Dark Desires After Dusk (Immortals After Dark #6)(48)

“Eat these,” he said, handing her an unopened box of regular Saltine crackers, which she tore into.

For some reason, at that moment Gatorade and Saltines were sublime.

She began to feel better in minutes. “Thank you.”

“I live a life of service. Speaking of which, do you need any help getting dressed? Like you did getting undressed?”

At his words, all the events from the night before flashed in her mind, and her eyes went wide.

Not only had Cadeon been with Imatra last night, he’d also taken advantage of Holly’s first bout of drunkenness.

Through the haze of alcohol, she remembered him questioning her, coaxing answers from her about all kinds of things—private things. His voice had been so lulling, his demeanor relaxed.

Now she realized she’d been played.

Her face flamed as she recalled her disclosures: She didn’t touch herself ever—because she swam laps when the need got too strong, or else she had vivid dreams and would wake up right in the middle of . . . she thought he’d actually supplied the word coming.

Shaming, but true. She’d often dreamed of vigorous sex to the point of physical reaction . . . .

Her hands clenched, anger warring with her abject embarrassment. And then, she’d admitted to him that she was curious about sex, but that any intimate situation she’d been in had always ended up with her hurting someone.

She shook her head hard. His behavior was beyond low. He hadn’t taken advantage of her body, but of her mind—

He began drawing the cover off of her. “Fine, halfling, I’ll help.”

She yanked at the top sheet, irritably wrapping it around herself as she stumbled to her feet.

“Okay, now you really don’t need to do that blushing virgin bit anymore—I got to ogle your body at my leisure for hours. Matter of fact, I had so long, I could have painted you, instead of just taking pictures with my sat-phone.” He held up his phone with a wink.

“I loathe you,” she said, precariously bending to collect her toiletries and clothes. As she headed for the bathroom, she gave him the evilest eye she could muster . . . .

A long hot shower cleared much of the cobwebs from her head. And her stomach had settled. Once she emerged from the bathroom dressed for the day, she felt like a human being again.

She sighed. Or not. She couldn’t truly say.

“How’re you doing?” he asked.

“I’m perfectly fine.” I think I’m beginning to hate you. Which is good. I should be happy about that. It’ll help me keep my eye on the prize.

“You’re pissed about last night.”

“Shouldn’t I be? You took advantage of me.”

“I didn’t touch you!”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about,” she snapped. “You interrogated me.”

“You’re angry that I happened to ask you some questions when you happened to be drunk? I can’t figure it. But that doesn’t matter. At least you’ll be jacked up for training time.”

“What is this training you keep talking about?”

“I need to teach you how to fight. Sparring, self-defense.” When she made no move to cooperate, he said, “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

She raised her brows. “I do believe I took down a dozen demons all by myself.”

“You said yourself that you were in a rage. What if you don’t go into that state again? Or what if you want to fight someone off without killing him? As long as your life’s in danger, you need to be preparing.”

Sometimes she found herself forgetting that assassins wanted to murder her. “Would this involve hitting you?”

“Maybe.”

Nothing could be more compelling to her right now. “Then I’m in. What do you want me to do?”

“Take off your heels.”

Once she’d removed her shoes, he motioned for her to stand facing him. “If you take nothing else away from what I’m about to teach you, remember two things: Never hesitate. If the instinct to strike is there, then do it. And second, don’t be ashamed to run if you’re outnumbered—but only if you think you can get away. Otherwise you’re just wasting everyone’s time and wearing yourself out.”

She shrugged. “Okay.”

“Now, how would you engage me if we were facing off? Say you had to get past me or you die.”

“I’d try to hit you?”

“Unless you’re battling another chick—which I wouldn’t mind seeing if mud were involved—you shouldn’t punch at all.”

She pursed her lips. “I watch TV. What would a fight be without punches?”

“Okay, slug a haymaker at me.” At her frown, he said, “You watch TV but never boxing? Forget it. A haymaker is an all-out, full-force hit.”

The idea of battering his arrogant face had her clenching her hand in a fist.

“Do it now! Hit now—”

She did, aiming for his face; he turned so that the blow landed against his horn.

“Ow! That was unfair!”

“Don’t ever strike a demon above the throat. He’s going to use his horns in combat. And some of them can emit a poison from the ends.”

“Can you?”

“Yeah, but only when I’m in complete rage form.”