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Something hard nudges me awake, and I groan, rolling over only to get a mouthful of leaves. Sputtering, I sit up, wincing at sore muscles and wiping detritus from my cheek. We’re still in the forest, and somehow I managed to fall asleep and crash for several hours. Judging from the pale light wafting through the trees, it’s incredibly early. I grab a handful of Aron’s tunic and press it under my cheek as a pillow, lying back down.
The hard thing nudges me again. I turn over and glare. Aron stands over me, his boot nudging my backside. I swear, this man. “What the hell is your problem, Aron?”
“You wanted to learn how to fight. I have decided to show you.” He flicks his wrist, making an entreating gesture. “Get up.”
“Right now?”
“Was there a time you had more in mind? When we are surrounded by another mob? Perhaps when the dead finish crawling out of their graves and arrive?” He pulls a sword from its sheath and admires the blade, ru
“God, you are such an ass,” I mutter as I manage to get to my feet. I’m covered in dirt and leaves from my sleep under the trees, and I ache all over. Last night, I wasn’t keen on the thought of stealing horses but today? Today I am all for it if it means I don’t have to walk any longer. “Fine. I’m up. Show me how to use weapons.”
His lip curls as if I’ve said the dumbest thing imaginable. “You ca
Like I’m stupid. I put my hands on my hips, my irritated pose nullified by the leaf that chooses that moment to flop from my hair onto my forehead. “I know that. Just show me what you can today.”
“First, show me your hands.” He flips the sword casually in one hand and then stabs it into the dirt, then approaches me.
I stick both hands out, palms up, and wait for the next round of insults. This is Aron, after all.
He takes one of my hands in his and lifts it closer to his eyes, studying it. His thumb skates over my palm, sending ticklish sensations all through me. I want to jerk away, but I don’t. I just go very still. “What are you looking for?”
“Callus. You have none.” His mouth quirks in a half-smile as he meets my gaze. “I don’t know why it surprises me.”
“My world’s really, really different. No one works with their hands if they don’t have to. We have desk jobs. Like…clerks and scribes and stuff.” It’s a huge generalization, and I don’t want to get into an argument about farmers and laborers, who really do still work with their hands. Even they wouldn’t have the callus built up that he does, I think. Even now, where his hand brushes against mine, I can feel the hard pads of his hand where he’s used to gripping weapons. Instead of feeling disgusting, though, I’m oddly aroused by how weathered his grip is.
And that makes me look around suspiciously, just in case Tadekha’s waiting in the trees. But she’s not, and Aron only gives me a curious stare. “Something wrong?”
“Nope.” I slip my hand out of his. “So do I get to use your sword?”
He shakes his head, and I notice that despite an evening of roughing it under a tree, Aron looks as glorious as ever, his smooth black hair pulled back in a loose tail. His clothes aren’t even wrinkled, the bastard. “No sword for you. Your wrists are far too delicate. We’ll start with daggers.”
We try his knives, and it soon becomes apparent to both of us that you require skill and aim, neither of which I have when it comes to weapons. I can't throw them and hit a target. I have to be in extra close to use one to stab, and even then, Aron isn't happy with my technique. He picks through the daggers—I don't know how he acquired so many of the damn things, but I swear he has a half-dozen of them—and finds none that he thinks are fitting for me. "You are terrible with all of these."
"Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Do you want lies or the truth?"
I sigh heavily, because we both know I want the truth. I need to be able to defend myself, and compliments won't get me anywhere if they aren't sincere. "So what do we do? The sword is out. The daggers are out. Unless you're carrying a can of mace somewhere under your cloak, I'm screwed."
"A mace would be difficult for you. They are very heavy."
"Not what I meant, but good to know."
Aron scratches his chin thoughtfully. "A bow, perhaps?"
