Page 61 of Eyes in the Shadows

“Careful, I haven’t even used that one since I sharpened it—” I start to protest as he turns it around in his hand, but stop as he holds it with enough confidence that I know he’s not going to hurt himself. And when he presses his thumb to the edge of the blade and blood immediately wells, he just lifts his brows in surprise.

“You sharpened this? What did you use?”

Most people don’t smile when they cut themselves. And, frankly, anything other than a dirty look on his face feels out of place after how surly he’s been. I’m more than a little thrown off. “Dual grit whetstone. It takes some time, but… sharp knives are important,” I say slowly, defensively.

“I could not agree more.” He lifts his head, still smiling faintly, though the gravity in his tone makes it clear he’s not being facetious.

“I’ve cut myself much worse on dull knives.”

“That is what I always say.”

Encouraged by the change to his demeanor, I show him my index finger, where a scar curves almost all the way around. “Nearly lost this one.”

He sets down the chef’s knife gingerly—with reverence, almost—and holds out both his palms, then turns them over to show me the backs. They’re littered with white raised scars, some small, some longer than an inch. “Training knives, mostly, too dull to cut deep and just painful instead. This one, though, was from when I was surprised after just sharpening one. I also use a whetstone.”

“It’s all I can afford,” I admit, smiling a little. Are we… vibing?

“Pah,” he dismisses. “Expensive tools are for those who will not bother to learn the skill properly. Good results require patience, always.”

Mac enters the kitchen, covered in sweat. I’m a little bummed, since it appears we missed each other in the gym. Then I shake the emotion from my head. I look like a red-faced, sweaty monster when I work out—he doesn’t need to see that just yet. I let my eyes travel the length of him, pausing to admire how much moreprominent the veins on his arms seem right now. That post-pump swell is making my mouth water.

His eyes are warm as he beelines right for me and lays a heavy kiss on my lips. When he pulls back, I can see Dimitri has picked the blade back up and is staring down the length with one eye.

“This woman has good sense, James. And good knives.”

Mac throws him a glance over his shoulder, then turns back to me with a self-satisfied grin. I want to knock that pretentious smile off his face because it was a compliment for me, no matter how he twists it to make it one about himself. “Mac stabbed my coffee table with that one. Almost ruined the tip.”

As Dimitri scowls at him, Mac straightens and shoots me a look of betrayal.

“How could you?” Dimitri asks. “You, of all people, who lets no one touch his weapons.”

“They were so expensive, too. I’ve been collecting for years. German, high carbon steel.”

“German?” he repeats disparagingly, immediately setting it back down. “I take back what I said. You have no sense at all.”

“What? Youjustsaid they were well-balanced.”

“Japanese, or you are wasting your time and money.” He approaches us and whips one out from his belt.

I freeze, and Mac tenses at my side, but the alarm melts quickly into admiration. The blade is short, more like 5”, and shaped like a dagger where it’s sharp on both sides. It’s an instrument of death, with a cutout pattern at the end meant for easy gripping in spite of a bloody handle, and the tip is almost razor-blade sharp, 10° at most.

It’s an odd feeling, knowing for sure that I’m looking at a murder weapon.

“Very nice,” I breathe, my appreciation honest. I want to touch it, but I’m also a little afraid to ask. And of it.

Mac swats at my ass and steps around to grab water from the fridge. “I’m going to make dinner in a minute,” I let him know as I watch him rifling through the drawers for something to eat.

“James, we will review the information from your watch today?”

Mac nods. “I’ll drop in after my shower, before dinner.”

“Do you want dinner, too?” I ask Dimitri. I try to keep my voice light, like I don’t know he’s been eating my food already. I want to give him his dignity, so he won’t feel backed into a corner about it and turn me down out of spite.

Dimitri narrows his eyes at me, then shakes his head, his face a mask again. “No, thank you.”

As soon as Dimitri is out of the kitchen, Mac sets down the bottle he’d just gulped and swoops in on me. I reach up, expecting the embrace, but he uses the firm grip around my waist to lift me up and place my ass on the counter. I squeak, reaching for the edges to steady myself, and widen my legs as he steps between them.

“Hi,” he murmurs, staring straight into my eyes. The counters are a little higher than my waist, so this puts us almost level.

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