“Oh, I didn’t mean you specifically. I meant all humans.” Crouching next to me, he put one hand on the small of my back and the other on my sternum. I nearly shot to my feet, jolting beneath his touch, but his grip was firm. “So flighty.”
“A little warning wouldn’t have killed you,” I seethed.
“It wouldn’t have been nearly as fun.” He chuckled, then coaxed my back to straighten. “You sit like an aged crone. Lengthen your spine. Relax your shoulders. Breathe through your stomach.”
“What is the purpose of all this?” My heart thrummed rapidly, and I had the sickening feeling he could feel every unruly beat against his palm.
He let his hands fall away and stood, resuming his slow, circular path around me. “The power you have makes you weak. It drains you of life each time you mend.”
“I’m aware,” I muttered.
“Because breathing is instinctual,” he continued without acknowledging my comment, “most never pay it a second thought. But if you can optimize your breathing, you can funnel more power to your magic and better harness your innate abilities.”
“Do all Evers do this?”
He tsked. “We hardly need to.”
“Of course, because why would you?” I tempered my irritation with a deep exhale that broke the rhythm I’d established. Rorik moved before I could inhale. One moment he was lazily circling me—like a predator so far above the prey he had his sights on thathe needn’t bother with stealth—and the next he’d crouched before me. With one swift movement, he jammed two fingers into the center of my stomach.
My ribs collapsed as what little air was left in my chest escaped in a rush. I keeled to the side and wrapped my arms around my abdomen, begging my lungs to inflate as a stinging pain spiderwebbed across my torso. Tears prickled against my eyes until, finally, my body shuddered and my gasps were rewarded with air.
“What the fuck?” My words were weak but sharp. Rorik didn’t seem to care. The only movement he’d made was to drape his hands over his knees. He regarded me with a single brow raised and a sly twist to his lips.
“You need to work on your lung capacity. Physical training will help with that.” He stood abruptly and cradled the back of his head with his hands. “There are a few ways we can achieve that. Running, combat training, or maybe you prefer exercise within the confines of a bedroom?”
My teeth gnashed together as I went toe to toe with him. Whatever minimal control over my emotions I had left fled with the breath he’d stolen from me, and I was filled to the brim with the fervent wish to smack him across the face.
“I would never sleep with you.”
“Even if it paved the way for greater power?” He leaned closer, his words a whisper against my skin.
“Never.”
Something flashed in his eyes, and his devilish grin faltered for a second before he schooled his lips back into place. “Don’t worry. The feeling is entirely mutual.”
“You’re absolutely vile.”
“I know.” His canines somehow sharpened, and my breath caught in my throat. Then he gently pressed his fingers against the same soft spot of my stomach. My body tensed in anticipation, expecting the harsh repercussion for once again demonstrating anirregular breathing pattern. But instead of a sharp jab, he applied gentle pressure. It was reminder enough, and once I’d gotten a grip on my wild breath, he pulled his hand away. “What a nuisance. I can hardly follow you around all day reminding you to breathe.”
He inclined his head toward the leaves of the tree and let out a quiet, low whistle. At first I thought it was merely another expression of his disappointment, but then a faint movement caught my eye. A palm-sized, mothlike creature with pink and yellow fuzz fluttered down from the branches to land on Rorik’s shoulder. It was unlike any insect I’d ever seen, with glassy blue eyes and spiral horns just above its antennae. Rorik bent to the ground to snag a blade of grass, and he held it before the moth. It willingly accepted his offering with a soft chittering.
“This is Ywena.” Rorik didn’t look at me. His attention was solely focused on the creature resting on his shoulder, and for the first time since meeting him, I saw a glimmer of something gentler. The ceaseless mischief in his expression was absent, the curl to his lips softer, more relaxed. The creases near his eyes were ones of joy, not scorn or frustration or anger.
“A moth?” I inched closer.
He snorted, and Ywena fluttered her wings. “She is as different from moths as Evers are from humans, but I suppose they look similar. She’ll be your companion for the time being.”
At that, Ywena took flight and erratically circled the crown of my head before perching against the crook of my neck. Her touch was silk against my skin, and if not for her size, I might have passed off her delicate grip as a lock of hair teasing my collarbone.
“Why?”
“She’ll help you with your breathing.” Rorik’s gaze remained on her, that same warm expression still fully intact. If he dared to look at another being that way, Ever or human, I had no doubt they’d give in to his every whim. My pulse climbed higher at the weight of his gaze, on me but notonme, and my breath quickened.
And then a tiny shock jolted through me, and I yipped. It was gone as quickly as it’d appeared, stemming from the space Ywena had claimed and racing through to my fingertips. My eyes widened at Rorik’s chuckle.
“Did she just shock me?” I asked.
This time, he met my gaze. No warmth. Just mischief and hunger. “Yes. She can detect even the smallest fluctuations in your heartbeat, your breathing, your emotions. So long as she’s touching you, of course. And until I deem you skilled enough to breathe on your own, she’ll be with you at all times. Understood?”
