Page 54 of Vows Forged in Blood

My entire body reacts the moment I see her. She’s in training gear, the pants and top cut close to her body so as not to interfere, but a softer material than leather to allow for easier movements. They hug her in all the right places, and make me wonder why I haven’t been watching every session before now.

They’re working on throwing knives at a dummy stuffed with straw, and based on the number of blades scattered on the ground—and the lack of ones actually sticking into the target—this may not be my mate’s forte. I stay in the shadow of the nearby shed, watching as she pulls her arm back to let another blade fly. It sails almost a whole yard wide of the dummy.

“Fucking hells,” she yells in frustration, kicking out at a nearby bucket of water. The bucket flies a few feet, water sloshing over the sides and splashing on Nova’s legs. She watches the water and then looks up pointedly at Dahlia with a quirk of her brow. “I’m not sorry,” Dahlia says a bit peevishly, making me grin in my shadowed hiding place.

“You need to release later,” the female vampire says, clearly amused by Dahlia’s response.

“Really? Because five minutes ago I needed to release earlier. And five minutes before that I needed to move my arm more this way, and beforethat?—”

“Ok, ok, calm down, Clayburn.” Ravenswood—Wesley. I’m trying to remember to use their given names since they are friends of Dahlia’s and she speaks of them often—collects the fallen blades and strides towards Dahlia.

“Don’t tell me to calm down, you mule’s arse,” she snaps. “I can’t do this.”

Wesley rolls his eyes. “Yes, you can. Look, fix your feet. With your balance off, you can hardly expect to throw straight. There you go, that’s better. Now,” he says as he sidles up behind her, placing his body far too close to hers. He places his arm behind hers, guiding her body with his in the movements. Though I know that there is nothing between the two of them—Dahlia seemed to make a point of telling me that fact more than once—it doesn’t matter: instincts flare and I suddenly want to tear Wesley’s head from his body and use his spine as a candle holder on my mantle. My claws and fangs flash out and rage boils in my chest, melting my bones. I have just enough wherewithal to think logically and not murder one of my most promising young soldiers.

But I can’t stay in the shadows and watch any longer. In a heartbeat I’m beside the two of them, trying desperately to keep my temper in check. It would be disastrous if someone guessed what Dahlia truly means to me.

“High General,” Nova gasps, quickly snapping to attention. Wesley wisely steps away from Dahlia, standing at attention as well.

“High General,” he says, inclining his head. “An honor to have you here, sir. We’re working on throwing knives.”

Dahlia stares, a soft heat warming her cheeks. Her hair is in a thick plait on the side of her head, but a few strands have escaped and curl against her temples. She’s got a smudge of dirt across her cheek and my fingers twitch. I barely resist the urge to wipe it away and grind my teeth at how ridiculous that is. I hold Dahlia’s gaze, but direct my question to Wesley.

“And how are we faring?”

“She’s shit, if I’m being honest,” he says, a hint of a smile on his lips. My own curl up slightly as her mouth pops open in utter outrage. She whirls on him, every bit the firebrand I know she can be.

“You traitorous little weasel!” She pummels him in the arm and he lets her, laughing. He dances around, evading her but letting her get a few licks in. Their comradery is palpable and I’m happy that she’s found something like it here at the camp. Nova chuckles and steps towards me.

“She’s not really, sir” she says. “Just needs a bit more practice and needs to mind her balance. She’s done very well with hand-to-hand.”

“May I?” I ask, loud enough to interrupt the fight, and Dahlia finally stops hitting Wesley, turning to slowly stare at me.

Wesley bows to me and offers one of the knives to Dahlia, hilt first. She takes it, seemingly having forgotten all about his traitorous words from a moment ago. She swallows hard but steps up to her spot.

“Go ahead,” I tell her. She eyes me for a moment and I nod, and she finally sighs and turns back towards the target. She steps and throws, the knife bouncing off the ground at the dummy’s feet.

“Fuck, fuck,fuck,” she grits out, running her hand over her hair, tossing her braid angrily off her shoulder. I hold my hand out to Wesley who places another blade in it. I take a deep breath and step forward, putting my body behind Dahlia’s as Wesley had done moments ago. I grit my teeth as my eyes slide closed for a long, blissfully agonizing moment. To have her so close, to feel the heat of her against my chest, to have only to lean down a few precious inches to run my tongue or fangs along her throat. She inhales sharply, her heart racing, and my mouth waters and my cock pulses.

I clear my throat quietly and force every thought from my mind except what I know best: battle. I place the knife in her hand and reach down, settling my hands on her hips. Her heart stutters for a second and then slams against her chest so violently I think it might just burst through her body. I bite theinside of my cheek, the pain and blood grounding me for the moment. I use my grip to shift her hips and use one of my feet to shuffle hers farther apart.

“There. Shift your weight…that’s better.” I leave my left hand on her hip and guide her right arm back with my own. In a low voice, I say, “Now, you need to relax.”

“That’s…much easier said than done,” she says, voice breathy but amused, and I can’t help but huff out a small laugh.

“Try your best. Now, when you release, don’t flick your wrist, just release the blade as your hand moves downward. You aren’t throwing the knife, you’re guiding it to its target.”

“Is that not the same thing?”

“No, Keeva, it is not,” I say, fighting a smile. This is…fun. I’ve always enjoyed training my men, sharing knowledge and skill and watching them learn and improve, but sharing it with Dahlia is an unexpected thrill. I slowly move our arms in tandem, showing her the way her body should move and stopping where she should release her grip. “There. That’s where I want you to ease your grip on the blade and let it fly towards the target. Are you ready?” She nods and, through great effort and personal loss, I step away. She takes a deep breath and then throws the knife.

It sticks in the dummy’s right shoulder and she whirls, grinning.

“She can be taught!” Wesley shouts, looking to the heavens with arms spread wide in prayer and gratitude.

“Give me another knife,” Dahlia says, eyes narrowed at her friend.Friend, I remind myself again as the image of him pressed against her flashes, that terrible rage clawing at my chest once more.They are just friends.“I found a new target I want to hit.”

“Big talk from the girl who hit one out of thirty-seven attempts,” he mocks.

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