous but then in this moment she was more warrior than therapist, more Kerrick in muscle memory than Alison.
He nodded in approval but his chin dipped and his eyes took on that fierce cut-emerald appearance, entirely without compassion.
He came at her, a blur of preternatural speed. She folded behind him, he whirled, she engaged. Engaged. Her arm rang with deadly vibrations as the steel of his sword met hers. Her muscles bunched and jerked with a wild thrill.
She no longer thought, she anticipated. Every technique Kerrick possessed now flowed into her mind, became part of her. The sword was a mere extension of response and reaction, which translated rhythmically into attack.
The Queen Creek house filled with shared grunts, a deafening sound of clashing heavy steel, and the smell of two bodies full of sweat and aggression.
The Matrix came to mind.
What a tremendous gift he had given her. Something eased inside and she sent him a mental message. Kerrick, cease!
He drew back, his sword at the ready, which he quickly lowered as soon as he saw her blade drop at an unprotected angle toward the floor. “I have a chance now, don’t I? Say it. I need to hear you say it.”
His sword disappeared. He closed the distance between them, shoved her sword-arm away from him, and drew her into a tight embrace. She felt the shudder flow through him, a rippling that began in his arms and shoulders, then passed through the heavy muscles of his pecs, his abdomen, even his massive thighs. “Thank God,” he murmured against her ear.
She folded her sword to the far corner of the guest room and held him tight. Only then did she understand how completely hopeless he had felt about her plight. Tears burned her eyes as she nestled her drenched face against his cardamom wet shoulder.
After barely a minute, however, Alison stepped away from him, her mind caught up in her new reality. She folded her sword back into her hand then swiped the blade twice through the air. “The Commander has plans for me, then Endelle ordered you to train me, but for what kind of engagement is unclear?”
“Exactly.”
“So this isn’t just about being able to defend myself if, say, another regiment of death vampires would happen to show up at your front door?”
He shook his head. “I doubt it,” he responded.
Okay. She really didn’t want to consider just what Darian had in mind for her. If she did, she’d go crazy.
For the next quarter hour, he worked her hard until she was once more gasping for breath and her muscles were screaming. She folded her sword to safety.
He brought her another Gatorade. She took it, unseeing. She drank. He massaged her arms and shoulders and healed her muscles to the extent he could. She ached, though not nearly so badly as she would have without his help. She consumed another carb bar.
The next session involved even greater speed. In the beginning, she struggled. A few minutes later, she got the hang of countering his speed, moving swiftly, folding swiftly, and anticipating the swings and thrusts of his sword until she met him blow for blow.
She wasn’t, however, used to the physical demands of battle. She grew weary as he forced her backward down the hall in the direction of the guest room.
She decided to try something. She threw a blast at him with a flick of her wrist. He returned the blast in even greater force and she barely got out of the way as she rolled into the guest room. Unfortunately she tripped, stumbled, and fell on her arm. She barely missed cutting her leg with her sword.
“Ow,” she shrieked.
Of all the ways she might have been hurt while training with a sword in her hand, spraining her wrist seemed the most ridiculous. At the same time, she knew Kerrick wouldn’t stop, especially not when she was at her weakest.
She felt his attacking airwaves and used all her power to set up a field. She didn’t even know what that was, but she saw it in her mind and erected it. When she looked up, all six feet six of him, all tough muscled dips and swells of her warrior teacher, lay suspended in the air above her.
Suddenly he smiled. The room was dark so all she saw was the glittering of his teeth and the flash of his eyes, but he was smiling.
She felt his sweat as it dripped through the field onto her chest.
I fell on my wrist, she sent, laughing. Can you believe it? She folded her sword back to the corner of the room out of harm’s way.
She gently released him. He dropped off to the side of her and rolled onto his back.
“This is so awesome,” he cried. He folded his sword away as well and crossed his wrists over his forehead.
She sat up. Her T-shirt and pants were completely soaked and every muscle in her body hurt. She twisted at the waist to look down at him. She took a deep breath before asking, “Why did you say that?” She rubbed her wrist.
“In all the decades I’ve trained warriors I’ve never had one capable of creating a field.” He glanced at her. “You can use that. If you have to battle death vamps, you can use a fucking field.”
The act of love,
Swallows all pain.
—Collected Proverbs, Beatrice of Fourth
Chapter 16
Still on his back, Kerrick said, “Now lie down and give me your wrist.”
Alison stretched out beside him and held her left arm out. Where her damp skin touched the carpet, she itched.
Still on his back, he massaged the muscles and ligaments, working his thumbs over her skin. Warm healing flowed through her wrist. She sighed as the pain subsided.
When he was done she rolled to face him, reclining her head on her arm. The room was dark. Somewhere in all the training, night had fallen. With just a thought, she turned on the bedside lamps.
Kerrick shifted onto his side toward her as well but leaned up on his elbow. His long black hair hung in damp strands, but he looked hot as hell. He brought a dry cloth into his hand then wiped her cheeks and her forehead.
How normal this all felt—I turned on the lights with a thought and he folded objects into his hand from other parts of the house.
“What am I doing here?”
“You’re staying alive. Same thing you’ve been doing on Mortal Earth. It’s just a little harder now, at least for a time.” He mopped his own face. “That was pretty great, you know.” He lowered his chin as he met her gaze. A smile eased over his lips. “I launched myself at you and then I was just lying in midair. I think you’re amazing. Just amazing.”
Alison looked into intense green eyes. Heat climbed her cheeks. She smiled.
So, he thought she was amazing. No one had ever said anything like that to her before. Her parents had always been kind and supportive. But they had never said she was amazing—how could they when they were so busy being worried about her all the time?
Solitude, even loneliness, had made up her life until this moment. She didn’t want to overlay this time with Kerrick with too much meaning, but she fit in this world, in his world. For the first time in her life, her strange abilities made sense to her.
He even taught her to battle with a sword by streaming his memories because she was powerful enough to receive the information from him.
“Amazing, huh?” she responded. She extended her hand toward him and with the backs of her fingers touched his cheek.
He drew in a quick breath. “With a capital A.” As his cardamom scent once more rolled in a powerful wave over her, he frowned and shook his head. “We should get back to work.” His deep voice sounded rough, even hoarse.
He started to get up. Alison quickly slid an arm around his neck. “Stay just a second.” She leaned up on her elbow now, and her arm tingled where it lay over the thick muscles of his shoulder. “I just want you to know that I’m really grateful you’re here with me, that you’re training me and taking care of me. Thank you.” She rose up a little more and planted a kiss on his lips then drew back, but only an inch or so. She kept breathing in his wonderful scent.
His gaze dropped to her lips. “We should keep working,” he muttered, more quietly this time. “We really should.”
She leaned in again and drifted her lips over his cheek. She licked his salty sweat. He growled softly. More cardamom broke over her senses. She closed her eyes and moved back to his lips. She kissed him again, her tongue rimming his lips. Her hand drifted over his powerful pecs. Her fingertips tingled this time even through his soft, damp T-shirt. His chest rose and fell rapidly. As she worked his lips, she sent, You took care of me. Now how about we take good care of you.
A heavy growl left his throat. Even so, he drew back and looked down at her. “This isn’t a good idea for so many reasons.”
“Then stop with the spice.”
He closed his eyes and drew in a ragged breath. “Lavender,” he murmured.
* * *