Rage and Ruin (The Harbinger 2)

My gaze coasted toward the coach, and yep, there he was, sitting up and...

Muscles flexed under golden skin and rippled across bare shoulders as he lifted his arms over his head, stretching. His back bowed, and I didn’t know if I should be grateful or disappointed that the couch blocked most of my view.

“I can’t look away, even though I need to,” Peanut said, and I jumped about a foot off the floor as he appeared out of thin air beside me. “He makes me feel like I need to spend more time at the gym.”

My brows inched up my forehead.

Zayne twisted toward where I stood. “Hey,” he said, voice rough with sleep as he thrust one hand through his messy hair.

“Morning,” I mumbled, thankful when Peanut blinked out of existence. I lifted my hand and bit down on a nail.

“Sleep well?” he asked, and I nodded, even though that was a lie.

When Zayne rose, I looked away and hurried toward the kitchen, all the while hoping my face didn’t look as red as it felt. I didn’t need an eyeful of the glory of Zayne’s chest. “Want anything to drink?”

“I’m good but thanks,” he replied. “Be back in a few.”

Zayne wasn’t talkative when he first woke up, something I was learning. After grabbing a glass of OJ, I took a sip and then placed it on the island next to the plans for the school. The paper was still unrolled.

I heard the shower turn on and hoped Peanut wasn’t in the bathroom being a creep. I went to the couch and turned on the TV, settling on a news station, and then folded the soft gray quilt and draped it over the back of the couch before going back to the island. I finished off my OJ and had moved on to a can of soda when Zayne finally stepped out of the bedroom. Nervous energy had me chewing on my thumbnail again as I wondered why it took him double the time it took me to shower. His hair was wet and slicked back and he was, thankfully, fully clothed in a pair of navy blue nylon pants and another plain white shirt. His feet were bare.

He had nice feet.

“Soda for breakfast?” he commented as he strolled past me, catching my hand and gently tugging it away from my mouth.

I sighed. “This is dessert.”

“Nice.” He made his way to the fridge. The wintery scent that always clung to Zayne lingered. Was it some kind of bath wash? I didn’t think so, because I’d already scoped out the bottles in the shower.

I swiveled around. “Do I need to remind you of our water conversation yesterday?”

“Please, God, no.” He opened the fridge. “Want some eggs?”

“Sure. Can I help?”

He looked up as he placed a carton of eggs and a tub of butter on the island. “Aren’t you the person who almost burned down Thierry’s house trying to make fried chicken?”

I snorted. “Aren’t you the person who said you’d teach me to make grilled cheese?”

“You know, you’re right.” He picked up an egg and pointed it at me. “But I need to feed myself first.”

“Priorities.”

“And I really don’t want you to do the eggs. Even though they’re hard to mess up, I have a suspicion you might do just that, and then I’ll be embarrassed for you.”

“Really?” I muttered dryly.

He grinned, and I was sure I got a little goofy in the face as I watched him. “Scrambled okay?”

“Sure thing, Chef Zayne.”

That got me a low chuckle. “You know, you can sit on the couch. Got to be more comfortable than the stool.”

“I know.” And it probably was, but Zayne slept there, and for some reason, I felt like that was his space.

How long could we keep this up? Zayne sleeping on the couch, us sharing a shower? Where would we go, though? We had to stay in the city. There was his clan’s compound, which had room for us, but besides Nicolai and Dez, his clan didn’t know what I was, and it had to stay that way. Also, I had a feeling Zayne wouldn’t be down with that idea.

“I figured after breakfast we could do some training,” Zayne said, drawing my attention back to him. “I haven’t come up with anything in particular to help with the vision thing, but if you and Misha practiced daily, we should be doing that.”

I glanced down at myself. My leggings and loose shirt were perfect for training.

“Unless you got anything better planned?”

I pinned him with a dry look. “Yeah, I made plans with that demon who impaled himself on my dagger. He’s coming back to life and we’re going to hang out.”

Zayne grinned. “Then how about you unroll the mats.” A pause. “If you can handle it?”

“I can handle it,” I mimicked, hopping off the stool, “if you can handle the epic ass kicking you’re going to receive.”

He laughed at that, so loudly that I turned to look at him.

“You’re so going to regret that laugh,” I muttered, and stalked to the mats.

