by Chloe Cole
Fighting, though? They'd definitely thrown me for a loop with this one.
"Is Gatlin responsible for this?" I asked.
But Michael didn't seem to be paying me any mind. He had straightened and was leaning down to grip my knee in one strong hand, urging me to widen the stance some.
I obliged and rolled my eyes, wishing like hell I'd thought to bring a pencil and paper so we could communicate more clearly. Although, more probably, it wouldn’t have mattered. It had begun to dawn on me that he was ignoring me on purpose.
He cocked his head and eyed me hard before reaching for my hands and lifting them in front of me, forming them into loose fists, one slightly in front of the other.
It felt strange at first, but as I relaxed the tension in my shoulders and legs, it very quickly started to feel natural.
"Like this?" I asked, shooting him a questioning glance. "Do I have it right?"
He tipped his head once and then scrubbed at his jaw as he eyed me thoughtfully. A second later, he held up a finger and turned away, crossing the hardwood floor toward a third door in the far corner.
"So, uh, am I just supposed to stand here like this while you…" I trailed off as he disappeared from the room. "All right, then."
Just when I started getting antsy and not a little irritated, he returned holding something made of black leather in his right hand.
He was still ten feet away when he tossed the bundle in my direction.
I caught it easily and shook it out. "Pants?" I asked, wrinkling my brow as I stared at them. "For me?"
He nodded again and gestured for me to pull them on.
"Right here?" I asked with a squeak, glancing around. It wasn't as if we were in public, and surely, before this was all over, Michael--and likely all the rest of the Saint John men--would see more than just my underclothes, but it was broad daylight, for crying out loud.
He rolled his ludicrously beautiful eyes and held up a finger as he slowly turned around to face his back to me. Then, he shot out one hand and rolled it in a "get on with it" gesture that made me want to laugh in spite of my hesitation.
Really, it only made sense. Trying to fight in a dress was silly and it wasn't like anyone else was going to see me. And, if I was being totally honest with myself, I had to admit that the attack last night had shaken me deeply. I was no weakling, but that marauder had overpowered me with an ease that even now took my breath away.
I might never be in that position again, but if I was? I would do well to pay attention.
Besides, I couldn’t deny it. I was beginning to believe that, regardless of our differences of opinion, the Saint John brothers might actually care a little about what happened to me. If they thought me learning to fight could be of help someday, then I was going to do my best to learn.
"Fine," I said, "but I'm irritated with Gatlin, so if this was his idea and he asks, don't tell him how amenable I was, would you? I don't want him thinking he's forgiven for yelling at me yesterday.”
It was all nervous bluster as I bent and lifted my skirts high in the air and struggled into the tight leather pants.
"These were clearly made for a man," I muttered, arching and wriggling to get the nefarious fabric over my thighs and hips. It took me a full three minutes to secure them and tie the laces but I'd done it.
"There," I said triumphantly but a bit short of breath. "Done," I said, letting Michael know he could turn around. But I needn't have bothered. His golden gaze was locked on me in the mirror wall to my right and clearly had been the whole time.
I opened my mouth to protest his underhanded actions, but the intensity of his gaze stopped me cold. My hands began to tremble as I let my skirt fall again around my ankles, but he turned to face me and shook his head slowly.
"Y-you want me to t-take it off?" I knew I was stuttering but I couldn't seem to stop.
He prowled closer, his body the picture of lethal strength and grace. My mouth went bone dry as he moved behind me and laid his fingers on the neck of my dress.
Nimble fingers began the daunting task of unfastening the hooks, one by one. The room seemed to be closing in on me as I fought the desire to sway backward, pressing closer to him so I might absorb his scent...his warmth...his strength.
When his fingers finally reached my waist, he stepped back and I found myself wishing there were more hooks. The thought was fleeting, though, as the bodice of my dress fell open as I sucked in one, heaving gulp of air. His own breath seemed to catch and then grow harsh. For one, aching moment, we stayed that way, until he broke the spell and began to move again, circling to face me. Every plane of his face was tight with tension and his eyes swirled with heat as he stared down at me.
I touched the tip of my tongue to my lips, wondering if he might kiss me. Wishing he would, but instead he dipped low, gaze never leaving mine, to grip the hem of my billowing skirts. In one, smooth motion, he lifted the dress over my head, hands skimming the sides of my body as he went, and then tossed the dress onto the floor in a heap of crumpled muslin.
I stood, watching him in nothing but my short shift and those damned leather pants, waiting. Wondering. Hoping?
But then his hungry face went blank and he fell back. He cleared his throat and gestured for me to put up my hands.
He pressed me back into fighting position and then lifted his fists, urging me with his eyes to do the same. I held my arm out and mimicked him, squeezing my fingers together to form a tight ball.
He shook his head and took my hands again, an arc of almost palpable energy coursing between us. We both stayed there, frozen for a second, but he recovered quickly and tapped my thumb lightly, encouraging me to cross it over my index and middle fingers.
I swallowed hard and did as he demonstrated, earning a low grunt of approval.
