Page 6 of Champion
While Adtovar gathered our training tools from a pile near the edge of the arena, I began my stretching routine, which consisted of bend and reach, rear lunges, forward lunges, prone row, and a bent-leg body twist. Charick stood nearby, the golden eyes regarding me curiously.
“Do you fight?” I asked, shifting from a rear to a forward lunge and feeling the pull at the top of my thighs.
“Of course.” His posture took on a haughty tone. “I am Vaktaire.”
It didn’t surprise me. With that body of his, it would be a damn shame if he wasn’t a warrior of some kind. Still, I couldn’t resist the urge to tease.
“I couldn’t tell, especially with your priest's robe.”
“My what?” He blinked at me. Damn, he was cute when confused.
“Your robe.” I gestured up and down his body at the deep green cassock he wore. “On Earth, only ministers—holy men—wear robes like that.”
Charick made a face and, with a disdainful grunt, sloughed off the robe, tossing it on a nearby boulder.
Have mercy!
I knew he had muscles, even with the robe on, but….
Have mercy!
Underneath, he wore black boots and black leather pants that molded to his muscular thighs and perfectly rounded ass. A sleeveless leather vest showed off brawny arms and shoulders. Without the robe, I realized that what I’d taken for honey-tanned skin wasn’t skin at all but a short pelt that looked downy soft. My fingers itched to run over his arms and shoulders so badly it was mildly shocking.
I’d always liked big, muscular men. My husband had been over six feet and built like a leaner Arnold Schwarzenegger. But this guy... he was like a wet dream come true. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, and it appeared he possessed the same dilemma. His golden eyes traveled my body, leaving hits of heat where they touched.
“Are you ready?”
I was so caught up in my admiration that Adtovar’s question made me jump. I barely gathered my senses in time to catch the two dull metal blades he tossed in my direction.
“You train with blades?” From the look on Charick’s face, the revelation did not make himhappy.
This wasn’t the first time I’d held a knife, and I twirled the blade between my fingers, grinning smugly.
Charick appeared more appalled than impressed.
When he realized he was getting nowhere with me, Charick turned his upset on Adtovar. “You let her train with blades?”
My trainer gave a snort and grinned broadly. “Watch and learn.” With that, he raised his blades and attacked.
I faced Adtovar, shifting my stance to a 45-degree angle, with my left foot slightly ahead of my right and met him head-on. The dull blades clanged like church bells as I deflected his strike.
“Remember, keep your hips facing toward me. It gives you a firmer baser of support from which to defend.”
I grunted and shifted my stance again, this time taking a swipe at Adtovar with the blade in my left hand. He grinned as he batted the strike away.
I wasn’t an idiot. Adtovar was so large and skilled that he could have me on my back before I could blink. He probably only used half his strength and speed against me. Yet he did his best to teach me the techniques that might keep me alive if I faced an opponent who didn’t pull his punches. I’d be forever grateful for that.
The next few minutes were a flurry of glinting blades as Adtovar came at me using eight different angles of attack. Each swipe of his blade I met with a parry of mine, and my hands tingled as the hilt reverberated in my grip from the force of his blows. It was still early morning, but the oversized sun beat down from overhead, causing sweat to break out on my forehead and trickle between my breasts.
“Remember, the easiest defensive move in sword fighting is simply to move away.” You’re small and fast—use it.”
I took his advice and dodged his underhanded attack, spinning and catching his blade with a downward motion and driving the point into the dirt. I held a black belt in Krav Maga and ranked in Muay Thai. Despite it being years since I’d had active training in the disciplines, my body and mind remembered.
“Good!” Adtovar bellowed, grinning broadly when I parried with a slice toward his chest that might have proved deadly to a lesser-skilled opponent.
His praise made me bolder. It always did.
I lived for these moments. Even though I recognized Adtovar stood as a substitute in whatever deep-seated daddyissues I carried from a father who’d rather be on a naval aircraft carrier than home and hated the fact that I’d been born a girl.
