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During their sparring, at times, she fixated on the quickening rise and fall of his chest.
On his jacked and shredded muscles that radiated an undeniable sense of sensual manliness.
He sometimes swayed closer, teasing her, his eyes gleaming.
Like he knew what he was doing. To her.
Each time he was close, his muscled form emitted such heat that she shivered, her nerves scalded yet yearning to drown herself in him.
One morning, after the magnetism between them became too much, Sana’a threw her shotel into its scabbard like she wanted to obliterate it.
It rattled into place so loud it sounded like a weapon had been unleashed in the íkhara.
‘Careful, Switchblade, he drawled, voice thick with emotion. ‘’Tis not the way you’ve taught me to treat your weapons.’
She ignored his attempt at cutting through her brooding.
Her dark, exasperated mood.
His silver eyes glittered as they followed her around the room.
Tracking her as she tidied up the various blades they’d used while he put the training mats away.
She came to a screeching halt when he ghosted behind her.
So close the hairs on the back of her neck rose.
He leaned and rasped into her ear, sending chills down her spine.
His voice was a rumble of need, yet with not a shred of arrogance in its deep, raw lilt.
‘You want this khany’s, and so do I, if I’m to be honest,’ he murmured. ‘The timing is up to you. But know that you will be mine, sooner or later.’
She shivered.
Not because he’d touched her. But because his words had snaked down her spine, through her heart, between her legs, through her heart and to her trembling thighs.
Chapter 20
‘You have a traitor in your midst.’
The words came from the woman seated in the íkhara’s welcome lounge across from Sana’a, Kaxim, Killen, and Kione.
She was cloaked in gold, her face hidden by an intricate beaked mask. She spoke from behind it in a soft voice.
She’d ghosted in just minutes before, interrupting a training session.
The íkan shield around the kíota had parted as she’d approached in a buoyant, silent, yet slow flight.
Neither of the King’s Armourers had acted surprised by her sudden appearance.
Instead, they’d welcomed her by taking her hand and bowing over it, a sign of their deep respect for her.
‘Is Kultur on-premises?’ the mystery guest added.
‘Nada,’ Kaxim growled. ‘He left for an unknown location earlier.’
‘Good, then we can speak without prejudice.’