"Because my aim's so good with knives you want to give me a bow and arrows?" I retort, defeated. I sit on the ground, sweating, exhausted, and angry at myself for not being a master with weapons. Who knew that defending yourself was going to be so challenging? I expect to be unskilled, but I'm fumbling so much that I even cut my fingers trying to fix my grip on one of the knives. I swipe at the sweat on my forehead, feeling rather pitiful. "I need a weapon for idiots."
He snaps his fingers. "Of course."
I look up, indignant. What does he mean, of course? But Aron's heading into the trees, preoccupied, and he returns a few minutes later with a big branch. "A staff?"
He studies it. "It might be too short to be a staff, but we can make it work." He lops a twiggy offshoot off of it, then holds it out to me. "Come, give it a try."
I get to my feet, and even though my arms are aching and I want to whine, I give it a shot anyhow. It was my idea to learn weapons, after all. I can't bitch and moan that I suck at them, not when he's taking the time to teach me. So I heft it in my hands. The wood isn't all that smooth and tears at my palms, but the weight isn't bad. It comes up to mid-breast for me, and there's a knobby, ugly knot at one end. "Okay, it's a staff. How do I do this? Where do I grip it?"
Aron looks at me like I'm stupid. "You hit people with it."
"Duh. I mean, I just walk around with a giant club? And people are okay with that?" Then again, he's wandering around bristling with weapons, but I feel like a girl wandering the countryside with a giant stick kind of screams obvious.
He gives it a thoughtful look. "We can decorate it. Throw some charms or fripperies on the end so it looks like an affectation instead of a weapon. And then when they dismiss you for a soft female, you hit them with it." He taps the knot at the end. "Especially with this part."
"So…I clock people with it like a bat?" I heft it in my arms and hold it at one end. It's a bit too long to be a bat, so I adjust my grip and give it a careful half-swing. It pulls at my wrists, but I think it's doable. "I can knock a home run with this, I think. I played softball when I was a teenager."
"You'll break your wrists holding it like that," Aron warns.
"Then make me wrist supports, Mr. Weapons Expert."
"Do I look like an armorer?"
I drop the staff again, toying with the heft of it. "You look like someone that wants to be hit in the head with a bat if we're asking me," I mutter.
He throws his head back and laughs. "You're very violent for one so soft, Faith. I like that."
His words make me flustered. I'm not sure if it's a compliment or not, since I just offered to knock him in the head, but he's a god of battle. Maybe that shit turns him on. "You're a very strange man, you know that?"
"Your first mistake is thinking I am a man," Aron tells me, and his eyes gleam with amusement, little sparks flicking in them and making me think of lightning.
Of course, seeing that makes me shiver, just a little. He's a god. Just because we joke around and he gets muddy like I do, it doesn't mean we're the same. Sometimes I forget. I'm so used to the electric charge when we touch I barely notice it anymore. I didn't notice it when I bathed him.
Good god, why am I always thinking of him naked? "I have far too many problems right now," I tell myself under my breath. "And all of them are named Aron." I shoot him a look, but he's still got that speculative, eyes-flashing-lightning expression on his face and I avert my gaze. "We should get going," I say loudly. "Just in case someone's coming after us."
"Indeed." He sounds thoughtful, but he doesn't move.
"I'll practice with my bat later," I tell him, and deliberately avoid eye contact, even when he moves closer to me. I focus on the branch itself, pretending to pick at a particularly knotty spot as he stands next to me, his gaze still fixed on my face…or my body. I wonder what he's thinking.
I wonder if he's going to touch me.
Goosebumps prickle up and down my arms as I remember that night in Tadekha's Citadel. The way I crawled all over his lap like a cock-hungry ho, begging for his dick. Is he thinking about that? Is me handling a weapon turning him on? I wait for him to say something, do something, and I keep prickling with awareness. I know he's watching me.
My stomach growls, the sound overloud in the early morning quiet.
Aron turns and walks away. "You have a few minutes to eat before we leave. I suggest you do so because I do not plan on stopping again."