Page 24 of Beyond Reason

He darted forward while I was still trying to work out exactly how pissed off I wanted to be, and the edge of his knuckles brushed against the curve of my jawline. He’d pulled the fake blade back at the last moment to land the slightest blow, and it turned the spark in my chest into a wildfire.

Axel wasn’t trying to figure me out, he wasn’t trying to challenge me.

He didn’t think I could do this.

Well, fuck that.

I darted forward again and managed to draw the wooden edge of the blade along the length of his arm, then danced back out of the way. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it would have been enough to potentially make him drop his knife if he hadn’t been paying attention.

Axel, the asshole that he was, just flipped the blade to his other hand and tilted his head to look at me, to really look at me. And maybe he saw the man that I was hidden somewhere beneath my new visage, because his entire posture changed.

His body went loose, and his fingers tightened on the weapon in his hand.

“There you are,” I murmured in excitement, but I didn’t give him a chance to process it or hold it against me. I just darted forward again.

This time, he was the one who danced out of the way. This time, he was the one who took a swipe at me that would have torn open my shirt, maybe sliced through my shoulder.

It hit me with a memory—hand to hand, my clothes getting split open. Coming home to Axel tsking at me as he pulled the leather off and looked me over to see the small slice along my skin—gentle hands patching up the wound.

And waking up to my jacket mended. Axel had spent the entire night sewing it with skilled fingers because it was my favorite.

Fuck… He’d really loved me, hadn’t he?

And I’d repaid him by… dying.

Well…

Wasn’t the best way to make up for that making sure it never happened again?

I took a breath and shifted my grip, flipping the knife into a more comfortable hold. Axel’s eyes tracked the motion, his mouth pinching at the sides like just watching it hurt.

Would looking at me always force that expression across his handsome face?

Fuck.

I flung myself forward, and this time he pulled back just a little too late. It let me use my momentum and his movement to force him back until his shoulders hit the wall. I had to come up on tiptoe, but my knife pressed against the catch beneath his jawline.

If it was real, I could twist it up, slice it across his throat. I could kill him.

My breath was coming in such a panting rush that I felt dizzy—my entire body stretched in one long line against the front of his, and I could smell the sweat on his skin. He was warm, sweet like spice and oranges, and all I wanted to do was bury my nose against his neck and get lost in him.

Instead, as I moved to brush my lips against his, I felt the slightest hint of pressure against my side.

The tap of a wooden blade.

His knife.

“You can’t let your guard down, Xavier. Not with me, not with anyone. Never again.”

Fuck, he sounded wrecked.

I could hear it in the catch of his voice, could see it in the way his eyes were wide and wild and just a little too desperate.

“Well, I’m probably not trying to kiss most of the people who have a knife at my side.” I tried for a bit of levity, but it just made more pain tear across his features. He pushed me back in a sudden movement that nearly made me trip, and by the time I caught myself, he was putting the practice weapons away.

“What the fuck was that?” I snapped.

“We’re done for the day. You should go run a few miles. I’m going to—”

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