Page 50

Teaching

Rumi

Callum knocked on the door to her room a few minutes later, his belt and holsters hugging his hips.

“Enter,”

she said without looking at him, hoping her emotions were not plain on her face.

He strolled in and her pulse ricocheted, skin tingling, as he neared.

Holding her breath as he paused and placed his piercer on the nightstand beside her, she peered up at him.

“Let’s go shooting.”

“What?”

Dread choked her as the weapon gleamed, winking at her.

Daring her to touch it again.

“I would like to teach you how to handle a piercer.

To protect yourself.”

“As you know, I can already protect myself,”

she reminded him, carefully avoiding looking at the piercer.

“Only in close quarters.

This way you’re a threat at a range.”

His face softened, and he bent closer, his fingers brushing her jaw, the callouses rough on her skin.

“Will you do it for me? So I know that you’ll be safe even when I’m not around.”

How could she argue with that? He had made it clear he would not be going with her—that their time together was coming to a close.

The very thought tore at her, an aching sore that wept crimson.

Her fingers trembled as they slipped around the cool handle of the piercer, a mixture of curiosity and horror playing across her heart, remembering the last time she had handled the weapon.

She swallowed it down and lifted her chin determinedly.

“Okay.

Teach me your ways, oh wise one.”

The words were humorous, but her tone was still angry, hiding the warble of fear tucked just behind.

“First, do you want me to teach you as my teachers taught me? Or do you want me…closer? Maybe more intimate?”

That caught her attention.

“Intimate?”

He covered his grin with his hand, pretending to stroke his chin, which only made her more curious.

“Intimate how?”

she asked shrewdly.

He tipped his head, “I’ve been thinking about it.

It’s more of a ‘show’ than a ‘tell.’”

“Show me,”

she demanded imperiously.

“Let’s go out to the back pasture.”

He offered her his hand.

“And I’ll teach you some basics.”

His fingers were warm, and for a moment, she felt a massive swell of affection, an overfilled glass on the cusp of spilling over, before it faded.

“I am a fast learner.”

“Then I might have to find another reason to have my arms around you,”

he teased, and her stomach did that strange flip-flop.

“C’mon,”

he said, tugging her hand and guiding her out the door.

He tried to hide his grin, but she saw it.

He was just as anxious as she was.

The sun had lowered over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the town and swirls of sand kicked up by the breeze.

The pasture was not like any Rumi had seen before.

There were no rolling hills of grass spotted with sheep.

Instead, it was a gritty, dirty patch of land, partitioned by a withering fence, with piles of hay strewn around the corners where scraggly-looking animals chewed at the straw.

His hand was strong and sure and she could feel his strength through fingers that stroked her knuckles as he guided her further out.

“See the cactus? You’re going to shoot at it.

Mark where you hit so we can see your progress.”

Cal gestured to the piercer in her hand and a strange feeling of power mixed with dread wove its way around her stomach.

“You pull this back to load the ammunition in the chamber.

Then when you pull the trigger, the mechanism keeping the oritium’s field away from the ammunition—the dampstone—releases.

The pellet slides along the interior, propelled by the oritium’s field, and that shoots the round.

It’ll kick a bit.”

His arms wrapped around her, sending tingles skittering over her skin.

When his forearm accidentally brushed the top of her breast, which spilled out of the revealing human clothing, she flushed and her ears heated.

His breath tickled her ear, sending coils of desire through her belly, and she could not help but lean into him a little.

Maybe more than a little.

“Hold it like this,”

he instructed, his hands over hers as he brought the piercer to her eye level with her arms outstretched.

She could feel his voice rumbling in his chest through her back.

“This arm braces here, and you don’t wanna pull the trigger—it’s more of a squeeze,”

he purred in her ear.

“Go on, try it.”

She shivered, hating and loving the thrill all at the same time.

Her fingers trembled, the memory of the murder she had committed flooding her mind, unbidden, but Cal was there, his presence pulling those thoughts away like his own form of oritium field.

