Alcántara barked out a satisfied laugh, and I felt a hot blush creep from my chest to my hairline. How was it his laughter made my words echo in such a naughtily suggestive way?
Eager to change the subject, I glanced to the limp sandbag at my feet. “Is it time for the…for these?” At that moment, I’d have traded running up and down the beach with a sandbag over my head for Alcántara’s uncomfortable stare any day.
“Yes—”
“No,” Alcántara said, speaking over a visibly shaken Tracer Otto. “I am finding this exercise too…vulgar for Acari Drew.” The vampire’s voice was smooth as brandy, with a faint, sultry Spanish accent, his murmured vulgar managing to make sandbags sound like the crassest endeavor ever conceived by man.
I snuck Alcántara a tentative look, uncertain whether to feel thankful or terrified at just what other activity might be in store for me. The glint in those black eyes decided it, telling me the appropriate emotion was definitely terror.
“There is a different assignment for Acari Drew. Today Acari Drew begins an…independent study.”
CHAPTER TWO
Breathe in, breathe out, foot up, foot down. We wound along the trail leading from the beach back to campus, and it was taking all my concentration not to make an ass out of myself.
Why vampires didn’t choose to drive was beyond me—instead they just seemed to appear, and usually at inopportune times. Or, as I was currently discovering with Alcántara, they simply glided from one place to another, as though navigating a dinner salon instead of a rocky, rugged, uneven isle.
Stumbling a little, I amped up the mantra looping in my head. You are not an ass. You are sophisticated, graceful, and bright. Watch the rock—
While my eyes were on one rock, I tripped on another, stubbing the toe of my sneaker hard and toppling to the ground, looking pretty much as unsophisticated and ungraceful as a girl could get.
“Shi—” I swallowed my curse, quickly correcting myself. Vampires were old-school in every sense of the word, and Ronan was constantly warning me about my swearing. “Sh-shoes. My feet are sandy in my shoes. That’s why I tripped.”
“Cuidado, querida.”
I dusted off my hands, as embarrassed by my lame excuse as I was by my epic fall. Picking the sharp pebbles from my knees, I mumbled, “So much for graceful.”
I heard a low, rumbling chuckle overhead. The shadows shifted, and Alcántara came into view, squatting before me. “If you but relax, the legs will be as supple as the mind.”
I felt his deft hands on my knee and elbow, and before I knew it, he’d arranged me so I was sitting before him. I was horrified, sprawled there in my damp cotton shorts and oversized sweatshirt—my legs seemed extra pale, the flesh extra mottled with bruises. But it got worse, because he took one of my sneakers in his hand, unlaced it, and slipped it free, and then the other, until both my feet were pale and na**d before him.
I felt as if he’d bared more than just my pruny toes.
I’d lied—I didn’t trip because I had sand in my shoe; I tripped because my nerves made me clumsy. But if he sensed my excuse, he didn’t show it. Instead, Alcántara took turns cupping each heel, gently sweeping away every last bit of sand. The sensation of his hands rubbing rough sand over the delicate arch of my foot sent electric shocks zinging up my body.
I couldn’t have budged if I wanted to, I was so paralyzed watching his every move. He worked in silence, eventually lacing me back up, and as I came back to myself, he was sliding his hand over mine, his grip cool and firm on my buzzing skin.
He stood, pulling me with him, and I became aware of his nascent power. Hugo de Rosas Alcántara might have been lean, but he was strong.
Those dark eyes met mine. “Better?”
“I’m feeling much more…uh…supple now, yes, thank you.” I felt the blood dump into my cheeks.
Great. First Alcántara witnessed me stripped of dignity, and now my violently blushing cheeks would make him so thirsty, he wouldn’t be able to fight the urge to bite me and drink me dry. Well, maybe he’ll make it quick.…
But instead he smiled. “You must have a care,” he told me with that devil’s grin. He bent over the rock that’d tripped me and easily pried it from the dirt. He held it before him in his outstretched palm. “We cannot have the best fighter on this island downed by a simple stone.”
And then he crushed it to powder.
He dumped the dust from his palm, his fingers sprinkling it into the breeze. “You are working with me now, and we must let nothing stand in your way.”
It was a kind thought, and yet menace had infused the words. I got the sense that Alcántara would allow nothing to distract me—not obstacles, not fear. And especially not people.
“Thank you,” I managed. If I’d known winning the Directorate Challenge would mean this, I might’ve rethought things a bit.
He gave me a courtly nod in reply, strolling on, and I did my best to keep up, despite my trembling legs.
We walked, and time passed, and despite our little foot interlude, his features remained as still as marble. I imagined that, to an immortal, fifteen minutes of quiet was like the blink of an eye, but to me, the silence was excruciating.