She’d never have believed it possible if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes. But then, she’d discovered that much of what should be impossible was very real.
“All I knew was that I needed my weapons.” He tossed the blades into the air and caught them, doing it again and again. He flung them outward. They split around her, slamming into the wall behind her.
Her heart jumped. Her breath caught in her throat. Her stomach lurched. He could have killed her.
He held out his hands once again, and the blades appeared as if by magic. She swallowed hard and glanced over her shoulder. There were two holes in the walls but no knives.
“The weapons really did become a part of me, an extension. It was quite by accident I discovered I could literally keep them on me.” A pair of short swords appeared in his hands, and he went through a series of lightning-fast maneuvers, ending with the blades in front of and behind her neck. With one twist, he could take her head.
His black eyes gleamed like the darkest onyx, unreadable, unknowable. She was breathing heavily but hadn’t drawn her own weapons. Aggression would only breed more. Instead, she placed her hand on his chest, allowing the heat from his skin to seep into hers.
He took a deep breath and shuddered. The swords disappeared.
“I held a dagger to my chest as I slept. When I woke, it was gone, but it wasn’t. It had absorbed into my skin.”
Still a little lightheaded, she kept her knees locked so she wouldn’t wobble. “But that was just one,” she pointed out. His body was covered in tattoos.
“So it is. I pushed myself. I learned.” He grabbed a Scottish broadsword. She’d seen enough movies to recognize it for what it was. And it could cleave her in two in a heartbeat.
“Some weapons are too large.” He twirled the weapon over his head and tossed it through the air. It landed back on the rack he’d taken it from. “I had to keep them in scale with my body.”
That made sense. “So swords on your back and arms and knives everywhere else.”
“Yes.” He stared around the room. “At one point or another, I’ve worn all these weapons or tried to.” The last was said with a hint of dark humor. Yeah, she could imagine the broadsword would have been interesting.
“But those are your favorites.” She ran her hands over the throwing knives and up to the throwing stars embedded in each shoulder.
When he nodded, a lock of hair fell forward. It was damp, and she reached up and pushed it back into place.
Exhaling deeply, he leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I never expected you.” He said it as though it was some deep confession.
It made her smile. “I never expected you, either.” Could never have imagined him, even on her most creative day.
He eased back and studied her in that way he had, making her his complete focus. “What knives do you favor?”
“Ah, I have this one.” She pulled it out and held it up. He glanced at it and sneered. “Hey, it might not be as fancy, but it’s saved my life more than once.” Slightly insulted, she started to return it, but he caught her wrist.
“You’re right. Any weapon is a good one. May I?” He released her and held out his hand. Shrugging, she set the blade on it.
“Good quality steel. Well made. Sharp. Symbols etched into both the handle and the blade lend it a bit more of a punch.”
She was already well aware of all that, but it was interesting to hear him lay out the qualities. His voice was so deep and moved through her like hot chocolate sauce over ice cream.
“But you need better?”
“Better?” Her curiosity was piqued. “That’s the blade they gave me when I got sent back here.”
“And it’s good.” He slipped it into the sheath on her thigh, and it wasn’t her imagination that he stroked her leg before taking a step back and walking to an area that