Page 41 of A Shadow of Betrayal

“These were not here the last time I saw you,” he grumbles, letting the fingertips trail across my skin, making me shiver in response to the feather-light touch.

“Hand-to-hand training,” I croak out, making Lennox's fingers stall on my arm as he nods.

“Real blades?” he asks, and I nod.

“Yesterday it was. Jordan opted for a wooden sword today,” I say slowly, not sure if I should be admitting this to him. Lennox tsks under his breath and studies my hand for moments before his green eyes dart up and look into my own, full of questions.

“What's wrong?” I ask, but before I get an answer, a warming sensation slowly crawls over my skin, moving from where Lennox is touching me and covering the entirety of my arms and chest.

I cringe and instantly fight against the odd feeling that worms its way deep under my skin, and instinctively try to pull out of Lennox's tight hold, making his hand clamp down even harder on my arm. He curses, eyes widening when he looks at our joined hands as I try desperately to break free.

“Let me go,” I hiss at him, not liking the weird feeling that has moved from my arms to my now very sensitive nipples. I can feel them pebbling under my sports bra and clench my thighs together as wetness pools there.

Fucking hell, now I’m going to have to change my underwear before bed.

“Stop being so difficult, and maybe you will see I'm only trying to help you,” Lennox replies between clenched teeth.

Help me what? Pop an unwanted lady boner?

“And maybe if you learned how not to be an asshole ninety percent of the time, I could learn to trust you a little more. Why would I trust a man who admitted he didn't care about my physical well-being? I’m a debt you owe and nothing more. Remember?” I snap, throwing his words back in his face as I tug my arm out of Lennox’s grasp. He lets me go with a glare, his lips thinning as he stands up and shakes his head.

The warm feeling immediately stops the moment I’m out of Lennox’s strong hold and leaves me feeling oddly cold and… alone. Shaking my arms out at my sides, I scowl at the man before looking down to make sure he didn’t do something to me, like give me a weird rash or something. Instead of finding weird red bumps on my arms, I find myself staring at perfectly flawless skin. The creamy white color is almost perfect, save for the two small freckles there.

There are no cuts, no scratches, no pain, and, the most bizarre, no scars.

I swallow hard and rub at my arm where a small scar used to reside, and shake my head in wonder when it doesn't magically reappear.

“How?” I stutter out, flipping my hand back and forth in front of my eyes before looking at the other one and finding it in the same perfect state.

“I healed you,” Lennox states gruffly, moving to his desk and flipping through some papers there, not looking at me when I finally tear my gaze from my newly healed arms to look at him.

Guilt hits me like a bus, and my shoulders roll forward as I take in Lennox’s angry posture. I had been a bitch when he was only trying to help me.

“Thank you,” I whisper, letting the sincerity fill my words as I stare at him. Lennox scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“I didn’t do it for you. You need to be in your best physical state in order to learn what is needed so you don’t embarrass our bloodline,” he replies, his words cold and hard, cutting through my guilt like a whip.

See? This is what I’m talking about! Emotional whiplash is going to drive me insane!

“Right. Yeah, that makes more sense,” I say bitterly, glaring down at my perfectly healed hands. I need to get this show back on the road, and steer it toward safer conversations before I do something like piss the Viking off even more.

“So… How many Hunters have the sight and no gifts?” I ask, not looking up at him to see if he’s going to respond or not. I can only pray he takes my offer of a change in subject, and I sigh in relief when he finally speaks.

“None that I know of. I'll have to bring the matter to Axford and see if he knows the answer himself,” Lennox growls out, his anger rising, but I have a feeling it's not aimed my way; rather, he’s upset with the idea of talking to Senior Axford.

I haven't seen the older man since being escorted from the big room I was first brought to for my trial and Bloodline testing. But from what I saw from the older man, the sneers and disregard for any opinion that wasn't his own, I can see why Lennox doesn't like him. Not to mention the weird vibe the guy had. Not even Theo’s dickhead dad creeped me out the way Axford had when he came at me with the shaking knife.

Curious if Lennox’s good mood would grant me any extra information, I open my mouth to ask him why he seemed to dislike Axford so much, but I’m interrupted when Lennox’s office door slams open, and Razar stalks into the room like a damn wraith. I gasp and spin in my chair in surprise as Razar strides past me, not sparing me so much as a glance as he goes directly to Lennox, who has stopped pacing and is now giving his brother a concerned look. I can only hear a rumble of deep voices, no words, as Razar leans closer to Lennox, and I take the time to study the man while he is busy.

I haven't been able to look at the guy for longer than thirty seconds over the last couple days without his hooded face turning in my direction. I never see his eyes staring back at me, but I can sure as hell feel them, and it has only piqued my curiosity about the guy. Why does he always wear a hood? Why does he not like to talk to other people?

I watch as a thunderous look crosses over Lennox’s face, his once calm features twisting into one of rage at whatever Razar is telling him.

“Lennox!” A woman's voice comes from the hall before Elaine crosses the threshold into Lennox’s office, her velvet green gown flowing around her feet gracefully as she glides into the room. I smile at the woman, happy to see her again, while taking in her beautifully coiled hair that rests on top of her head like a crown, making her appear like some kind of queen. “There is another one!” she says, her voice tinged with anger and panic.

“I know, Razar told me. How far out are they? And how many?” Lennox growls, stepping away from Razar and moving to where several pieces of clothing and leather are hanging on a coat rack in the corner of the room. I watch in fascination as Lennox tugs on another shirt, then some kind of leather chest protection that he cinches at his sides before grabbing a harness and sheathing not one, but seven blades.

“Not very far. They are being reckless, Lennox. And I think there was only one. I don’t think Laurant can be trusted anymore. I found him with Axford and—”

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