Blood, Ash & Bone

Chapter One

“Do it again,” he said.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead, my legs shaking. “You’re kidding.”

“No. One more time.”

“I need to catch my breath first.”

He moved behind me and ran his hands down my ribcage to the small of my back, palms flat. He toed my feet two inches further apart and tucked my hips under. “One more time. Shoulders down and back. Keep your feet in neutral.”

“Can’t we move to side kicks?”

“Round kicks.”

“Trey—”

“One more set.“ He stood in front of me again and picked up the kick pad. “Keep it sequential.”

I gave up arguing and straightened my stance. We were alone in the workout room at the gym, his students long gone. No way to avoid his laser-lock attention. I took a deep breath and kicked one more time, channeling my annoyance into the kinetic chain of hip-thigh-ankle. To my astonishment, I landed it solid, all of my mass and energy converging in a blow so powerful it knocked Trey back a step.

I bounced on the balls of my feet. “I nailed that!”

He didn’t smile, but I did detect satisfaction. He always looked so boyish with a light sheen of sweat on his forehead, his black hair mussed.

“Good,” he said. “Stop bouncing and finish the set.”

I squared my stance as he put the kick pad up again, then launched into the rest of the set, seven more kicks in rapid succession. I felt like a ninja, a starburst, a lightning rod.

I put my hands up in a fighting stance. “Come on, let’s do some sparring.”

“Not today.”

“You always say that.”

He lowered the kick pad and started untying his handwraps, eyes down. I put my hands on my hips.

“Trey. We have talked about this.”

He shook his head, not looking at me. “Nonetheless.”

I exhaled in frustration. Three months previously, in the heat of a bitter argument, I’d grabbed his elbow. He’d popped my hand away in a Krav block, a move as precise and sudden as a lightning strike. It hadn’t hurt, but it had certainly shocked me. Trey too. He’d stared at his hands like they were alien things, then babbled an apology. And we hadn’t sparred since.

“You still spar with your other students. Why not with me?”

He didn’t deny the charge. His attention remained on the neat unwrapping of his hands.

I spread my arms. “Look at me. Shin pads, combat vest, gloves. I’ve even got the damn helmet on. You’re wearing a tee-shirt and shorts, barefoot. I’m a virtual tank, and you’re one layer from naked.

He folded his arms. I recognized the gesture—full defensive lockdown—which meant I wasn’t breaching his perimeter with a direct assault.

I took two steps closer, and he narrowed his eyes, wary. Up close, he smelled like sweat and bleached cotton. I imagined how he would taste, the salt sting of bare skin against my tongue. I ran one hand up his arm, from wrist to elbow. He didn’t visibly react, but I knew he craved the flare and ignition as much as I did, even if he was better at tamping it down.

I smiled at him. “We’ll take it slow and easy. No sudden moves, no surprises.”

He didn’t budge. I ran one finger down his breastbone, feeling the contraction of each muscle group — first the pecs, then the diaphragm, then the abs. He could make a fortress of his body. He was doing it right in front of me.

He cocked his head. “Tai? What are you doing?”

“Sparring.”

“This isn‘t sparring.”

“You sure?”

And then I yanked my knee up within a millimeter of his groin. He froze, and his eyes went ice-blue. And he got calm. Real calm.

I looked him in the eye. “So drop the over-protective routine, Mr. Seaver. I may not be the Krav Maga god that you are, but I can take care of myself.”

He hadn’t moved an inch. “A point.”

I smiled bigger. “In my favor, I do believe.”

And then it happened. Suddenly the world somersaulted—wheel and whirl and reel and tumble—and the back of my skull slammed against the cushioned mat with a thud. I blinked into the overhead fluorescents, flat on my back.

Trey stood at my feet, hands on hips, not even breathing hard. He hadn’t broken eye contact, had simply grabbed my arm and flipped me, one deft move. Close the space, vault and release.

I squinted up at him. “Omigod, you have to teach me that.”

“What?”

“Seriously. That was awesome.” I held a hand in his direction and wiggled my fingers. “Help me up.”

His natural courtesy almost undid him, and he reached out to take my hand. Fortunately for him, his training kicked in a millisecond later, and he snatched his hand back before I could grab it.

I grinned. “You almost fell for that.”

He glared at me, then headed for the door.

I rolled to my stomach. “And where do you think you’re going, you sneaky son of a bitch?”

He bent over his gym bag and pulled out his gloves. “To get my sparring gear.”