Powerful, page 5
I hadn’t realized he was speaking until one of his palms slips into the small of my back. ‘… twist with your arm to throw all your weight behind it. Straighten your back and engage your core. Your whole body throws the punch, not just your arm.’
He steps behind me then, trailing his fingers around my waist as he does so. I can hardly suppress my shiver, at this foreign feeling. Tucking his head close to mine, he breathes, ‘Try again. I’ll guide you.’
I swallow, mostly my pride but also my sudden wave of nerves. When my arm thrusts forward, he pivots my hips, moving in time with the swing. The heat of his body presses against my back, and I’m suddenly breathing far too hard for a single punch.
‘How’d that feel?’ he murmurs.
I vaguely wonder if he can detect my heart pounding through the back he’s pressed against. I’m not used to being touched – not like this at least. This feels like the type of intimacy I’ve only ever dreamed of; the type you fall asleep fantasizing about.
But here he is, breath on my neck and calloused hands cupping my hips. I can’t help but memorize the moment, study the feelings he stirs inside of me. Feelings for someone so annoyingly aggravating. Someone so opposite my very being.
I clear my throat.
It’s completely ridiculous, really. I’ve only known this man a handful of days and am already absurdly affected by his every move. It truly is a curse to feel so deeply, to so daringly deem someone worthy of my affection.
Mama always did say I was much too eager for my own good. My impatience ensures that I won’t gradually fall for someone. Instead, I lose my balance, tripping until I face-plant into inevitable failure.
‘Again, Dena.’
I think I’ve forgotten how to breathe.
Dena.
The usual indifference he wears falters when I whip my head round to face him. I can see the realization in the way his brown eyes widen in time with my own, in the feel of his body tensing against mine.
No one but Pae has ever cared enough to call me by anything but my given name. Until now, that is.
The name itself feels like a caress, stilling my pounding heart as though he’s run figurative fingers down it. Warmth floods my body at the sound, at the sheer implication of the word. Because it was formed by familiarity.
Nicknames blossom between acquaintance and something more. Though, I’m not sure where we stand on that spectrum. Or perhaps I’m being completely absurd and am completely overthinking everything—
I’m suddenly being spun around with firm hands that have found their way to my waist. My lower back bumps into the wooden table, trapping me against the distracting density of him.
He gives me that look. The one where he tilts his head down with a dull twist of his lips. ‘I hope it was your fighting technique you were daydreaming about.’
I tilt my head up, apparently unable to keep my eyes from tracing the scar cutting his lips. ‘What else would possibly be on my mind?’ I smile, each word breathy.
‘You tell me.’ He leans in, bracing his hands on the table either side of me. I feel his arms brushing my sides and curse myself for the lack of self-restraint I possess. ‘You’re looking far more fidgety than normal. I can’t say I enjoy it.’
I clear my throat before pasting a smile onto my face, pretending as though I’m not suddenly thinking of him as something more than a begrudging partner. ‘Guess I just can’t contain my excitement for this very enjoyable training you’re forcing me to do!’
He blinks, shaking his head in disbelief. ‘All right, remind me to teach you how to lie next.’ I nod before his hands find my hips once again, sending a shock all the way down to my toes. ‘Now, keep swinging until I’m satisfied you could hit me.’
I punch. His fingers grip my hips.
I punch. His hand flattens against my back.
I punch. His lips almost form a smile.
And so begins my doomed trip into Mak.
CHAPTER 7 Makoto
‘Stop laughing. This isn’t funny.’
She giggles again in a way that makes it hard to stay angry – even for me. But when the needle’s point finds the tip of my finger once again, I toss the fabric aside with a huff.
‘Oh, please, don’t give up.’ The look of disappointment on her face almost makes me reconsider. ‘Look at how far you’ve come!’
‘What, you mean the twelve crooked stitches?’ I lift the scrap of fabric for proof. ‘Yeah, I’m clearly a prodigy.’
She presses her lips together, fighting an aggravating smile. It’s become increasingly less so over the past couple of days. But I’d rather not think on that at the moment.
