Page 46 of Ash and Roses

“I let you. Quit stalling.”

Anger flares in her, which is exactly what I want. She can’t control her emotions in general, never mind in a fight. The angrier she is, the more accurate this test will be. She lunges for me, striking the blade downward as if she were going to pierce my jugular or perhaps my heart—and that’s if she’s aiming at all, which might be giving her too much credit.

I snatch her wrist before steel meets flesh. “Don’t strike down unless you have the higher ground, and even then I wouldn’t recommend it. You’re more likely to hit the breastbone or an upper rib. An attack like that leaves you exposed, so if you miss, you’re dead.” I release her wrist. “Again.”

She adjusts the knife in her hand and goes straight for my abdomen. I block with an arm, my eyes never leaving hers. They tell me well enough what her hands are doing. It’s all too plain on her face. When her eyes move, I move. She can’t get near me if she keeps that up.

She takes another swing as a frustrated cry escapes her, but a small step sideways avoids the attack. We’re not getting anywhere with this. “Give me the knife,” I say.

“So you can use it on me?”

If she wants to be like that, so be it. I pull another knife from the belt around my hips and show her how to hold it. “Hilt down. Blade up. When you fight with swords or spears, you want to keep some distance from your opponent. It’s different with knives. You want to dodge whatever blows you have to in order to press up against your enemy. Aim here—directly under the ribcage and thrust up into the lung. You may even hit the heart, if you’re lucky.” I point to the spot on my chest, angling the blade with my other hand.

She mirrors the movement and presses her knife against my skin, only just soft enough to avoid drawing blood. If I were to inhale deeply or shift even a fraction…

She takes a step back. “Where else?”

At least she’s willing to learn. I turn around and point to a spot on my back. “If you can get your arms around your opponent, go for this spot. It’s harder to land a killing blow when attacking this way, but it can be done. I wouldn’t recommend trying for the neck unless you were squaring off with someone shorter than me.”

“You’re not that tall.”

She just can’t help herself, can she? “I’m taller than you. Now pay attention. This is important.”

“I’m listening, o’ mighty warrior.”

I snatch her hand and press her blade directly over my heart. All mocking leaves her face and a total seriousness replaces it. She doesn’t blink for fear that I might actually force her to plunge the blade into me.

“A human’s heart is here.” I leave it there a few seconds before sliding her hand and the weapon downward so that it’s just at the top of my abdomen. “A wolf’s heart is lower. You’d have a better chance of hitting the heart if you stab in through the pit of the foreleg.” I turn her blade to the awkward angle she would need to accomplish that if she was face to face with a wolf. “If you need to use a knife on a wolf, the face and the neck are your best options. You may not kill it, but you’ll do enough damage to make it think twice.”

“So why show me how to hit the heart?”

Her question goes deeper than she realizes, and so does this lesson. Killing a man is one thing—as is defending herself from a wolf, which she’s already proven is something she needs to know—but if she comes face to face with the monster again, a few slices to the face won’t be enough. “Because there may come a time when you can’t afford to miss.”

“But you just said—”

“I know what I said,” I snap back, a bit too harshly. “Just don’t forget.” I can’t handle these questions from her because I know deep down that if she asked me—really asked me—I would tell her the truth. It might be better for everyone if I did, but I don’t want her to hate me yet. The back and forth we have, it’s not real hate. I turn back and walk towards the castle so my eyes won’t betray me.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry.” It’s a pitiful excuse, and I’m an ass for ripping open her trauma, only to leave her alone with it. I accomplished what I needed to. It was never about knife training—not really, though it helps to know. I just needed an excuse to show her how to kill the monster because I don’t know if I have the strength of will to force her to leave me now.

CHAPTERTWENTY-THREE

ABBY

Quinn left me alone. He just walked away like he wasn’t the one to haul me out here and give me a lesson on the proper techniques of murder—something that I didn’t even want. There’s so much to process, but the thing that plagues me most is the question of what set him off. I’d spent the entire morning trying to upset him, and when I actually struck a nerve, I can’t even tell which nerve I’d struck. Commenting on his manhood had resulted in him tricking me into maiming him, but even that didn’t send him running off with his tail between his legs.

I could follow him and demand an answer, but would he talk to me? I look down at the knife in my hand and then at the still-wet splotches of blood in the dirt. Heletme cut him. Used my momentum against me and took a blow without so much as a flinch, and for what? What was that supposed to teach me?

I don’t want to go in just yet, so I stay like that for a long while, staring at the stained earth. Flashes of Jade and Teagan flit through my mind. Flickers of that last morning together. There was so much blood. What was it that Quinn said? Let the memories feed my anger, but then push them away.

I do just that, forcing myself to separate past from present. Quinn’s blood is not Teagan’s blood, nor is it Jade’s. They’re dead, and I’m alive. Their memories may haunt me, but they can’t hurt me unless I let them.

It takes a long while, but soon the vision releases me and Quinn’s blood becomes only his own. Perhaps with time, this will get easier and the numbness inside me, too, will dissipate. The only thing that managed to cut through the emptiness were those moments with Quinn last night, and the fleeting touches we’d shared today. It’s not fair to him if I use him like that, but I don’t want to keep feeling like this.

There’s no telling how long I’ve been out here, but it’s long enough. When I make it back to the kitchen, there’s no sign of Quinn, but the scent of cooking meat still lingers in the air. In the exact spot where he’d lifted me onto the table just hours ago, now sits a plate of boar bacon. I tear into a piece, not minding that it’s cold and I almost forget to chew. This is the first solid food I’ve had since getting sick, and my stomach demands more.

I walk around the table with another piece of bacon to find the mess from earlier already cleaned up. I hope the little mouse could fill his belly before Quinn interrupted him. He was right about the smell, too. Even with the air heavy with bacon, wisps of citrin still linger.

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