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Well, she will be in for an unusual surprise when we start training.
I leave my tail unbrushed so she will not get the wrong idea, and put on a simple robe. We eat dinner in silence, Kim looking flustered as she picks at the meat pockets. They are good, but I prefer just the meat and force myself to swallow the thick, bready parts that do not sit well in my carnivore stomach because my mate worked so hard on them.
She takes our plates and gives me a smile as she stands up. “Cards tonight?”
I shake my head. “Tonight, we start your training.”
“Even though you’re tired?”
“Even though,” I agree. “Come. Let us head to my war room.”
Kim murmurs assent, setting the plates down in the kitchen and following me as I head through the house. I enter my war room, select training weapons from the wall, and then touch a panel. The floor shifts, the easy seating disappearing and a thick, springy pad rolling out over the floor. New walls descend from the ceiling, covered with a similar pad so we can practice in a safe environment. Kim watches all of this with awe, her mouth falling open.
“I didn’t know this was here. How much did it cost to set this up?”
I chuckle. “Many things are cheap here.”
“Not enough,” she says, and I know she is thinking of her poor farm.
I feel like a fool for bragging about my wealth. “Come. Let us get started with your training.” I fling my robe off and toss it aside. “Strip.”
“I beg your pardon?” Kim’s strangled voice raises an octave.
“Strip,” I gesture, indicating her clothing. “A true gladiator fights with no clothing for his opponent to use against him. I will teach you how to protect yourself first, and later on, we will add clothing to our practice rounds so you can know how to use it against the enemy.”
“I’m going to be fighting naked?”
“Is that a problem?”
I can tell she wars with the thought for a moment. Her throat works, and then she lifts her chin. “No. No, it’s not.” She puts her fingers to the collar of her tunic and touches the auto-fastener. It zips down her body, and then her clothing falls away. Kim swallows hard and steps out of the fabric, then turns to face me, her body pink and exposed.
And not entirely furless. She has a small patch between her thighs that I did not notice in the human porn vids I watched. I decide I like it, quite a bit. I study her hips, her legs, her arms, and notice she is soft all over. There are no cords of muscle, just more and more softness.
Kim crosses her arms over her breasts. “You’re staring.”
“Merely assessing your muscle tone.” Now that she has her arms over her breasts, I do notice that they are round and soft, with enticing pink tips that harden in the cool air.
She snaps her fingers twice at my face. “I’m pretty sure I don’t have any muscle tone there.”
I laugh, because I am caught. “You are right. Let us begin.”
Kim sucks in a deep breath. “I’m ready.”
34
NASSAKTH
Kim trembles as I hand her the sword, still sheathed. She takes it by the pommel and bites her lip.
“Are you scared?”
“No, I’m naked.” Her cheeks turn a fiery pink. “And you are, too. It’s fine. I’ll get over it.”
I grunt. This is something she will need to get used to. “Come here and I will show you the proper way to grip your sword.”
“Well that sounds dirty,” she breathes, but she does as she is told.
I pull her against my chest, her back to my front, and put my hands over hers. “Your grip goes here. Holding your sword in the right spot is the difference between a strong, precise hit, and snapping your own wrist.”
She sucks in a breath, looking down at our hands. Mine is so large against hers that her fingers disappear under my grip, and her small body tucks against mine perfectly. My cock stirs at her nearness—like this, her head nestles perfectly under my chin, her mane tickling and smelling of her. I force myself to focus on the task at hand. “Draw your sword.”
When she does, her grip changes, and I make a sound of frustration. I put the sword back in the sheath again and adjust her hands.
“Draw it again.”
I make her draw it seven times before I am pleased with the way she holds it. “It feels weird,” she complains. “It’s stronger if I hold it the other way.”
“It might be stronger, but one wrong hit and your wrist will break. You will learn to hold it like this. It is not up for discussion.”
“I think I like you better outside this room,” she grumbles, the sound charmingly cranky. But she sheathes the sword and pulls it free in a motion that is not fluid, but her form is correct.