‘Look, it’s only fair that you try my thing after putting me through yours yesterday,’ she states while stitching a pant seam with ease. ‘For hours.’
‘Don’t be dramatic.’ I sigh. ‘Besides, at least my thing will help you defend yourself.’
Adena points her needle at me. ‘You haven’t seen me wield this thing yet.’
My eyes skim over the scraps of loose fabric beside the uniform she’s still assembling. ‘Is that not what you’re doing now?’
She ponders this for a moment. ‘I suppose it is.’
‘I’ll be truly impressed when you have me looking like an Imperial in two days.’
‘I know, I know,’ she huffs. ‘Only two more days until our fun little mission to the castle.’
I shake my head. ‘Don’t call it that.’
‘I am so excited to see Pae,’ she practically squeals, content to ignore me. ‘All that’s left to do is line the suit to mimic the padding that the Imperials have. Oh, and cut the leather for your mask.’
‘Great.’ I take a deep breath, relieved. ‘And you remember the plan, correct?’ Despite her incessant nodding, I figure it’s best to remind her. ‘We’ll leave early in the evening, giving us over an hour to make it to the Arena. There, we will—’
‘Sneak up the path to the east wing of the castle before phasing through the walls and past the guards.’ She smiles smugly. ‘See, I told you I remembered.’
‘Incredibly impressive,’ I counter dryly. ‘Now, we will stick together and phase into rooms when necessary—’
‘Wait, what am I wearing on our little mission?’
I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache beginning to pound. ‘Please. Don’t call it a—’
‘I could dress up like a maid!’ She taps a finger against her lips in thought. ‘Though I’m not entirely sure what it is they wear…’
‘Just tie an apron round your waist,’ I say dismissively. ‘It will be dark anyway. It’s unlikely anyone will see you.’
‘Perfect.’ Then she nods to the pathetic piece of shit she’s forced me to work on. ‘Now, go on. You’ve got more stitches to do.’
‘You can’t be serious.’
She laughs lightly. ‘You should have seen my stitches when Mama first tried to teach me. It was a disaster.’ Her voice softens before trailing off at the mention of a life I know nothing about.
‘You don’t talk about her,’ I say quietly. ‘In fact, you don’t talk about anyone who isn’t Pae.’
She shrugs as though the past that brought her to this present is of little importance. ‘There’s not much to say. Besides –’ she glances up at me with those wide, hazel eyes – ‘you never talk about Hera.’
‘There’s not much to say,’ I counter.
‘That’s odd.’ Her voice is nonchalant, but her piercing gaze is anything but. ‘I figured she was pretty important for you to go through all this trouble to see her one last time.’
Right. I’m supposed to be seeing her one last time. Not attempting anything treasonous.
I let out an exasperated sound. ‘Your curiosity is exhausting, honey.’
‘Speaking of,’ she says enthusiastically while wearing a frown, ‘I’m afraid I don’t know much about you. Apart from your measurements – which I now have memorized, by the way.’
‘I hope you know that I find that slightly unnerving—’
‘Well, if you won’t tell me about Hera,’ she cuts in, looking slightly ruffled by my withholding of information, ‘tell me something else.’
‘I just did.’ A pause. ‘Your curiosity exhausts me.’
Rolling those hazel eyes, she pushes on valiantly. ‘What about your family?’
I almost muster a laugh. ‘Oh, just the friendliest bunch. You would love them.’
Apparently, she doesn’t sense the added sarcasm I’ve slipped into the syllables of each word. ‘Oh, how wonderful! I would love to meet them one day.’ Her face flushes suddenly before she’s adding, ‘I mean, if we still see each other after all of this.’
And there it is, that pang of guilt. Guilt at the thought of leaving her, of giving her hope of something that will inevitably fail. But I feel it nonetheless, the denial of my slow demise into Adena. Because caring for Hera was the only weakness I allowed, and this girl is dangerously even more so.
Tragedy follows me everywhere I go, and I’m not worthy of becoming her demise. Adena deserves a fairytale fate, a life worthy of her light. And that means I should stay as far away from it as possible.
