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“You need the ability to defend yourself even if you never use it.”
“Fine,” she says, standing and dusting off her knees. I grab a couple of small daggers and go over the basics of grip and stance with her.
“Like this?” she asks. A light breeze would knock her over, standing like that. I shake my head, moving to grab her leg and shift it to the right. My hands slide down her calf, savoring the nearness of her.
“This is about balance. A good stance will help you dodge attacks and keep your footing. If you’re knocked prone, it’s over. I’m going to push you. Try to stay on your feet.”
My palms knock into her shoulders, starting with a soft nudge. She stumbles back three steps from a single light shove.
By the Gods, this is going to be painful.
Her eyes narrow with determination as she resets her feet. Again. I adjust her stance and shove lightly. She stumbles back only two steps, her brow pinching together.
Progress.
Three hours inch by. Me pushing. Her stumbling. Correcting her stance. It’s a never-ending cycle of bodies and movements, and I sink into ensuring that she will be adequately prepared to face danger, should the need arise.
Being so close to her, however, is playing havoc on my senses.
By lunchtime, we each welcome the break. The fire pit lay empty and cold, a mirror of the air between us. The sandwich I made for her squishes in her tight grip as she angrily tears into it.
As soon as she finishes lunch, she stands and wordlessly motions for me to start again. My lips press into a thin line at being beckoned, but I stand anyway, moving quickly to bump into her hip. The center of her gravity.
This time, she falls on her ass with a loud grunt.
“What the hell, man?” she shrieks.
“Always be ready. Standing in line for the bathroom? Set your stance. Beckoning me to come push you? Place your feet correctly.”
Standing, she raises her hands to my chest, pushing me back. Her hands hit a hard wall of muscle, throwing her back a half-step. Her eyes widen slightly with frustration.
I raise my chin as I shove her again, trying to prove my point. The ground meets her with a loud crunch of gravel as she releases a roar of frustration. She kicks out her leg against my knee, sending a painful pop through my leg.
With a sharp intake of breath, I shift my weight to my other leg as Mira pops up to her knees, slamming her hands against my hips. I let my weight shift to see how she responds, and fiery eagerness flashes across her face.
Squatting on the ground, she shoves me again, harder and faster this time. I lean forward to shove her back to the ground when she catches me by surprise, slamming her whole body against mine with a jolting leap into my center of gravity. This time, I actually shift my weight to keep from stumbling.
When she roars and launches herself into my midsection again, I let her take me to the ground. She’s obviously not going to stop.
Our bodies land in a tangled heap against the sharp gravel. Grabbing her thighs, I slam her down, rolling on top of her to pin her. My hips press against hers while my hands hold her wrists over her head.
“Bastard,” she breathes.
“You attacked me.”
I can’t keep the amusement from my voice, and her eyes light with fire. Her ferocity catches me by surprise.
Maybe that’s why she’s my mate.
The thought flashes through my mind as quick as it disappears.
Mira wiggles and squirms beneath me, bringing her legs around me to ram her heel into my back. Again and again she kicks, grunting with effort, before finally falling still with a heated huff of air against my face.
My gaze crawls across her face slowly, really taking her in. So much pain rests in those eyes, but inside there’s resiliency. I like that about her.
My nose rests only inches above hers as I become painfully aware of her legs around me, my hips pinned between her legs. A flash of heat stirs in me as I yank myself off her.
Slowly, Mira sits up, brushing the gravel from her arms where I pinned her. Angry red marks dot her skin as she rubs them.
