“I sort of walked right into that,” I admit with a grin.
“I reiterate, I like this one,” Alex repeats. “But come on, Rae. You don’t have to start with a broadsword. How about daggers?”
“Perfect,” I agree. “Target practice? Probably better I not start with sparring. I’d likely fall on my rear like you did.”
“That’s how you learn, love.” Kian winks.
“Target practice,” I repeat. As much as I’m itching to take him on, I’m out of practice and he’s clearly a better swordsman than my father . . . not that I’d tell Father that.
“Fine, you win,” Kian agrees.
Alex retrieves some small daggers, and we head over to the targets. Kian makes a show of how to properly throw them, and I try not to roll my eyes. To be fair, I haven’t actually admitted to them that I know what I’m doing. All the more fun for me to surprise them.
“Try not to cut yourself,” Kian says, and before he can utter another word, I let two of the daggers fly in rapid succession.
The satisfying thunk of the blades sinking into the wood makes me glow with pride. I haven’t lost my skill. I turn to look at the men, whose jaws are slack.
“She’s better at this than you are.” Alex laughs, punching Kian in the shoulder. Kian grunts, rubbing at a fresh scar. What could have caused that? I walk to the target to retrieve the blades, and while I didn’t hit a perfect bullseye, my throws aren’t half bad.
“I love a woman who knows how to handle a blade,” Kian purrs in my ear, and I almost jump.
“You should know better than to frighten a woman holding sharp objects.”
His answering laugh sends a thrill through me.
Kian, Alex, and I spend the next hour throwing blades from different angles and positions, all trying to best each other while attitudes remain light. It’s such a change from practice with my father, who easily got frustrated when I bested him. Not all men are equal.
“Now that you’re warmed up, how about a little knife sparring on the mat?” Kian asks before taking a long drink of water.
“I don’t know . . . I haven’t really done that before.”
“It’s one thing to throw knives at targets, but if you ever really needed to defend yourself, it would be helpful to actuallypractice with another person. Don’t worry, we’ll use dull practice knives.”
My mouth goes dry, and I swallow. “Is self-defense something I need to be worried about living in the palace?”
“Trust me, love, I hope you’re never in a position where you need to worry about that, but with a vigilante running around, you never know what might happen,” Kian says.
Alex chokes on his water, and I frown. “Are you okay?”
“Yep.” He coughs. “Fine.”
“If nothing else, it’s good exercise.” Kian grins.
Both men take turns walking me through some of the basic moves: simple thrusts, hooks, horizontal and vertical slashes. They guide me through them slowly, and I feel powerful and strong. It’s almost like dancing. Kian’s hand wraps gently around mine as he demonstrates the best places to attack if I were ever in a compromised position. The air crackles and hums with energy, drawing us together like magnets.
At some point, Alex makes his farewells and leaves the two of us alone.
“You’re doing wonderfully,” Kian says with a smile. He pulls his hair back and knots it on the back of his head, and my eyes are immediately drawn to his strong, beautiful neck, to his throat . . . where his pulse hammers. Hells.Stop looking, I chastise myself.
Ever since the librarian told me about demi-gods using blood to strengthen and revive themselves, I can’t stop thinking about it. Why this craving is stronger in Kian’s presence specifically is beyond me. Is it because I tasted it during the binding ceremony? My further research suggested the urge to drink faded with each generation, but that can’t be right. Surely the bloodline was diluted enough by the time it got to me.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, trying to focus.
Kian looks at me strangely, motioning for me to attack. I swipe at him with my right hand, but he easily twists out of the way, coming up behind me, holding my arms out of reach.
“You’re getting there. You just need to be a little quicker,” he taunts.
I twist around, thrusting up with my left hand, and he blocks the strike. I grunt in frustration. It would be nice to land at least one hit.