She squeezed the trigger, Cal’s enormous hands bracing hers with confidence and strength.

The piercer jolted in her hands and she jumped, yelping and nearly dropping the weapon.

She had plastered herself against his chest.

In her mind’s eye, blood painted the horizon and dripped from her hands.

“There’s the kick.”

His lips brushed her cheek, his voice low and soothing, like he knew her thoughts.

“It’s just a cactus.

You’re not killing.

It’s just practice, so you can handle yourself later on if you need to.”

He turned her in his arms and cupped her face, his eyes searching hers.

“Don’t let anyone ever take you again, you hear me? No one.”

She nodded numbly, unable to speak, the fervor in his voice tightening some traitorous part of her.

“Good, now let’s go again.”

She shot several times in a row, each one going wide, the piercer jumping each time it kicked, and the thunder crack made her wince every time.

But for every shot, he was there, soothing and comforting with his soft voice and encouraging words.

“I see why they did not teach you this way,”

she grinned.

“I am struggling to focus with you like that.”

“Maybe that’s why you’re such a terrible shot.

Here I was thinkin’ I was a poor teacher.”

They laughed and joked, easing the tension in her shoulders and soaking up the blood in her memory, shooting piercers into cacti until the sun dipped below the horizon.

It felt good.

And natural.

She could not remember a time when she was so happy and content to just be with someone.

And he wanted her.

Rumi could tell.

Cal was the most genuine person she knew and she was so happy to be here with him. Even if it did not last, this was a blessing from the gods and she had at least a few days to enjoy it. A few days to be together.

When they returned to the safehouse, he insisted on showing her how to clean the piercer.

His fingers moved deftly over the pieces, naming them and explaining their purpose as he diminished the weapon into an assortment of individual parts.

He stood behind her as she wielded the stiff bristle brush, showing her how to stroke the metal pieces as well as the stone of the oritium that made up the majority of the weapon, removing any particles that had adhered to the surface.

His thumbs guided her fingers, his chin resting on her shoulder as his gentle words tickled her ear, and she giggled as she tipped her head away slightly, crunching her neck against his fuzzy whiskers.

Suddenly she was turning her head to face him.

Letting her heart lead.

Her lips brushed over his and lingered.

He froze, his hands hovering over the table.

When she began to pull away, he chased her, his mouth hot over hers.

It was slow and relaxed; a pair of sparks melding into a glowing flame, flickering and dancing in a coiled embrace. Savoring a sweet thing they both knew would not last. He moved to the front of her chair and, gripping her elbows, he brought her to her feet.

Her hands raked through his hair and down his chest while he explored the soft skin of her thigh, the splits in her skirt revealing her smooth legs.

All the words in the world seemed so fleeting.

Not enough.

But when she was kissing him, she did not need words.

They connected and communicated in a language all their own.

A language that felt deeper than any other. Ageless. Boundless.

A searing trail of heat followed his hands as they carved up her spine and tangled in her hair.

Gripping the fabric of his shirt, Rumi tugged him closer, insistent and needy as she backed into the wall, nearly tripping over the rug in her rush to have more.

A small noise escaped the back of her throat when he deepened the kiss and it seemed to fuel him on.

More, more.

Her blood sang through her body and when his lips found the sensitive skin on her neck, her gasp sucked the air from the small room.

Her cool fingertips snaked up his chest under his shirt, silently requesting that he take it off.

She wanted to feel his skin on hers.

Cal’s breath hitched, his lips pulling away from her.

Collecting her hands in his, he brushed his lips over her knuckles.

Why did this feel like a goodbye? Why did he stop? Why—

There was a click at the door and the knob turned.

Cal’s eyes flashed up to the door and he stepped protectively in front of her.

Her heart was thunder in her chest, battering her ribs.

“You would not believe the time I had trying to get here unobserved,”

Jameson grumbled as he entered the safehouse.