"No," Rook moved behind me, his large hands adjusting my hips, my shoulders, my feet. Each touch was clinical but sent heat radiating through me. "Drop your shoulders. Relax your jaw. You're too tense."
"I'm preparing to get my ass kicked by a werewolf," I pointed out. "Tension seems right."
"Relax or you'll hurt yourself before I even touch you."
I took a breath, trying to loosen the rigid muscles that had tensed automatically. Rook's hands remained on my shoulders, warm and steadying.
"Better," he stepped back. "Now, basic block."
He demonstrated a simple arm movement, showing how to deflect an incoming strike. I tried to mirror it and somehow managed to elbow myself in the jaw.
"Ow," I rubbed my face, ears burning with embarrassment.
From the couch, Zane made a sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. Rook shot him a warning glare before turning back to me.
"Again," no trace of mockery in his voice. "And watch your elbow position."
I tried once more, this time managing to complete the movement without self-inflicted injury. Small victories.
"Good," Rook circled me like a predator assessing prey. "Now I'm going to come at you slowly, and you're going to block. Don't overthink it."
He moved with deliberate slowness, throwing what was essentially a slow-motion punch toward my shoulder. I brought my arm up to block, only I misjudged the distance and smacked him in the jaw instead.
Rook's head snapped to the side.
The room went silent.
"Oh god," I gasped, mortified. "I'm so sorry!"
Rook worked his jaw, testing it. Then, to my complete shock, the corner of his mouth twitched upward. "Again."
"What? No! I just hit you!"
It kinda hurt too.
"Accidentally," he settled back into his stance. "Which means you've got some natural instinct for striking. We can work with that."
"I don't want to hit you again!"
"I can take it, Firecracker," his eyes held challenge mixed with warmth. "Come on."
This time when he threw his slow punch, I tried to block properly. My coordination betrayed me, and I tripped over my own feet, stumbling forward. Rook caught me before I could face-plant, his arms coming around my waist to steady me.
"Sorry," I mumbled against his chest, my face heating. "I have the grace of a drunken baby giraffe."
I felt rather than heard his rumble of amusement. "We'll work on that too."
From the couch, Zane's laughter finally broke free. "This is the best entertainment I've had in weeks. Please tell me you're recording this, Fenric."
"Bureau policy prohibits recording training sessions without proper authorization forms," Fenric replied primly, though I caught the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
"Liar," Zane grinned. "You're totally recording this."
"Moving on," Rook released me, stepping back to create space. "Let's try footwork."
Over the next thirty minutes, Rook patiently walked me through basic defensive movements. I tripped, stumbled, elbowed him twice more, and somehow managed to kick Milo when I lost my balance during a particularly ambitious pivot.
"I'm a danger to everyone including myself," I panted, collapsing onto the floor after my latest graceless tumble.
