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Dax remained, his ears forward, as though he were listening to every word as keenly as she was.
The light of day had revealed a small forest to the east, the morning was still early and a cool breeze rustled the thick green leaves of the trees. Once more, Thea was reminded just how different the realms were inland compared to the darkening horizons beyond Thezmarr’s cliffs. While the air was crisp on her skin, her nose tipped pink with the cold, it felt like it could have been the beginning of a spring day. Though she knew autumn was upon them, a biting winter at its heels, it was nice to pretend for a moment.
When they reached the edge of the forest, Hawthorne carved a rough circle into the trunk of a tree and turned to her. ‘I want you to watch me first,’ he said. ‘Take note of the movements I described and watch how I implement each action.’
Thea nodded. It was a request she was only too happy to meet. It also helped that when he wasn’t shattering her dreams, Wilder Hawthorne was easy on the eyes.
She found herself fixated on him as his tattooed hand crept to his quiver, soundlessly drawing an arrow and nocking it to his longbow. His feet were planted apart and his whole body seemed to expand as he drew the bowstring back with his powerful arms.
He moved slowly, for her benefit, she knew, and still the sheer force of him had her mesmerised. She could feel the forged Warsword magic humming around him.
He released the arrow. It went flying towards the target he’d carved. Although he’d made no mark for the middle, that was exactly where it hit. Dead centre.
The soft thud of the arrow in the tree and the subtle vibrating sound of the drawstring were music to Thea’s ears.
The Warsword shot again, and again, in a succession of smooth and practiced motions. The almost gentle drift of his hand to the quiver, the drawing of another arrow, nocking it, aiming and releasing… It was a beautiful dance to Thea.
She and Dax watched as Hawthorne strode to the tree and wrenched the arrows one by one from its flesh. She hadn’t realised how deeply they were embedded into the trunk until she saw the force with which he had to remove them. Another arrow flashed in her mind then, the one that had nearly struck her between the eyes, the one he’d fired in supposed warning at her. She said nothing of it though, not wanting to remind the Warsword, not when she was so close to getting her hands on a weapon.
When he reached her, he held the longbow out to her. ‘Let’s see what you can do, Alchemist.’ This time when he smiled, she appreciated the tug of his dimple fully. It made him look younger, less brutal for a moment.
Her fingers curled around the bow. It was bigger and heavier than she anticipated, though she supposed that was to be expected. She’d only seen it from a distance, or in the context of the warrior’s hulking frame, whereas she was much slighter. She didn’t care.
Thea planted her feet apart, just as Hawthorne had stood. There, she nocked her first arrow to the bow, her chest swelling as she did. She drew the string.
‘Hold it higher,’ came Hawthorne’s voice, closer than she had realised. A hand touched her elbow, lifting it gently. ‘There,’ he said. His breath was warm against her ear.
‘You need to give it more power than that,’ he told her. ‘Pull back.’
She did, trying to ignore the heat of his body so close to hers and the shock of that initial touch, almost familiar, yet still so new. But as fast as the touch had come, it was gone again and Thea quietly mourned its loss.
What’s wrong with me?she chastised herself.Here I am with a Warsword at my disposal for training and I’m thinking about batting my eyelashes? Has it been so long since I’ve —
‘More,’ he instructed, pulling her from her thoughts. ‘If I haven’t snapped it, you won’t.’
Her cheeks flushing now, Thea obliged.
‘Here.’ He stood behind her, his frame enveloping hers. He nudged her feet further apart with his and Thea spread her legs wider, face flaming as a pulse of desire coursed through her.
He placed his hand over hers on the bow, and his other over hers on the string. He made no mention of the scars that marredher skin, instead, gripping the bow in place, he drew her arm back, further, and further.
Good gods, she cursed, the hair on her nape rising. She was suddenly all too aware of the thundering of her own heart.
Focus, Thea, she told herself, returning her attention to her grip and her target in the distance, muscles trembling with the effort.
‘That’s it,’ he whispered. ‘Now.’
A shiver washed over her as his words tickled her neck and she released the arrow.
It soared through the air, the fletching but a blur as it shot towards her mark.
A soft thud sounded as it hit the tree. Not the targeted tree, but two over.
Thea swore.
The Warsword at her back laughed, the sound like music. ‘A touch wide there, Alchemist.’
Thea threw a hand up as she whirled around to face him. ‘You distracted me!’ she said without thinking.
