Page 106 of Starside

Gently, like he’s trying to touch me as little as possible, his hand curls around my elbow. “Like this,” he says, his voice a rumble just behind my ear.

He drops his hold like I’ve scalded him.

“Now shift your stance to advance.”

I do. He makes a low sound of disapproval behind me. Before I can ask him what the hell is wrong with my form, both of his arms are around me.

I go very still.

His fingertips barely brush the fabric at my wrist as he gently twists my hold, then his long fingers uncurl, smoothing down mine, callused from battle, scraping my skin like a rough whisper, and a chill ripples up my spine.

I swallow.

His other hand shifts my hip, at the same time as his knee presses into the back of my thigh, using it to push my leg forward to where he wants it, leaving us—for just a moment—almost completely flush.

“Better,” he whispers right into my ear.

My lips part. My every sense is narrowed on the places where he’s still touching me. Against my hip. Against my thigh. Against my hand.

That hand … seeing it, the sheer difference in size … the way it so expertly holds a blade … it makes me think about what else his hands might know how to do.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

He’s a monster. I could have died, and he would have just watched on, unimpressed.

I hate him.

But that doesn’t mean something in me doesn’t ignite, having his body curled around me like this.

I think back to how he looked in that grove, without his armor on. I wonder if he would put just as much focus and precision and stamina and skill into other acts …

My breath stutters at the thought. I swear I hear him swallow above me.

His hand flexes, right over mine.

Then he’s on the other side of the cave. He’s wrenching his sword from the rock and falling into his own fighting stance.

And now … now that he’s pointed it out, I see the difference. The shift in weight. The easier grip on my metal.

Before I can blink, he’s on me. All I see is a streak of silver and then I’m falling back with the force of his blade against mine.

He catches me by the front of my shirt, just like he did at the inn, but this time, his fingers curl even more, knuckles brushing my chest through the fabric. My skin feels like it’s on too tight. My heart is racing. My eyes meet where his should be, and I can almost feel his irritation.

“Focus.”

He drops his fist, and I stumble back.

Defiance lights up in my chest, smothering all those previous thoughts. I lunge, grip my sword with both hands, and strike with all my strength.

He moves out of the way quicker than someone his size should be able to, and I nearly hit the wall. I barely stop myself before tearing back around.

He isn’t holding his sword anymore. No, it’s dug right into the stone by his feet. He steps away from it.

I bare my teeth at him. “You’re not going to use a blade?”

He lifts a shoulder. “It looks like I don’t need one.”

Cocky bastard. I swing, wanting to slice the inevitable smirk right off his hidden face, but he just moves to the side. He dodges as if he knows exactly what I’ll do before I do it.