Page 37 of Captured By Chaos


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Why did he have to be so damned good at his job? It still irked me to the core.

He peeked over his shoulder, that stupid smirk hanging on his lips as his words filled my head.“See something you like?”

I pushed the door open. “More like hear.” I forced myself not to slap my face for that comment the moment it left my lips. His brow arched, the glint of his green eyes reflecting in the harsh lighting. How could I be so awkward? “I meant you practicing. I heard your daggers flying from down the hall.” I wanted to cross my arms, but my bow case kept them planted against my sides, my grip tightening around the black plastic handle.

“Ah.” Nolan nodded, his fingers twirling the hilt of his next blade. “Were you going to shoot?” He gestured to my bow case. “Kind of late, isn’t it?”

“I could say the same to you.”

“Fair.” He smirked, the dark strands of his hair shaking against his forehead, a deep, rough laugh escaping his lips. “You could share this room with me.”

I frowned. “There are half a dozen others to choose from.”

“True, but I’ve been here two weeks and have yet to see the legendary Beta Kasha show off her skills.” He leaned against the far wall, propping his left foot against it. “I’d like to see what my archery master can do.”

“I’m notyourarchery master, I’m the Faction’s. And I don’t have to prove anything to you.”

“Semantics.” He waved his hand at me, my nose twitching at the gesture. “Still, I'd like to see for myself. If you’re willing.”

The urge to rebel poked at my insides, begging me to act out—to tell him to go do something inappropriate to himself and then stomp out of the room to find my own sanctuary to practice. I fought against it, dropping my case on the back table, clicking it open and pulling out my bow, the tight strings and soft black metal feeling like the missing limb it always was when it was out of my grip.

My hand hovered over my case of bolts, the fabric of my long-sleeved tunic itching against my skin—and I had no idea why I wrapped my fingers around the edges and pulled the thin fabric over my head. I convinced myself it was because I always shot like this when I practiced, in nothing but my black, crisscrossed tank top and breastband; it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that most of my tattoos were now on display for Nolan to see. My array of artwork and meaningful words scrawled across my body, showing off the highs and lows of my life so far.

I felt his hot gaze scanning me, taking in every inch of the skin I had just exposed, the tattoos and the jagged scar running down my neck and collarbone. His breath hitched, but I shook that off, slinging my bolt case across my back and picking my bow up once again, my heavy, booted footsteps echoing against the walls as I took my place in front of the target.

I took three deep breaths in as I nocked my first bolt and raised my bow so my left hand barely grazed my lower lip, staring down my target. I forgot that Nolan was there. I forgot about Elliot and his terror; I even forgot about my past. All I thought about was what was in front of me: my intended target.

I let one of my favorite piano songs dance through my mind, remembering the highs and lows of the melody, the music thrumming through me even just from memory. As it came to its first crescendo, I released, the arrow whizzing through the air and lodging straight into my dummy victim’s chest.

A smirk danced on my lips as I rapid-fired three more, all of them lodging in the same spot on the other dummies. Nolan exhaled loudly. “Goddess. People weren’t exaggerating when they talked about your skills.”

“I told you I didn’t have anything to prove.” I pulled my shoulders back, forcing myself to stare at the target instead of him as I leisurely pulled another bolt out and nocked it. “Not sure why you think I do.”

His boots thumped against the floor, echoing closer and closer as he moved behind me. “Tell me, what exactly do I think of you? Since you apparently know my mind better than I do.”

“I don’t know for sure.”

“Then tell me your theories.”

My fingers tightened around my bow, letting another arrow fly. “Who says I have any?”

“Call it instinct.” His footsteps faltered, sweat beading at the back of my neck at his nearness. “You seem like the kind of woman who always has a few theories for the unknown.”

Well, he had me there.

“Let’s see.” I pulled up a few ideas I had thought briefly about over the past few weeks, not pausing to second-guess myself. “Maybe you think I’m a spoiled legacy who relies on her bloodline and political connections to get ahead. That I’m Ollie’s sweet little sister. That I’m weak.” I didn’t look back; I couldn’t watch as his forest eyes confirmed all of it. A zip of electricity snaked down my spine, his broad build hovering behind me. “Go ahead, take your pick.”

“Huh.” The sound was odd in his deep voice, making the strength in my arm falter, my bow arm falling down to my side. “You don’t know my mind as well as I thought you did.”

My grip started to loosen, my obsession with maintaining my bow to perfection the only thing keeping my fingers wrapped around it. “Oh, really? Then whatwasyour first impression?”

Silence fell as he circled around me and forced his way into my line of vision. I stared at the dark, heather gray of his shirt, refusing to look into his tanned face. He was so close, only inches away, his spicy cinnamon scent mingling with the musky vanilla of mine.

“That you must be one of the strongest Ibridowyns in the country to survive what you did and still come back to the Faction,” he whispered, his arm twitching at his side, his eyes carving along the length of my scar.

I gulped, trying to force the lump to dissipate in my throat. “You don’t even know why I was in the hospital for so long.”

“No.” He shook his head. “But my previous statement still stands.”

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