I should.
‘I don’t think we should see each other after all this.’
Her eyes fly up from the path of stitches she’s laying along the pant leg. ‘W-Why?’
I shrug with a nonchalance I’m pretending to portray. ‘Because my unpleasantness may rub off on you.’
She lifts her chin, wearing that bright smile of hers. ‘I think you’re just worried that I’ll make you nicer.’
I frown. ‘That would be unfortunate. I have a reputation to uphold.’
Her eyes are back on the uniform draped in her lap. ‘How did you learn to fight?’
My throat tightens, forcing me to swallow before saying, ‘Self-taught.’
Persistence has her pressing for elaboration. ‘Why? Because you wanted to learn how to use the weapons you were making?’
Because I was afraid.
‘My father was a blacksmith.’ My voice is dull. ‘I learned everything I know from watching him. Most of the fighting, too.’
Before she can interrogate me further, I order, ‘All right, show me that you remember all of my hard work yesterday.’
‘Your hard work?’ She stands with a groan. ‘I’m the one who punched the air a couple dozen times.’
‘Yes, and it caused me a great amount of pain to watch.’
I place a hand on her back, feeling the sway of her hips with each step. Attempting to ignore that distraction, I guide her towards a padded wall, once concealed by a cluttered shelf of weapons.
I gesture towards the dusty mat I rigged up years ago. ‘No more punching air.’
‘Oh, perfect,’ she says less than enthusiastically. ‘Now I get to punch something that will actually hurt.’
‘I’ve punched this many a time, hun. It won’t hit back, I assure you.’
I take my usual position behind her, and she swings at the pad far softer than I’ve taught her. ‘Come on, Dena. You won’t hurt it.’
And there I go again. Claiming her.
The name slips past my lips for the second time, and once again, I’m regretting it. Regretting the familiarity forming between us.
After clearing her throat, she attempts another jab. I twist her hip in time with the movement, feeling my palm fit around her frame.
Curly hair continually whips me in the face, smelling of its usual honey. But I don’t dare complain at her closeness, for fear of her shying away.
‘I wonder what Pae will be wearing to the ball.’ Adena sighs, slowing her punches. ‘They better put her in something that won’t wash her out with that silver hair of hers. And she absolutely refuses to wear anything frilly or—’
‘Focus, Adena.’
It was an effort to ensure it wasn’t my nickname for her that escaped my lips.
‘I mean, it’s hard enough to get her into anything that isn’t that vest I made her,’ she continues as though I hadn’t even opened my mouth.
I sigh, desperate for a change of subject. ‘Is Pae your only family, or simply your only topic of conversation?’
She throws a look over her shoulder, subtle annoyance sketched into her features. ‘It was just my mama and me before she died.’
My hand tightens slightly on her hip before she takes another swing, this one much stronger than before. ‘I…’ Sentiments have never come easy to me. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
She shrugs, and my hand glides towards the movement. The sound of her sucking in a breath threatens to make me smile, but I hold my composure as I run a palm over the length of her stiff shoulder. I can feel the shudder of her body beneath my skin.
‘It’s okay,’ she breathes, her voice shaky. ‘She was sick. There was nothing the Healer could do.’
‘And you’ve been living on the streets ever since?’ I ask quietly.
‘Five years now.’ She nods in that reminiscent way. ‘Five years in the Fort with Pae.’ That’s when she whips around, slapping curls across my face. ‘Oh, I still have to show you the Fort! You promised you’d spend the night there.’
I push her jabbing finger out of my face. ‘Did I? I don’t recall.’
Now she’s crossed thin arms over her chest. ‘Don’t you lie to me, Mak—’ She stumbles over her scrutiny before fixing me with a defiant look. ‘How am I supposed to properly scold you if I don’t know your full name?’
‘Good.’ I brush a curl from her eyes so she can see me clearly as I say, ‘Let’s keep it that way.’
The sound that comes from her throat is comparable to a frustrated groan. ‘Am I allowed to know anything about you?’