He let me go, stepping back, and I felt instantly bereft. I didn’t have time to think too hard about it, though, because he held up his bare hands and gestured at them with a nod.
“You want me to punch your hands?”
Nerves kicked up butterflies in my stomach. What if I humiliated myself? Or worse, what if I did something stupid and actually hurt him by mistake. I took a halfhearted swing, and hit his left hand, which didn’t budge.
He stood straight and glared at me before hunkering down again and slapping his hand hard.
I didn’t need the lecture. I could hear his thoughts as clear as a bell in my mind.
“Cut the shit, Anaya. Take a swing.”
I tried again, still feeling self-conscious and tentative. A few minutes later, though, with his wordless encouragement and his obviously indestructible hands, I started to let it rip, just swinging away.
The thwack thwack thwack of my blows grew louder, echoing through the room in the most satisfying way. From time to time, he would stop me and fix my grip, or demonstrate different punching techniques. It was both exhausting and cathartic and I loved every second of it. In my mind’s eye, I was back in the woods with that marauder, only we were both in human form and this time, I was kicking his ass.
I would’ve kept going forever, but after another thirty minutes, he straightened and stepped back.
My already sweat-dampened skin warmed with pleasure at his approving smile. He pointed to the grandfather clock in the corner of the room and I looked over, stunned to see how much time had passed already.
“All right, just a couple more moves, okay?” I asked, feeling rather like a child at Christmas.
He nodded and demonstrated several more modes of attack. A knee to the groin—which, he indicated very clearly, I was not expected to follow through with to completion—eye gouging, and then he showed me how to slam the heel of my hand into someone’s nose. I crowed with excitement as I executed each perfectly.
“Whoohoo, I’m doing it!”
As I repeated the round of exercises again, suddenly he wheeled around on me and pinned my arms above my head from behind.
Point taken.
I was getting
overconfident, which was easy when he wasn’t fighting back. I still had much to learn.
I opened my mouth to let him know that I understood, but as our gazes locked in the mirror, my already labored breathing went even more shallow. His eyes were alight with need, jaw flexing as a bolt of need shot to my very core.
Lord, was he a beautiful man.
My body took control and I leaned back almost imperceptibly until my bottom brushed against him. His lips parted and his nostrils flared, sending a wash of white-hot desire over me. Slowly, like he was moving under water, he moved his hand, gripping both my wrists in one now. Pushing my heavy mane of hair to one side, he bent low and brushed his lips over my damp nape. The sensation rocked me back on my heels and I whimpered. I reached behind me to drag him closer, but he let me go and stepped back, releasing his grip on my wrists.
“Michael, I—” I broke off, having no clue what to say, but full of roiling emotion that desperately needed an outlet. Already, though, he was moving toward the exit. “Thank you for the lesson,” I called, meeting his gaze in the mirror again.
His clipped nod was his only response and, a moment later, he was gone.
It was only when I was standing there alone in the center of the room, still staring in the mirror that, for just an instant, I saw me as Michael saw me.
My hair was a wild, deep red tangle around my shoulders. My eyes were gray, swirling storms that plainly shone my desire for him. My body was lush and curvy, the shape of my breasts clearly visible beneath the thin, white shift while the black leather hugged my hips and thighs like a second skin. My cheeks were rosy with lust.
I looked positively wonton. The things I—and pretty much everyone else—had always viewed as faults now made me feel…different.
Pretty.
Desirable.
Would I still feel that way when I left?
When Michael no longer conveyed his need for me without a single word?
When Gatlin’s kisses and the way they melted me from the inside out were a thing of the past?
When Connor’s reverent touch that made my flesh tingle suddenly ceased?
When Lucian wasn’t there to peer at me through hooded eyes, watching my every motion like I was his prey and he couldn’t wait to gobble me up?
In the days since I’d come to their home, I’d begun transforming. There was no question of that or the fact that I rather liked who I was becoming.
For the first time, I began to wonder if leaving might cost me even more than the four men I’d come to crave and care for…
And the thought of going back to being that sad, self-loathing girl again?
Broke my heart.
Chapter 13
“You should eat more than usual, Anaya,” Connor said, holding up the tray of chicken and extending it toward me. “Michael said that you had quite a work out.”
That was an understatement. In fact, I’d spent the rest of my day reading and trying not to replay every second of it in my mind because it had been pretty much all-consuming, and not just because of the lessons.
Michael glanced at me across the table and jerked his head, wordlessly urging me to take some meat from the platter.
I flushed and forked up a slice of dark meat before settling back against my chair.
“He says you did well and that, next week, once you’ve had a few more hand to hand combat lessons, he’s going to get you outside and do some training with you both in lion form.”
I guess it made a little sense. I was an asset of the king’s and who wanted damaged goods? But somehow I felt like it was more than that, and the sudden addition of these lessons made me feel cared for in a way I’d never known.
I’d gone from feeling terrified and alone the night before, to being grateful just to be alive today. Almost high with the sense that I’d gotten a second chance at life. The men seemed to pick up on my mood and, when Gatlin and Lucian joined us a little while later, dinner turned into a raucous, loud event. Jokes were lobbed back and forth as we ate and talked. I realized as I watched them that they were becoming more themselves around me each day. Even Lucian looked at me with a warmth in his gaze that hadn’t been there before.
