Page 115 of Blade of the Nightking

All I could hear was the crash of the waves and my own heavy breathing. Still he didn't look away. Didn't step back. He was so close I could make out the silver flecks scattered through the rich brown of his eyes, tiny stars against the dark. I clung to his gaze until the last of my fire flickered and died.

My strength drained away, yet somehow I remained standing, as though the bond alone held me upright. His gaze drifted around the room, taking in the wreckage. It settled on the bow still lying abandoned on the terrace before returning to me.

One dark brow arched. “All this because you can't shoot a bow?”

“I know how to shoot a bow.” My throat burned as though I'd swallowed flame.

His expression didn’t move. “Shoot it, then.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Teach me something else.”

He examined me with unnerving intensity. He was enormous up close. I had to tip my head back just to meet his gaze. He could snap me in half with his bare hands if he wanted to—never mind what he could do with that terrifying, abyssal power of his.

But he didn't look at me like he wanted to tear me apart. He looked almost... puzzled.

“You’re upset.”

Hatred was the only thing keeping me rooted where I stood, the only thing stopping me from stepping back.

“Very observant.” I shot back.

He gave a small nod, some faint tension easing from his shoulders, though nothing else about him softened.

“Pick it up,” he ordered.

“No.”

A slow breath left him through his nose, like patience was becoming a finite resource.

“For someone your size, with your lack of physical strength, a bow is a logical weapon for you to master.”

“I said no.”

This time anger flashed openly across his face.

“It wasn’t a request.”

“I don’t care what it was. I’m not touching that bow.”

“This isn’t a holiday retreat where you pick and choose your lessons.” His voice sharpened. “You’re here to learn how to defend yourself.”

“Until this bond is broken and your life stops being tied to mine?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Until you stop being a walking threat to my existence.”

“Daggers,” I said coldly, crossing my arms.

He looked me over for a long moment.

“Daggers.” I insisted through clenched teeth.

“Very well,” he said finally. He turned toward the wall of weapons and selected two blunted daggers. My stomach tightened instantly.

“What are you doing?” I demanded as he strode back toward the mat.