A Touch of Poison (Shadows of the Tenebris Court, #2)

“Really?”

“Mm, that’s right. Now, take these three fingers.” Coming close, he folded in his thumb and little finger. “Forefinger above the arrow, the other two below. Place them on the string.”

I was already standing side-on to the targets yet he still didn’t realise, so I continued with the charade. “Then what, Bastian?” I turned my face away so he wouldn’t see my grin.

“Bow upright”—his arm came around me as he guided my wrist—“and draw.” He “helped” and I tried to ignore the press of him against my back. “Elbow—oh, it already is up. Good.”

That word. Fuck. That word.

With my hair braided and coiled around my head, he had to see the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I couldn’t summon an overly enthusiastic reply. Not when my stomach was doing odd flippy things like a swallow in the summer sky.

“Make sure you’re not locking your elbow.”

I wasn’t.

“You should feel the pull here.” He released my wrist and his palm landed between my shoulder blades. “Then you just need to aim and—”

I let my arrow fly.

It thrummed into the target on the edge of the inner bullseye.

I nodded and rolled my shoulders. “A little rusty. But you’re right, that was easier to draw than I remembered.”

The air huffed out of him. “You’ve used a bow before.”

I flashed him a grin. “Only a few times. When did you realise?”

“Too late. That’ll teach me for not asking, won’t it?”

I raised my eyebrows.

He jerked his head towards the quiver mounted to a stake in the ground. “Fire another.”

I nocked another arrow and drew. This next part wasn’t so different from pistol shooting. Aim, exhale, adjust aim, fire.

Dead centre.

He returned my wide smile like it was infectious. “Another.” There was a note of playful challenge in his voice that eased the tension I’d been carrying in my jaw and shoulders since waking in Elfhame.

I could almost forget everything that had happened in Lunden.

Almost.

Maybe this morning, I wanted to. It felt like I had a friend here in this strange city.

Maybe that was what made me cocky. “Name two adjacent colours on the target and a number between one and twelve.”

His eyes narrowed and he eyed me with suspicion. “Blue and black. Eleven.”

I nocked. I aimed. I fired.

“Hmm. I suppose every shot can’t be perfect.”

It wasn’t in the bullseye, no.

But I wasn’t aiming for the bullseye.

“Ah, Bastian,” I sighed, shaking my head. “What colours am I on the line between?”

A frown flickered between his eyebrows, and he glanced back at the target. “Blue and black.”

I widened my eyes. “Really? Huh. Weird. And if the target were a clock face, where would—?”

“Eleven.” He exhaled a disbelieving laugh. He looked at me a long while, gaze flicking over my face and down as if he’d never seen me before this moment.

It made my skin burn. That foolish fluttering renewed, fed by his undisguised admiration. I cleared my throat and shrugged like I wasn’t so affected. “I told you I was a good shot. It carries over from pistols to archery—that’s all.”

But it had felt good to prove him wrong, to surprise him where he’d underestimated me. And the look he gave me felt more than good. I couldn’t contain my grin.

A slow and dangerous smile inched over his lips, and I found myself preoccupied by his scar. “Fine, so the Wicked Lady can shoot. But what about when she’s distracted?”

“You don’t think it’s distracting to worry about being executed if you’re caught? I’ve been living with distraction for years.”

“Very well.” His voice lilted, low and teasing. “If you think you’re so seasoned, go ahead.”

“Where this time?” I drew another arrow and readied it.

“Just the bullseye will do.”

“Hmph. Too easy.”

“Stop stalling, Katherine.”

Fuck. Talk about distraction. The way he said my name in full like that.

I drew a long, slow breath and pulled back the string. As easy as that, I shook him off. He would have to try harder to throw my aim.

I lined up my arrow and exhaled.

Just as I was about to release, a finger traced my temple and down my cheek. I gasped at the resonance humming through my body and the bowstring slipped from my fingers. I didn’t even see where my arrow went.

“You bastard!” I whirled on him.

And found we stood toe-to-toe.

My breaths heaved as I glared. He’d use the first touch of the day against me.

But a slow and foolish smile spread across his face. “Say that again.”

“You bastard,” I said as he watched my mouth form the words. My skin grew too tight under that intimate attention, my annoyance merging with an altogether different heat.

“I normally hate that name,” he murmured into the quiet of the practice yard, and I was suddenly all too aware that we were the only ones here. “But when you say it… it isn’t the same at all.”

I blamed the softness in his voice and his eyes for me dropping the bow and placing my hands on his chest in the same instant his found the notch of my waist.

“Bastard,” I whispered.

A soft sound caught in his throat, humming under my palms as he pulled me against him. His gaze was locked on my mouth, and I found my fingers tangling in the soft fabric of his shirt.

Gods, he felt good. Hot and strong and vital. So many things I was not. We fit together too well for this to be wrong, didn’t we?

We could pretend. It was easier to pretend than have the conversation. It was easier to do this than live as I had the past week.

He bowed his head, and I tiptoed up in answer.

Chatter and laughter burst into my ears, into reality, into the practice yard.

Bastian’s hands dropped as he backed away, attention shooting up to the terrace where we’d entered. A group of recruits swaggered across it, lit by the sun I hadn’t even noticed rising.

“I’ll beat the shit out of you today.”

“I don’t think you could even beat my shit!”

More laughter as they bounded down the stairs. One leapt but landed heavily, a bit like my heart crashing into the pit of my belly right now.

Bastian raked his fingers through his hair. “We should go.”

He grabbed my sleeve and marched me inside.





11





Kat





I didn’t have the breath or brainpower to argue. Also… maybe he was right.

We’d been about to kiss, and although I was a fool, I still understood that was a terrible, terrible idea. Even if it had felt right for those few fleeting moments.

I needed to control myself. However tempting, Bastian was off limits.

He hadn’t even apologised. At least I’d tried to. Getting involved would only lead to more hurt, and I hurt enough.

I needed to get away from him. Not just now but forever. Home was safer.

Clare Sager's books