As Zayne got down to scrambling, I hefted the surprisingly heavy mats and dropped them to the floor with a loud thunk. After unrolling them and pushing the two large sections together, I wiped the sweat off my forehead and joined Zayne back at the island. Once we’d finished the buttery eggs, I felt a lot more energized, as if I actually had gotten some real rest last night.

We cleaned up, and then I followed Zayne to the mats, stretching out my arms.

“Normally I’d do some warm-ups first.” As he stepped onto the mat, Zayne tugged an elastic hair tie off his wrist, scooped up his hair and secured it in a half-finished ponytail that looked a thousand times better on him than when I tried to do it. “Definitely run a bit at least.”

I frowned as I grabbed my bent elbow and pulled it across my chest until I felt the stretch in my shoulder. “I don’t like running.”

Zayne faced me. “That’s a shocker.”

“Ha. Ha.”

“I figured we’d start with block techniques and takedowns.” Standing there, arms crossed and feet planted with his hips lined up with his shoulders, he reminded me so much of Misha that I had to look away. “Then move on to defensive—”

“So, the basics?” Mimicking Zayne, I crossed my arms. “The stuff I learned when I first begin training?”

He nodded. “Stuff that can always be improved, no matter how much training you have.”

“Huh. And you continue to practice basic blocking techniques?” I raised my brows.

Zayne said nothing.

“I’m going to take that as a no. What makes you think I need to?” I asked.

He tilted his head. “Because I have way more in-field experience than you do.”

“That’s true.” I uncrossed my arms.

Zayne straightened his head, features marked with confusion as if he’d expected more of an argument.

I smiled.

And then I made my move. Shooting forward, I slid down like I was coming in to home base, planting my palms on the mat as I twisted and kicked out one leg. I swept his legs from underneath him, and he went down like a tree, landing on his side with a grunt and then rolling onto his back. Pushing up, I spun and dropped my knees on either side of his hips just as he started to sit up. I shoved my hands onto his shoulders, straddling his stomach as I held him down, tapping into my strength—and the strength borrowed from him. I could feel the strain on my muscles, but he wasn’t moving.

I took a second to soak in his look of surprise and my feeling of pure, unadulterated pleasure in having bested him. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs to practice defensive techniques.”

Zayne’s eyes drifted halfway shut. “Touché.”

“Is that all you have to say?” I asked, feeling his chest rise.

One side of his lips quirked up. “What did you and Misha do during training?”

“We fought.”

His brows lifted. “That’s it?”

I nodded. “We fought, and we didn’t hold back.” I shifted my hands to his chest, ignoring how warm it felt under the thin shirt. “Well, maybe Misha did hold back a little, but we fought each other and then I practiced with daggers.”

“The dagger thing is going to be hard to practice in here,” he commented, and I nodded. “But I think we could do that at the compound. There’s a lot of land and a lot of trees to stab.”

“I’m not sure I like stabbing trees, but that will work.”

“What about your eyes? The sunlight won’t be a problem?”

I shrugged. “The sunlight could be an issue. So could a too-cloudy day, but it’s not like I’ll always have the perfect ambient lighting when fighting, so it’s probably smarter to do it under uncomfortable circumstances.”

“Good point.” Zayne looked rather comfy under me, like he was taking a break.

“Are you going to be able to really fight me? Not take it easy?” I asked. “Because I don’t need you to pull punches or kicks.”

“Why do you think I can’t do that?”

“Well, maybe because you wanted to start with the basics? And you’re a nice guy. The last time we fought, you didn’t really come at me. Not as hard as you could’ve.”

“Which is why you were able to get the best of me?”

My lips thinned. “Whatever. I need to know if you can do this instead of just lying there, like you’re doing right now, because like I said, you’re a nice guy.”

That half grin grew. “Maybe I’m just lying here because I’m enjoying myself.”

I blinked. “What—”

Zayne’s hands landed on my hips, and a burst of shock left me unbalanced. A heartbeat later, I was on my back and Zayne was over me, his knees digging into the mats on either side of my hips. I started to sit up, but he caught my wrists and pinned them to the mat.

My heart jumped and my pulse kicked up as he leaned down then stopped when his mouth was within a few inches of mine. The weight of his hands on my wrists and the warmth of his body had my imagination leaping happily into the gutter.