Page 68 of Bonds of Magic
His gaze hardened. “What if none of those people are there when I need them? People have been trying to kidnap or kill me. Are you seriously trying to convince me that I’m not in danger?”
I frowned. I hadn’t been there the night he’d needed me most. I’d been off in Pointe Claudette while he was doing his damndest to save Erika.
“You might have a point,” I said begrudgingly. “But you don’t need a sword.”
He opened his mouth to object, but I held up a hand. “A sword is a great weapon, but it’s also extremely noticeable. I can’t have you running around Vesperwood with one at your hip all the time. You’re not a Hunter. It would draw too much attention.”
Hunters didn’t usually walk around with weapons either, not until they were bonded with them their senior year. But there was no way I was letting Cory wear a sword, period.
“A sword would be too big for you,” I told him. “You’d trip over your own feet.”
“I’m not a child,” he said, his voice heated.
“I know, I know.” I held up a hand again. I hadn’t realized this would be such a touchy subject. “I just meant—how tall are you? Five eight?”
“Five seven,” he said, like the answer was being dragged out of him.
“The highest quality weapons are forged specifically for their owners,” I told him. “So while it would be possible to make a sword to fit you, the weapons I have in the armory? They’d be all wrong.”
I was sure he couldliftthe swords I had, but could he hold any aloft for more than a minute? Could he walk with one in a scabbard without tangling it in his legs? The thought made me smile, but I wiped my face clean when I saw him glare suspiciously.
“I’m not objecting to the idea of you having a weapon. But Idoobject to it being a sword.”
“Well, what then?”
I paused. “You know anything about knives?”
He laughed once, drily. “I assume you mean for more than just cooking?”
“Yes, for more than cooking.” I rolled my eyes.
Cory shrugged. “Not really.”
I slid the knife out of my right wrist sheath and held it out to him, hilt first. “Take this.”
His eyes went wide. “You’re giving me one of your—”
“Just to test it. Don’t get excited.”
Still, he smiled as he took the blade from me, and his eyes danced as he turned it over in his hands. He had the sense to hold it by the hilt at least, but he still brought his fingertip to the point and pressed it until a drop of blood welled up from his skin.
Why was the kid always poking things that would hurt him?
“Sharp,” he said, but he didn’t wince.
“It’s supposed to be.” I slid the matching knife from my other sleeve and showed it to him. “You hold it like this for slashing,” I said, demonstrating the grip and waiting for him to copy me.
He tried, but his index finger was all wrong.
“No, move your finger. Leaving it out like that is a great way to get it broken, or sliced off.”
He moved his finger, but only to a worse position. I sighed and sheathed the knife I’d been holding.
“Here, like this.” I brought my hand to his, moving his fingers into position around the hilt. “Got it?”
Cory’s eyes seemed to glow when he looked up at me. “Yeah?”
There was a question in his voice that I didn’t dare answer. For all I knew, he knew exactly how to hold a knife, and was doing this to fuck with me. But I didn’t pull my hand away. His skin felt too good against my own.
