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Indeed, the concave part of it seems to fit perfectly against my neck, and he moves it slightly, showing me just how easy it is to pierce the skin if necessary.

"See, piece of cake." He grins, chucking the shashka away before moving to the next.

He introduces knives from all over the world, giving me a brief overview of each.

"I also like Japanese blades." He picks up a knife with a thick, triangular blade and a smaller hilt ending in a rounded hollow corner. "This is a kunai, and you might find this easier to handle." He places it in my hand, letting me become familiar with its shape and weight.

"This is more comfortable," I agree.

Not as long as the regular knives, the rounded end makes it easier to hold it.

"Watch this." He smirks, gathering five kunai. Holding one in his hand, the others are wrapped around his fingers.

Standing up, he barely focuses on the target as he throws them, one by one, with such speed and ease that I have to force myselfnotto blink so I don't miss it.

"Wow," I whisper when my gaze moves to the target. All five are gathered in the same place, their tips millimeters apart, almost as if they are fighting for supremacy.

"Practice makes best," he says as he helps me to my feet.

Gathering the knives back, he fixes my stance, wrapping my fingers carefully around the hilt of the kunai.

Still behind me, he whispers words of encouragement in my ear.

"Now!"

At his command, I put my strength into my arm, aiming the kunai at the target.

"You're a natural," he praises, inspecting the result. A bit off mark, it had still hit the target.

"I love this," I tell him sincerely.

There's a certain type of rush in wielding a powerful blade, and I can see why it's his favorite activity.

Backing up into him, I feel the contour of his body fitted to mine. Turning suddenly, I place the tip of my blade to his neck.

"Bloodthirsty?" he asks, not even batting an eye at the sharp edge currently lodged just below his Adam's apple.

"Just thirsty," I fire back suggestively, playfully moving the blade around his flesh. "Sometimes I wonder if you're even human," I murmur, danger rolling off him, a predator's eyes watching my every movement. "If you bleed like the rest of us…" I trail off, lowering the blade down his neck and around his collar bone.

He's wearing a black shirt that's completely molded to his muscles, the wide neckline giving me access to his skin.

"You think I'm not human, hell girl?" he asks, his hand on mine as he tightens it over the blade.

"You're… something," I reply.

There's a mythical quality to him, both in the way he presents himself to the world, but also in the way I know him intimately. There is a savageness deeply ingrained in his bones, a ferocity in his gaze as he lays it upon me. It makes me feel wanted in a primal, primordial way. As if there's no space, or time, or anything.

Just him.

It reminds me of the first time I saw him. How the pure danger emanating from his pores had turned me on, the way his promise of death had never been sweeter.

It's inexplicable.

Animal magnetism, primitive attraction, deadly seduction.

He embodies everything I should run away from, not toward.

My hand becomes slack in his, but he doesn't let go. His eyes still on mine, a sensuously wicked smile appears on his face as he digs the knife into his skin, just above the collar of his shirt.