‘Of course.’ I nod towards the uniform stretched out on the floor. ‘My measurements.’
Her eyes shut slowly, fluttering dark lashes against soft cheeks. It’s comical, watching the frustration flash across her features. But she smothers it quickly with a smile in that typical Adena way. ‘Fine.’ This smile has a sort of bite to it. ‘Then you don’t get to know anything about me either.’
I nod slowly, if only so I can conceal my slight smile with the strands of hair falling around my face.
Oh, I already know far too much.
CHAPTER 8 Adena
‘Can I open my eyes now? Are you decent?’
There’s a rustle of fabric followed by a dry answer. ‘I’m clothed, if that’s what you’re asking.’
I peek open an eye that lands on the crisp white pants hanging from his hips—
My lips press together.
His hips are still bare.
He’s standing there with only half a uniform on, leaving his chest exposed and my eyes wide. My gaze skims over the scattered scars marring his skin before I finally muster the strength to look away. A handful of days ago, his bare chest would be less of an intriguing sight, but now… Now, I’m horribly enthralled by all of him.
‘What?’ he asks with a scrutinizing stare. ‘Don’t act like I’m the only man you’ve seen without a shirt on.’
‘Hmm?’ My cheeks burn. ‘Right.’
He stills, eyes narrowing. ‘You haven’t, have you?’
‘No,’ I blurt defensively, ‘there are plenty of men who walk around Loot without a shirt on…’
‘Right.’ He nods slowly. ‘And do you always stare at them this intensely?’
I didn’t think my face could get any hotter. ‘Whatever. Hurry up, I have places to be.’ I stumble through my words before turning round to curse myself away from his prying eyes.
‘Is that so?’ His tone is mocking. ‘And where are you off to besides the palace tonight?’
‘In case you’ve forgotten,’ I state with satisfaction, ‘I have a business to run.’
‘Ah, yes.’ I glance back in time to catch him tugging the top half of his uniform over the messy waves falling around his face. ‘You have clothes to sell. Now even those living in the slums can starve in style.’
I give him the new look I’ve developed – a cross between unimpressed and slightly amused. ‘Well, when you put it like that…’
He scoffs before raising his arms, surveying the length of my handiwork. ‘Do I look the part? In the dark, at the very least.’
I take a few slow steps toward his white-clad figure, eyeing every seam and panel along the fabric. Then I’m clapping my hands together, squealing slightly. ‘It’s perfect! You look more menacing than usual.’
His lips twitch. ‘It’s about time you gave me a compliment.’
‘Oh, wait, one more thing.’ I snatch the leather mask from the dusty work table. Stepping close enough to smell the starch I’ve doused his uniform in – for authenticity, of course – I look up into dark eyes already pinned on me.
I’m acutely aware that we are sharing the same air as I reach up to fasten the mask over his eyes and nose. The feel of his gaze roaming over my face has my palms growing sweaty. But I continue my admiration of his own features, following the curve of his cheekbones beneath the mask, the straight bridge of his nose in the center. When my gaze glides over the scar decorating his lips, I’m forced to fight the urge to run my finger over it.
‘Still menacing?’ he murmurs, his face hovering over mine.
‘More than ever,’ I assure breathlessly.
We watch each other for several shaky breaths before he clears his throat. ‘Don’t you have places to be? A particular blue shirt to sell?’
At the mention of my creation he so ruthlessly criticized, I gain the strength to take a step away from him. ‘Why, yes, I do. And if it doesn’t sell, I know exactly what I’ll be wearing on our little mission.’
He shakes his head in disbelief, crossing large arms over his chest. ‘You know, you are far more conniving than you look.’
I tip my chin up. ‘And how exactly do I look?’
‘Sweet. Unassuming. Pretty enough to get away with wearing that horribly blue shirt.’
My throat is dry, but I attempt a swallow anyway. He’s looking down at me in the same way I do my stitching. Admiration lights his eyes even while he searches for any sort of fault to focus on. As though he aches for a reason to rip at the seams of what it is that has slowly tethered us together.
