Page 23 of Deserted

Oh, he did not just go there.

“Unless you’re afraid of losing,” I shot back.

That got his attention. He straightened, tail flicking once behind him in challenge. “You are small.”

“I’m scrappy.”

“Prove it.”

The two words hung in the air between us, charged with something that definitely wasn’t just competitive spirit. His pupils had dilated slightly, those vertical slits expanding in a way that made him look more predatory. More dangerous.

More enticing.

“Outside,” he said, already moving toward the equipment locker. “The radiation levels are acceptable for short duration.”

I blinked, momentarily thrown by his sudden shift from Mr. Mysterious to Combat Instructor. “Wait, what about the Swarm? Won’t it, I don’t know, eat us or something?”

“The perimeter is secured. Temporarily.” He extracted what looked like two lightweight staffs from the locker. “Motion sensors will alert us to any approach.”

“Comforting.”

He tossed one of the staffs to me. I caught it reflexively, surprised by its balance and unusual weight. It wasn’t metal or wood, but some composite material that felt warm to the touch.

“What is this made of?”

“Hardened ceracane. Legion training material.”

“And what am I supposed to do with it? Besides, you know, not get my ass kicked.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close enough to make my heart do something stupid in my chest.

“You will attempt to strike me. I will show you how to defend yourself.”

“That’s it? No ‘wax on, wax off’? No deep philosophical lessons about the warrior’s spirit?”

He blinked slowly. “I do not understand that reference.”

“Of course you don’t.” I sighed, twirling the staff experimentally. “Lead the way, Sensei.”

The twin suns hit me like a physical blow as we stepped outside. Even with the storm passed, the heat was oppressive, the air so dry it hurt to breathe. Rhaekar moved ahead of me, histall frame casting a long shadow across the scorched sand. He’d changed into what looked like training gear—a sleeveless tunic that revealed more of those golden markings spiraling down his muscular arms, and loose pants that somehow still managed to emphasize the powerful lines of his thighs.

I was staring. I knew I was staring. But come on. The alien was built like a god with just enough cat DNA to make his movements liquid grace. Sue me.

He led me to a cleared area near the bunker—a rough circle about twenty feet in diameter where the sand had been packed down into a relatively firm surface. The perimeter was marked with small devices that pulsed with a faint blue light.

“Motion sensors,” he explained, noting my gaze. “They will warn us of approach.”

“From the Swarm?”

“From anything.”

Not exactly reassuring, but I’d take it. I stepped into the circle, testing the footing. Solid enough, though the sand would make quick movements challenging.

“How do we—” I began, turning back toward him.

But he was already moving.

One moment he was standing at the edge of the circle, the next he was beside me, staff sweeping toward my legs in a controlled arc. I reacted on instinct, jumping back and bringing my own staff up in a clumsy block.

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