As I studied him, he caught my eye and that warmth turned to heat.
As we finished dessert, he stood and padded over to my chair.
“Lesson with me tonight, if you think you can handle it.”
The chatter and clink of glasses and forks ceased as the room went quiet. All eyes were on me as I nodded.
“I—yes. I think so.”
I had no idea what I was agreeing to, but truth be told? It didn’t matter. The look on his face as he watched me? The way he devoured me with his stare? With this second chance at life I’d been given, especially now that I trusted them all so deeply?
I was willing to risk it. Whatever it was.
“Do you think it’s a little soon after—” Gatlin’s low voice chimed in but Lucian cut him off with a glare, the easy camaraderie fading for an instant as the two males locked eyes.
“I think you handle your training your way, and I handle mine my way. This is the perfect time, frankly. If you need me to explain why, we can talk privately.”
Gatlin’s frown smoothed and he nodded. “Whatever you think best, brother.”
Lucian turned to face me again. “Meet me in my room in fifteen minutes,” he commanded gruffly.
With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out, leaving the rest of us staring in his wake.
“He’s all right, you know,” Connor said, reaching for a chicken leg. “He seems like an asshole sometimes, but he’s got a heart of gold. Don’t let him frighten you, love. He’d never hurt you. Not really, at any rate.”
The qualification had my heart fluttering but before I could think too hard on it, I rose from my seat.
I wanted to wash up and change before my lesson and I had very little time. Something told me being late would be a very bad idea.
“If I don’t see you all later this evening, good night,” I murmured.
The three brothers all pushed their chairs back and stood.
“Good night, little one,” Gatlin said, nodding.
I scurried away, wondering if there was a limit on the butterflies one person could hold in their belly. Mine seemed to be in endless supply lately and were kicking up a storm inside me as I reached my room.
By the time I washed up and put on a fresh frock, I was a ball of anticipation. This would be our first time alone for any length of time and, in spite of our slightly rocky history. I was looking forward to it so much, it hurt. He was different than his brothers. Harder. Sometimes grim. Often aloof. But he also made want things I’d never even dreamed of wanting.
The room was dark when I arrived. The kind of dark that made the hair stand up on the back of my neck. A sizzle of fear ran through me and I shivered, crossing my arms over my chest. It took all my self-discipline not to shape shift into lioness form just so I could see better.
But the rules of the house forbade shifting indoors. I'd already gotten a small taste of what could happen when I broke the rules and it so wasn't worth it.
Sucking in a calming breath, I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. Instantly, Lucian's scent washed over me. My nipples peaked beneath my shift and I wet my lips.
God, what was wrong with me? How could I feel this strongly about four different men? Was I some sort of weirdo?
I thought back to the time before the Offering. Despite silly, childhood flirtations, I hadn't felt this way about a single one of them. Surely, that meant I wasn't some weirdo who got all hot and bothered over every male I saw.
But as I crept further into the room, ears perked up for any sound of movement, blood singing, I knew one thing.
I was definitely attracted to Lucian Saint John. My whole body hummed with it. My pulse raced with anticipation as I tried to imagine what would happen next. Would he creep up slowly and press a kiss to my mouth? Would he tr
ail a finger down the side of my face and lower, to trace my collarbone the way Connor had done? Or would he--
A gasp was torn from my lips as an arm wrapped around my neck tight. I'd barely registered the fact that it was Lucian when his hand dove into my hair, fisting the thick waves in one hand and jerking hard.
"Hello, Anaya," he murmured, his voice a low growl in my ear. Even as he spoke, he yanked me backward, pressing me flush against his rock hard body. "Miss me?"
“N-no, not really,” I whispered back, trying to sound brave but failing miserably. I should be terrified. It was still pitch black, and, of all the brothers—including silent Michael—he was the biggest mystery.
But there was no fear at the roughness of his touch. Just a stunning, all-consuming sense of urgency that felt like taffy stretching in my stomach and lower.
Dear god, these brothers were going to slowly drive me insane and then I wouldn't be fit for a pauper, never mind the king.
The thought sizzled from my mind as his hand splayed wide and closed more tightly around my throat.
"Can you feel my need, woman?”
His warm breath feathered my ear and I struggled to form a response as a wave of desire washed over me.
My answer didn't come quick enough for his liking and he ground his hips against my bottom before tugging sharply on my hair. "Answer me."
The answer was, oh yes, I felt it. "It" was the size of a zucchini, long and thick, wedged against the crack of my bottom, making it hard to think, never mind speak in coherent sentences.
"I-if you want me to talk, stop doing all that stuff," I shot back, barely able to get the words out. It was sheer bravado, though. A feeble attempt to keep him from knowing that I was one well-placed move away from melting into a begging puddle at his feet. Super sad since he'd barely even touched me.
Who was I anymore?
My head spun as the room tipped and turned. It took me a full second to realize he'd scooped me up and tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
