Page 12 of Chained

“Hooves and horns!” The captain throws up his hands, his tail thrashing. “Do I have to do everything in this place?”

He gives me and Maxym a swift glance before following the guard out, leaving us alone.

Which is absolutely not what I was promised. Not at all.

Maxym doesn’t move. He’s like a carved marble statue with eyes which wander over me.

“These blades are made of the finest Sartak tritanium.” I rush into my patter, one I’ve perfected over the last nova-weeks while Retah and I were ordering, receiving, and cataloging all the weapons required by the dome. “Created by a master weaponsmith with over sixty nova-years’ experience.”

I don’t dare look at him as I pick up a sword and rest the blade at the hilt on my outstretched finger.

“Perfectly balanced,” I state as a breeze blows the scent of his feathers to me. “The blades are sharpened to a specific method developed by the creator and the edges honed in order to avoid blunting during use.”

Maxym still hasn’t moved. He is still watching me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anyone undress me with their eyes before, but he is absolutely doing it.

And I don’t dislike it. Even though I really,reallyshould.

He cocks his head on one side. At least this time he’s clean, although all that has done is made his abs look particularly delicious.

“What about the method of creating the blade?” he asks.

At the sound of his voice, dark and warm, with a rasp at the very edge which makes my stomach dip, my heart speeds up and, unbelievably, my core clenches.

What the hell is happening?

“The blade…” I stumble over the words which I’ve been practicing forever. “The blade is worked from tritanium…” I repeat like an idiot.

Maxym moves like a cat, sinuous and swift, and in two strides, he’s next to me and sweeps the dagger from my hand.

I’d forgotten how huge he is up close. This close. I’m not entirely sure I can breathe because somehow he’s robbing the area of all oxygen.

He lifts the weapon up to his eye and squints down it before spinning it in his hand, tossing it to the other, and then thumbing the blade.

“Too light,” he pronounces.

All the air rushes back into my body at his words.

“Too light?” I echo him.

“Too light for the dome. I need something with weight if I’m to defeat a ziggurag.”

“A ziggurag?”

Now I just sound stupid, repeating everything he says. I take a step back to my weapons table and give myself a mental shake.

“I have swords in various weights, dependent on the user and the usage,” I respond as I select a much larger one, far more Maxym’s size. I turn it and hand it over to him, pommel first, the blade resting on my arm. “Try this one.”

His wings flare briefly. He puts the dagger down and runs his clawed hand through his short dark hair before he takes the sword from me.

Again, he checks the blade, then he dances away from me, his great wings opening slightly as he slides across the armory into a lethal dance movement similar to the one Retah taught me, only Maxym is far, far better than I am. Watching him move with the blade is like watching a killer ballet dancer. Every single step, every thrust with the sword is perfectly, precisely placed.

“You can breathe now,” he says, back at my side.

Maxym is close, too close for the dangerous predator he is. Too close for me to be able to do anything, even with all the weapons surrounding us.

I’ve been waiting, expecting this moment for the last nova-month. But until now, I hadn’t realized what my anticipation was like. I don’t know what to do.

“Please breathe, little scrap.” He is right next to me, lowering the sword to the table, placing it precisely next to its brethren. “Breathe for me and for the young which grows within you.”

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