Page 84 of Shadowed Hearts: Frost
"When someone grabs you like this, most people instinctively pull back." He demonstrates by tightening his grip as I reflexively tug. "That's exactly what they want. Instead, you need to—" He guides my arm through a twisting motion I immediately lose track of.
"Now you try." He takes my wrist again.
I attempt to recreate the movement, but my arm jerks awkwardly. I try again. And again. By the fifth attempt, I'm grinding my teeth.
"I don't get it." I blow a strand of pink-streaked hair from my eyes. "My brain understands the physics, but my body won't cooperate." I make another attempt, my movements jerky and over thought. "My superpower is my brain, not... this." I gesture at my body with frustration.
Asher steps behind me, his chest nearly touching my back. He positions my arm in front of me and places his hand over mine.
"You're overthinking." His breath is warm against my ear. "Feel the movement."
He guides me through the motion again, slower this time. I try to focus, but all I can think about is his proximity, the way his body radiates heat.
"Again." He steps away.
I try once more, failing just as spectacularly.
Asher studies me for a moment, his dark eyes calculating. Something shifts in his expression—a subtle softening around his eyes that I'm not sure anyone else would notice.
"Let's try something different." He recognizes my mounting frustration. "Not everyone needs to be a fighter."
He repositions himself behind me. "Here's what matters." His arm wraps around my waist in a hold that's both restraining and oddly comforting. "If someone grabs you—" his grip tightens slightly, "—you don't need fancy techniques."
He guides my elbow back toward where his ribs would be if I were actually struggling.
"Hit here," he directs, positioning my elbow against a sensitive spot between his ribs, "and run."
I execute the simple move, jabbing my elbow back with more force than necessary.
Asher grunts but gives me a rare smile. "Good. That's exactly right."
"That's it?" I ask, surprised at the simplicity.
"That's it," he confirms, his hands lingering on my shoulders. "Your goal isn't to win a fight. It's to create space to escape."
His voice drops lower, taking on that possessive edge that makes my stomach flip. "Though ideally, you wouldn't need even this. You're not going anywhere without me nearby."
I turn to face him, suddenly aware of how close we're standing.
"So, your plan is to follow me everywhere?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "That's a little stalker-ish, even for you."
"Not stalking. Protection," he corrects, his expression serious. "There are still people looking for you."
His eyes drop to my lips for the briefest moment. A muscle in his jaw tics. One of those tiny tells that I've learned means he's fighting for control. The realization that I have this effect on him sends a thrill through me that rivals any coding breakthrough.
But the reminder of danger sends a chill through me despite the warmth of the house. Asher notices, of course he notices everything, and squeezes my shoulder once before stepping back, putting deliberate distance between us.
"I need to shower," his voice slightly rougher than usual. "Try to avoid rearranging my kitchen while I'm gone."
I press a hand to my chest in mock offense. "I would never. I just... optimized your spice arrangement."
"Alphabetical order works perfectly fine."
"Frequency of use is much more efficient," I argue, but he's already heading toward the bathroom, shaking his head.
I wander back to my workspace, fingers itching to code, when I remember the small package Asher had handed me before we left headquarters yesterday.
"For later," he'd said, his eyes dark with promise. "Wear it during surveillance. Let's see how well you multitask."
