Roar (Stormheart #1)(13)
Tentative. Unsure.
Soft.
Well, she had no intention of being tentative now. She gave no warning, no instructions, only pulled back her elbow and let the knife fly. It thwacked into place a finger’s width to the side of his neck.
When his eyes darkened and his easy posture fell away, she smiled.
“You did promise to trust me,” she said, reaching back for another knife. “Do not worry, when it comes to a blade, I am almost never unsure. The key is to avoid a grip that’s too soft, while likewise not gripping too tightly.”
He stood rigidly still as she carefully sent two more knives toward him. The first landed on the other side of his neck, and the second high in the open space between his thighs.
The last throw had his fists clenching so hard that she had to turn her back so she would not laugh. She pulled another knife from her harness and took a slow breath. When she was about to turn she felt hands at her hips and warmth against her back. She reacted on instinct, shoving an elbow into the body behind her, before stamping hard on his foot. She spun, her knife raised to defend. Cassius was hunched slightly behind her, his hand over his stomach. She swallowed the smile that threatened to break free.
He straightened, his head tilted as if he were surveying her through new eyes. “Was that fun for you?”
“Very.”
He made a sound—a low, husky bark that might have been a laugh. Hard to tell with a man like him.
“I trusted you with my body,” he said. “It’s only fair you trust me with yours.” His eyes roamed down her form slowly, with intent. Rora could almost swear that her heart gave out in that moment, that it refused to beat, and all the blood it held just seeped out into a puddle in her chest.
“W-what?”
It was one thing to think of kissing Cassius last night, to hope that he might be able to show her all the things she was ignorant of when it came to her body and his. But now? She knew he saw her as nothing more than a means to an end, a tool to be used and discarded when no longer necessary.
“You do not have my trust yet, Prince.” And he would never have her body if it were her choice.
“Are you afraid of me?”
She scoffed in answer, mostly because she did not trust herself to lie.
He frowned. “Do you have that little faith in my skills?”
It took a moment for her to realize he meant his skills with a knife. He wished her to stand at the target as he had done. She was so relieved that she let her guard down, and he plucked the knife from her hand.
“Can you trust at least that I would not do you physical harm?”
There was a challenge in his eyes and just a hint of amusement at her fear. That set her blood boiling all over again, and she marched over to the target. He followed, retrieving the blades she had thrown earlier. He moved in close, and she tipped her chin up defiantly. His blue-black eyes roamed her face as he reached behind her back and took several more knives from her holster. He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. She fought against the urge to jerk away. “I like you better like this. No frills, no finery. Just you.”
As he strode away, she saw that the soldiers had given up any pretense of training and stood lined up nearby.
“I hope your aim is as true as you believe, Prince. If not, you’ll have far more than one knife coming at you.” She lifted her chin in the direction of the watching soldiers.
“I told you last night, I enjoy a challenge.” Cassius gave a devilish grin and commanded, “Stretch out your arms.” He waited until she lifted them both and gripped the edges of the target.
Rora refused to show fear or flinch. She held her breath when his arm drew back and the knife came flying end over end toward her. It hit the edge of the target a few inches above her head, and the board vibrated with the force of the strike.
He proceeded to outline her body with blades, seeming to pay particular care to her curves. She felt pinned in by the time he had landed knives alongside her thighs, hips, and the indent of her waist. She hoped that would be the end of it, but he picked up two final knives. Her arms shook with strain, but she stayed still as he sunk another blade below her armpit, just to the right of her breast. She gave an exaggerated yawn. He grinned in response as he lined up for his final throw.
As Cassius drew back his last knife, a shrill wail pierced the air. She had only a moment to place the sound—one of the horns blown from atop the city walls that signified the imminent arrival of an approaching storm—then Cassius’s arm was moving and the blade left his hand.
There was no time to think, to weigh her options. She only knew a storm was coming, and everyone—Cassius, included—would expect her to participate in the kingdom’s defense with a magic she did not have.
She jerked her head up toward the sky and let her arms drop a little. Then she did her best to look shocked and horrified when the blade sunk into her left biceps.
*
Cassius’s roar drowned out even the blare of the storm signal. When he saw Aurora’s pale hand touch the hilt of the knife buried in her arm, he wanted to make the whole world bleed, starting with himself. He ran toward her, arriving moments after a few of the soldiers. He wanted to tear their hands off her, but she beat him to it, pushing away their attempts to help. Her hand was smeared with blood. She turned toward Cassius, her face nearly as pale as it had been the night before with layers of powder. The soldiers turned and looked at him like he was the enemy, Aurora too.