Page 37

SISI

T he knife slips easily from my hand, rotating in the air before reaching the middle of the target.

"Not bad." He nods at me.

He's leaning back against the wall as he watches me throw the knives, his shrewd eyes analyzing everything—from my posture to my breath and to how I'm holding the knife, he has indications for everything.

Vlad might sometimes be an overbearing ogre, but he is a wonderful teacher. The evidence being my insane progress in just a little time.

If before I had trouble even getting the knife to embed itself in a target with its sharp side forward, now I can effortlessly throw it and more or less hit the bullseye.

I know I have a long way to go. Certainly, I don't think there's anyone more proficient in this than him.

He strides to me, grabbing the bag next to him and throwing it at my feet.

"You're advancing fast, hell girl. Time to switch up the blades," he jokes, opening up the bag to reveal even more knives, all different shapes and sizes.

"You've learned how to throw basic knives, but how about we try some daggers?" He plops himself on the floor, sorting through the bag.

Curious, I sit down too, watching closely as he removes the blades and organizes them on the floor, pointing at each one and telling me a little something about it.

"You know what my blades of choice are." he points to the shashkas, the curved blades that he's always using in combat.

"They are for close combat only, the curve of the blade making it easy to control movement and slash someone's throat," he explains, taking one shashkas and showing me how to wield it.

"Always aim for the throat and the battle is immediately over," he says, raising his eyes to mine. A mischievous glint and he has the blade against my throat before I can even blink.

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 myself not to 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.

I watch stupefied as the blade cuts through flesh, red drops bursting through the surface and coating the tip.

Eyes wide, I look at him questioningly.

"Tell me," he purrs, his tone smooth and alluring, "do I bleed?"

He doesn't let me answer, pushing the blade even deeper, more blood reaching the surface.

"I do bleed," he continues, low in his throat, "but only for you."

Lifting my other hand, I trace my finger over the small wound, swiping some of the blood and bringing it to my lips.

"Only for me?" I repeat, the metallic taste flooding my mouth.

"Hell girl," he groans as he watches me lick my fingers clean, "you're not playing fair."

"Fair?" I ask, amused. "How is this fair, then?" My lips pull in a mischievous smile as I move the blade into the other hand. He releases me, frowning as he watches me wield the weapon in the air.

Giving him a knowing smile, I set the blade to my own chest, pushing the tip ever so slightly. I feel a small pinch before the skin gives way, red liquid slowly gushing out.

His gaze is focused on my skin, and for a second I'm worried I might have poked the beast. He looks feral as he backs me into the wall, one hand grabbing both arms and raising them above my head.

"Not fair," he growls before lowering his mouth to my skin. I feel the suction as his lips wrap themselves around the small laceration, and he laps at the blood, taking it all in.

The slight sting of the cut coupled with his warm mouth make it increasingly harder for me to breathe, the hairs on my body standing to attention as I want to beg him to have his way with me.

But just as soon as he's on me, he's gone.

Head hung low, he takes a step back, not looking at me. There's blood residue around his lips, and as he starts pacing around restlessly I know I might have pushed him too far.

"I need to…" he drifts off, frowning as if he doesn't know what he needs to do, either.

"Go," I urge him. "I'll find you later."

He whips his head at me, regarding me for a moment before briskly nodding. His face is pale, his features taut and full of tension.

Without lingering, he leaves, heading straight for the blood room.

As I hear the door close behind him, I feel a little guilty about baiting him when I know blood is his main trigger. Still, there had been a moment where I'd wanted nothing more than to offer him mine in exchange for his.

Maybe it's crazy, but his trigger might just be my biggest turn on.

Shaking my head at that absurd train of thought, I continue practicing.

I push myself harder, and two hours later I'm still throwing knives at the targets. My breathing harsh, I stop for a moment, sitting on the floor and grabbing a bottle of water.

A little tired, I end up staring at the wall for a full minute, unable to get myself together.

Out of nowhere, though, a blasting sound erupts through the air, and my hands automatically go to my ears to shield them.

What?

Disoriented, I look around me until I locate the tablet in the wall on the other side of the room, the screen a bright red. Standing up, I hurry to it, plugging in the password to get access to the main frame of the house.

The screen flares to life, and a warning message greets me, the entire area red. I click a few things, and multiple windows appear, each showing a different part of the house.

The live feed.

But as I look through each of them, I realize what triggered the alarm.

My eyes widen when I spot at least five armed men wading through the garden and assessing the perimeter. Another two are already in the house, on the ground floor, and more are going up the stairs.

Shit!

All are heavily armed and in full gear. Some look military, but I can't be sure. All I know at the moment is that I have to get to Vlad.

Refusing to lose my calm, I start collecting as many knives as I can, strapping them around my body. I need to be smart about this. The best I can do is get Vlad and go together to the panic room.

I already know I'm likely to find him naked and unarmed so that will not help against blazing guns.

Checking the feed again to ensure they're not yet at the basement, I steel myself and open the door, heading on to the corridor.

Damn, Vlad!

Why did he have to build this gigantic basement? It's the size of the entire property, probably even bigger than a football field, which means that even though the intruders are not here yet, they might get down any moment with the time it takes me to reach the blood room.

Holding tightly onto the knives in my hand, I hurry down the corridor, my senses sharp as I listen for any noise.

I'm halfway across when I hear gunshots. Instinctively, I duck, closing my eyes.

Fuck!

The shots are coming from upstairs, and from the sound of it they're shooting down.