Page 66 of A City of Smoke and Demons
She flicked the book to a random page and began to read. ‘Death magic is a gift from Lilith, she who guards the world of the dead. A woman with the power of death in her hands can take life.’
Analise turned the page, then another, realising that the book had been scribed, not printed, and written in more than one hand. She wondered if Father Blackwood had written it, but the Head of the Church probably didn’t have time to sit around and write a book on death magic. The book wasn’t organised into topics, but was a random assortment of thoughts and theories. She continued reading about ghosts and spirits, Lilith, God, all things she already knew.
Impatient, she flipped to the back.
There was one single sentence on the last page.
‘And she who can take life can also give it …’
The words trailed off, but Analise stared at them until her eyes blurred.
Maddog marched into Ezra’s room without knocking, grabbing the foot that was hanging free of the bed. He squeezed, making Ezra jolt and swear. ‘As Jem and the others, myself included, have actual lives to live, you’ve been given the task of making sure our death witch knows how to defend herself.’
Ezra sighed, blinking at the ceiling. ‘Does she know this?’
‘She does. She’s currently in the kitchen breaking things. Get up, get dressed, and let her break you instead,’ Maddog ordered.
Analise wasn’t in the kitchen, but there was a broken plate on the bench, so Ezra made his way to the basement. The lamp above the platform was lit, and standing in its halo, spine rigid, was Analise.
She watched every step he took down the stairs.
Her arms were folded, her face hard, a cloud of burnished gold rising around her. The other night on the stairs was branded on Ezra’s brain. He could still feel her flesh beneath his lips. He could taste her skin and feel her pressed against him.
She’d told him she couldn’t let herself feel anything for him, which meant she felt something. He, on the other hand, wascoming completely undone. She was picking at threads and unravelling him from the inside out; each time she glanced at him another thread came loose. Soon, there’d be nothing of him left. Not touching her was fast becoming the sort of pain he didn’t like.
But there wasn’t anything he could do about it. He should never have followed her up those stairs. He should have stayed in the bar, gotten laid, and moved on. Instead, he’d gotten ridiculously drunk, passed out, and woken up in his bed missing a shoe. He hadn’t seen Analise since their moment on the stairs and now … he’d have to get on with it, he supposed.
Ezra plastered on a lazy smile.
‘I’m going to assume that look on your face is because you, like me, don’t appreciate being woken so early in the morning. We could always go back to bed, individually, or together. I’m easy.’
‘Let’s get this over with,’ Analise muttered.
He joined her in the ring, standing close enough to satisfy the craving in his blood, but not close enough that he’d touch her without thinking. He made her stretch her muscles—she was wound so tight he thought she’d snap if she didn’t—and then came the hard part. He took her through a simple routine, managing not to put his hands on her, using his voice to instruct her on how to pull away from an attacker, how to use her fingers, hands, elbows and knees to assist an escape, and how to use her assailant’s weight against them. How to make a fist, balance her body evenly, punch so that she wouldn’t break her wrist or damage her fingers.
Ezra bit his lip, watching her. Her stance was wrong. She’d hurt herself.
He stood behind her, taking her by the elbow to make sure she held her arm correctly. When he put his hands on her waist to steady her, she held her breath.
‘You don’t just punch with your fists,’ he said. ‘You need to put your whole body into it.’
She nodded, and they worked at it until she was sweating. He caught her smiling to herself as her movements became faster, more confident and every time she met his eyes, his heart skipped a beat.
‘Right.’ He deflected the slow punch she aimed at him. ‘Hit me.’
Analise narrowed her eyes, calculating how to make her smaller size work in her favour. She kept her fists in line with her elbows, fingers curled tight, nails to her palm. She planted her feet, then lifted her fists and threw two jabs at him, one after another. He avoided them with ease, reading her moves. A hook followed, narrowly missing his cheek, then she aimed for his ribs, making him curl his body away from her. He didn’t fight back, letting her move, watching as she kept her guard up between jabs.
‘You’re good at this.’
‘Not good enough,’ she bit out, frustrated. He let her land one on his ribs, then another, before catching the next punch she threw at him, closing his fingers around her wrist. Her eyes widened, so he spun her around and wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into his body.
Her breath hitched, then she fought him ferociously, almost knocking them both to the ground; her nails bit into his forearms as she thrashed against him. ‘Analise,’ he said, startled. ‘Analise, stop. For god’s sake, stop.’
‘Let me go,’ she hissed. He waited, but no magic rose to assault him.
‘Alright.’ Ezra relaxed his grip, thinking she’d pull away from him, punch him in the face, but she didn’t. A strangled sob escaped her, the sound burrowing inside him. Screw it. Heclosed his arms around her gently, and guided her back against his chest. ‘What is it?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Did you enjoy the rest of your party? Get a good night's sleep?’
