Page 12 of Lash

I consider the question. "Obsidian."

She blinks at this, confused. "The volcanic rock? Black stuff like glass?"

I nod. "When properly worked, there is nothing on earth, man-made or otherwise, that is sharper than obsidian. Obsidian blades are so sharp and capable of creating such precise and delicate cuts that they are used in eye surgery to this day because no steel instrument can be sharpened so finely as obsidian."

She stares at me, absorbing this information, and processing how it applies to the metaphor. "I see."

I shake my head. "We do not have time for metaphors, Tatiana. Change into practical clothing, and swiftly. Jeans or leggings, a shirt, a hooded sweatshirt or some such, and practical shoes." I fix her with a look. "This is not the time for fashion, Tatiana."

She shoots me a look that is equal parts amused, droll, and annoyed. "It isalwaysthe time for fashion, Lash." She gestures at the kitchen. "There's food if you're hungry."

"Very good."

She heads down the hallway to where I assume her bedroom is, pausing at the door. "Lash?"

I look her way. "Yes?"

She peels off my shirt and extends it to me, managing to keep herself covered in the process. "Here."

Heart pounding, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, I move down the hallway and halt within arm's reach.

I take the shirt, keeping my eyes fixed on hers. An expression I cannot read crosses her face, and then she releases the garment and drops her arms to her sides, exposing her bare chest.

My eyes involuntarily flick down, linger, and then I whirl away. "Get changed," I say, my voice a low murmur.

Those who know me—very few people, indeed—know that the quieter my voice gets, the more dangerous I am.

Tatiana is in danger indeed—but not of violence.

My hands shake, and I clench them into fists as I shrug into my shirt.

"Lash?" She sounds puzzled.

I do not turn. "Change, Lovely One."

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

I hear her steps. I flinch as if stabbed when her soft small warm hand touches the center of my back. “I dropped the shirt, Lash. You did nothing wrong."

"I know."

"Do you not find me attractive?" So close behind me that I can almost feel her body heat.

My brain scrambled by her proximity. "Yes, Tatiana. I do. Very much so.”

"Then I do not understand."

"No. You cannot."

"Lash…"

I pivot on my heel, and she's right there, so close, long black hair draped over one shoulder to cover a breast, pink nipple playing peekaboo through the strands; she's all elegant curves and graceful lines, a dancer's body, lithe and sensuous. Staring up at me, bold and curious.

"So tell me," she whispers.

"It is long in the telling, time is short, and it does not have a happy ending.” I brush the pad of my thumb over her lips. "Do not toy with me, Tatiana. I will keep you safe and see you free of this mess. But…" I hold her arms and walk her backward. "I am not the kind of man you should set your sights on, now or ever. I cannot be what you want."