those muscles are for anything other than dangling off of bars, but…” She shrugs as if embarrassed to have admitted that much.
“Arm and shoulder strength like that can help you with a lot,” I say quickly. “I’m impressed. You should have told me sooner you needed a workout space.”
Her blush deepens. “It wasn’t—I mean, it didn’t seem as important— It’s been amazing just getting to walk around, so I guess I was more focused on that.” She waves toward the rest of the room. “Don’t let me stop you from whatever you were going to do. Unless you wanted to use the bars?”
“No, go ahead, that’s not where I’d usually start anyway.”
As I meander toward the punching bag, I can’t help watching her a little longer. Determination sparks in her eyes as she grips the bar again. There’s no mistaking the enjoyment she gets out of putting her body to work. It warms me, seeing that. Thinking about how she managed one small act of resistance even while battered and starved in that filthy cage.
The small curves of her breasts rise beneath her shirt with the stretch of her arms, and a headier sort of warmth, one I don’t let myself look at too closely, travels down my chest to my groin. I jerk my gaze away and train my attention on the punching bag. Now I’ve got more than one kind of energy I need to work out of my system.
It only takes a minute or two for me to shed the distraction of her presence and fall into the familiar groove of punches and side-steps. I weave one way and another, sometimes focusing only on the angle of my strikes and the force of the impact, and sometimes picturing Kellan’s sour face and letting my fists fly with some of that pent-up aggression.
As I intensify the workout, I tug off my shirt like I typically do so it doesn’t end up a sweaty mess. The perspiration that breaks out as I pummel the bag some more cools my skin. I’ve worked a satisfying burn into my arms and chest when I finally step back and take a breather.
Talia is still standing by the bars, but she’s stopped her own exercises. I glance at her, worried that my violent display might have frightened her even when directed at an inanimate object.
When our gazes meet, the emotion in her eyes isn’t anything like terror. No, there’s a hunger in the dilation of her pupils—one I can taste a moment later in a faint musky tang that carries through the air between us.
She yanks herself around to grasp the bars again, flushing so darkly even her neck has reddened. A matching flush washes through me with a flare of my own desire. My wolf stretches within me, roused by the urge to stalk right over there and pull her into a kiss, dig my fingers into that vibrant hair, taste the sweat that shines on her skin. She’s such a tantalizing mix of sweetness and strength…
By sheer force of will, I hold myself back. She might welcome the advance. She finds me attractive—I’ve sensed it in her bodily reactions as we’ve worked together in the kitchen, when I came to her with my offering of salt the other night. But no doubt she isn’t sure what to do about it or even if it’d be safe for her to try to do something, considering she can’t have had much experience in that area before Aerik stole her from her world.
The one small mercy she’s had in the midst of so much torment is the result of more disdain: Aerik’s pack has always recoiled from the idea of sexual relations with humans. They sneer at those who take on mortals as lovers—and those like me who are the direct result of a coupling like that. It appears the most intimate of violations is the one indignity they didn’t subject her to. The problem is, it wouldn’t necessarily be all that much safer for her to act on her desires with me.
The human lovers of the fae tend to meet dire ends. I should know.
The chill of that long-ago horror winds through my lust, dampening its heat. As much as my blood stirs at the thought, I can’t offer Talia what she wants, what I want, especially when she’s barely had a chance to explore what that even is.
If she builds enough courage to make her own advances, though… Heart help me, I’m