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Her breath hitched as she took in Killen’s seductive smile, filling her more than his food.
Her core heated up. Fokk.
‘I’ve had enough,’ Sana’a murmured, her voice husky and low as she rose.
He nailed her with a look and dragged a hand through his hair. ‘Training now?’
‘Naam, follow me,’ she clipped to the three men, leaning up and away from the table with her bowl in hand. She rinsed it in the sink before making her way to the íkhara.
Her sudden abruptness was more about her annoyance with herself than with Killen.
Tracking as fast as she could from the kitchen, she rejected their heated exchange and forced their growing attraction out of her mind.
Chapter 19
Killen’s eyes lingered on Sana’a as she moved away from him.
With a huff and upturn to his lips, he levered himself to his feet.
His long strides soon caught up to her, and he found her in the practice space.
The íkhara was breathtaking, full of light and airy with its soaring krustallos and synth-steel roof.
The walls were lined with mirrors, adding to the sense of spaciousness.
Moonlight filtered through the translucent roof, casting a warm glow on the mats covering the floor.
Sana’a’s eyes scanned the space with a shrewd gaze. Assessing every nook and cranny, envisioning its transformation for her brand of training.
She flicked a glance to Killen as he sauntered close and came to a stop.
In the Kíríga’s shadow followed Kaxim and Kione, and she sliced her eyes at them as they approached.
Choosing silence, she studied the room while Killen in particular, studied her with keen eyes, arms crossed over his chest.
She pointed at a secluded corner near a large window. To where a beam of moonlight illuminated an expansive patch of the floor. ‘This is it.’
‘We’ll need to clear this area,’ she added.
In minutes, the Sab?r warrior trio and Sana’a began to push aside resting couches and excess equipment. ‘Remove any obstacles and create designated practice zones,’ she instructed.
Using chalk, Sana’a drew lines on the surface, dividing the space into sections for combat training, íkancasting, and physical conditioning.
Once she was satisfied with the arrangement, Sana’a turned to Killen. ‘Let’s begin with a demonstration of the shotel,’ she said.
She withdrew her two curved daggers from their wall hooks.
The glint of the blades in the moonlight was mesmerising as Sana’a moved with grace through the air, demonstrating the art of dual-wielding. The weapon was an extension of her body, slicing through the ether with deadly accuracy.
Her movements were a dance of precision and finesse, every strike executed with calculated intent.
It was as if she were conducting a symphony, each swing of her blade composing a beautiful and lethal melody.
‘Blade. Balance. Breath. Battle.’
Her murmur, which she repeated under her breath every few moves, reverberated through Killen’s being.
She had a way of manipulating her words like her swords, a purely instinctual ebb and flow of battle in her very bones.
